Work Text:
It's generally not advisable to allow Erik Lehnsherr access to the morning news before his second cup of coffee. Obviously, modern technology being what it is, and the CEO of a tech company being what he is, one can't really hope to avoid the usual alerts pinging directly to his smartphone, although Charles has contemplated permanently disabling the wifi in his boss's apartment. Fortunately, Erik prefers a larger screen for articles or streaming video, and he hates the cable news shows with passion, so it's usually only upon his arrival to the office that you have to be careful. The best tactic is to get in just early enough to preempt him, with a fresh cup already waiting at his desk. He'll never express gratitude, or even consciously notice that it's there, but he'll drink it anyway.
The thing is, Erik is not a morning person. He pretends to be one, probably because he was told too many times as a child that the early bird gets the worm and is determined to beat the bastard at its own game. But Charles, in his unenviable position as Erik's personal assistant, has seen him pre-caffeine on two or three occasions, and it's honestly kind of hilarious. Before the first cup of coffee, Erik is like an angry drunk. He staggers around yelling a lot, and doesn't remember where he's put his keys. The first cup of coffee -- which he drinks at home courtesy of an absurdly expensive automated coffeemaker that you program in advance -- enables him to function like an actual human being. But that's dangerous in its own way, because he's not any less angry about being awake. He's just coherent enough to be actively mean about it. It's the second cup that resigns him to his continued consciousness and blunts his edges a bit. That's the sweet spot, as far as Charles is concerned.
Three cups before 9 AM is a bridge too far, and frankly terrifying.
The problem with Erik and the news between cups one and two is that he's conscious enough to fully understand it, but still prickly enough to respond in the worst way imaginable. This wouldn't mean much for the average concerned citizen, but the chief executive of a multimillion-dollar corporation has ways of making his irate opinions heard that aren't good for anyone, let alone their PR department. And then tomorrow's headlines are all about how "MagneTech CEO and Prominent Mutant Separatist Erik Lehnsherr Vows To Kill All the Humans By 2025", and that's just not healthy for Charles's blood pressure.
So when Charles arrives at work about fifteen minutes later than his usual that Monday morning -- not late, let us be clear, because it's still well before nine o'clock -- he realizes with dismay that Erik is definitely already in his office, uncaffeinated, with assorted articles and video clips very visible on his three computer monitors and that tell-tale angry buzz telepathically emanating from his open door, like a wasp's nest just after it's been very foolishly prodded.
This does not bode well.
Charles throws up his mental barriers before Erik's mood can poison his own, then tosses his coat onto his desk and makes directly for the executive suite's private Keurig.
Once armed with a fresh cup, he plasters a pleasant smile onto his face and wheels directly into his boss's office. "Good morning, Erik."
Erik doesn't so much as glance away from his computer. "Have you seen this bullshit?"
That's rather a broad category, in Charles's opinion, but given that Tony Stark is smirking out at him from two out of three monitors, he can make a decent guess. A cursory scan of the screens doesn't indicate any conference calls or emails in progress, and the tenor of Erik's mood is more irritation than outright rage, so they might emerge relatively unscathed this time.
"The StarkExpo opening ceremonies, I take it?" Charles says mildly. He sets the fresh coffee down so as to be on a direct intercept path the next time Erik reaches for his mouse. "I assume I have that to thank for the extra traffic this morning. And for the rest of the month, I suppose -- it's running through the new year."
"As though the holiday season in New York wasn't bad enough already," Erik grouses. He hates tourists. That's one thing he and Charles can agree on -- it's difficult enough to navigate midtown when the sidewalks aren't clogged with sightseers. "But given the magnitude of Stark's ego, I'm surprised he isn't trying to keep the damn Expo going in perpetuity."
"The Expo isn't really about Tony Stark, even if his name is plastered across it," Charles points out. "It's meant to create a sort of epicenter of collaboration and innovation--"
"I'm not saying that the world is enjoying its longest period of uninterrupted peace in years because of me," Erik quotes, scathingly. "Oh, hold on, it gets even better: I'm not saying that Uncle Sam can kick back on a lawn chair, sipping on an iced tea because I haven't come across anyone who's man enough to go toe-to-toe with me--"
Charles winces. "All right, no one ever claimed the man was modest."
"He's a fucking menace," Erik retorts. "Bad enough when he was just a drunken flatscan playboy pissing away his daddy's inheritance, but now he's built himself a weapon of mass destruction and a messiah complex to go with it." He frowns. "Which of our people are supposed to be representing MagneTech at the Expo this week?"
"Hank will there until Thursday, and then Armando takes over through the weekend."
"Screw that, Hank's too much of a pushover, Stark's sycophants will walk all over him. He's fine for the product demos, but swap Alex Summers in for tomorrow's prototype exchange instead. I need someone with the balls to rip Stark's toys to shreds."
"Alex is more likely to literally blow them up," Charles points out, but he's already making the note on his phone to notify both engineers and the StarkExpo organizers about the staffing change.
Erik grins darkly. There are a lot of teeth involved. "That will also suffice."
"You do recall that you're scheduled to be a keynote speaker for the closing ceremonies yourself, yes?"
"I'm already writing my speech."
Charles lifts an eyebrow. "Does it currently contain the phrase drunken flatscan playboy?"
"Don't worry, Charles," Erik says, his grin widening in a way that is not even vaguely reassuring. "I'm sure I'll come up with something better by then."
He takes a vindictive gulp of his coffee, which of course he does not thank Charles for. But there's an appreciative gleam in his pale eyes, and Charles almost finds himself smiling back.
"My heart leaps in anticipation," Charles says drily, looking down at his phone to cover the involuntary lapse. "In the meantime, you've got a staff meeting with all the department heads in forty-five minutes."
Erik is already turning back to his computer, with a negligent wave of his hand that gently rolls Charles's chair back just far enough to be out of range of the office door slamming shut.
This ranks at roughly #27 on Charles's private list of Erik Lehnsherr's most irritating habits, which means it's not even worth getting riled up over anymore. Charles does briefly consider giving Erik a telepathic earworm, but that sort of thing has a tendency to rebound back on him in unpleasant ways, and anyway, he only has twenty minutes to finalize the meeting agenda.
According to his profile in Forbes Magazine, Erik Lehnsherr is a "visionary polymath engineer with strong strategic goals and reputation for being simultaneously difficult to work with and highly respected by his employees; however, potential investors are often put off by his extremist views on mutant rights, which gave MagneTech a rocky opening on the markets after going public in 2013."
Fortune 100 ranked MagneTech as #9 in its Best Companies to Work For Mutants, noting the relatively high salaries (even for the tech industry) and a "marked commitment to matching talent and ability into positions where employees have the highest potential for growth." It would likely have ranked higher on the list if it weren't for its CEO's "uncompromising attitude and punishingly high standards."
Emma Frost, the chair of MagneTech's board of directors, has complained to Charles on more than one occasion about Erik's intransigent and unrealistic political ideals. "His position on mutant rights isn't particularly beyond the pale," she sighed once. "I mean, I don't know about this whole ridiculously separatist 'mutant utopia' notion, but his arguments against the Mutant Registration Act are well-reasoned. It's just his insufferable self-righteousness, you know what I mean, sugar? He has got to learn that you can catch a lot more flies with honey. In the meantime, he should stick to building his engines and keep his nose out of politics."
Fox News hosts periodically get a bit hysterical about the strength of his metallokinesis and the radicalism of his views, and strongly suggest that he should be added to the FBI's terrorist watchlist.
According to Hank McCoy, one of MagneTech's lead engineers: "Well, he's an asshole, all right, and he's probably just one traumatic incident away from becoming some kind of supervillain, but he's revolutionizing mechanical engineering and, well, who doesn't want to work for the guy with the best toys? Heck, I'd do this work for free. But he does pay me. A lot. So that's pretty cool. And I was mostly kidding about the supervillain thing."
This is what Charles's sister Raven says, after listening to him rant about Erik for twenty solid minutes: "Oh, my god, you want to bone him so bad."
The trouble is, none of them are wrong.
On Erik's insistence, Armando is supposed to be holding a sort of dress rehearsal for his key product presentation. Of course, since Erik can't be arsed to show up for it, he's sent Charles down in his stead, with strict instructions to make Armando's life absolute hell for the next forty-five minutes.
Charles doesn't, of course, because he's never had a particular talent for meanness. But he does listen attentively and take copious notes, and asks detailed and pointed follow-up questions to keep Armando on his toes and ensure he really does know this demonstration backwards and inside out. Fortunately, Armando is adaptable and fairly unflappable, even if he does lift an eyebrow at a few of Charles's questions.
Afterward, as he's clearing up the demo materials, Armando does ask: "Are you sure you're not an engineer yourself?"
"Not at all," Charles says. "My degree was in biology and genetics. But I do try to stay current on MagneTech's primary projects."
"Biology and genetics. So nothing too technical, then." Armando gives him a bemused once-over. "And you're a telepath, too, right? I hope you don't mind me asking this, but what the hell are you doing as a secretary?"
"What, you don't think I fit the usual profile?" Charles remarks wryly. People tend to do a double-take the first time they notice the chair, of course, but they're usually too polite to mention it. The telepathy aspect can go either way, though he tends to keep that little factoid private outside of MagneTech's inner circle. Most who learn of it are appalled that a mutant of his abilities should have such intimate access to the CEO of a major corporation; others, like Emma Frost, assume that his duties include acting as a sort of mental bodyguard, and approve of Erik's apparent precaution.
The fact is: he genuinely isn't sure why Erik was willing to hire a telepath, except inasmuch as Erik is determined to hire mutants over "flatscans" wherever possible. Perhaps he was simply the only mutant who applied for the position. He suspects there's more to it, though he refuses to read Erik's mind outright to find out. He has some scruples.
Armando shakes his head, smiling. "No offense intended. I'm just wondering why a guy with a bio degree and the ability to literally read minds doesn't have a real job instead of, like, picking up Erik Lehnsherr's dry cleaning and shit."
"Because it is a real job," Charles says. It comes out a little sharper than he intended, but it's a sensitive subject. Not that Armando would have any way of knowing that. So he deliberately softens his tone to add: "My work may not be tangible in the way that yours is, but it's no less important, in its own way. And an idiot wouldn't last long as a PA."
"No, you're right," Armando says affably. "And Erik has certainly had his fair share of idiot assistants. That's how he eventually wound up with you -- you're his first since I've been here to last more than a couple of months, and believe me, we all appreciate it. I just always figured that anyone smart enough to make a good PA would be too smart to put up with Erik's bullshit."
Charles gives him a rueful smile. "How do you know I'm not just a masochist?"
Armando just shakes his head. "Man, who here isn't?"
Charles should have realized that getting two solid hours of quiet, uninterrupted time alone in the executive suite to manage his email inbox was a harbinger of trouble. He never gets more than an hour to himself in any given week, let alone two in a row in the middle of a Thursday.
When the Slack notification pings in the corner of his desktop, he actually does a double-take as he notices the time. Erik should have been back from his business lunch with one of his stakeholders an hour ago.
The message is from Angel, their lead robotics designer. SOS Erik's been in the roboshop for the past seventy minutes and he's terrorizing the techies THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
"Fuck," Charles informs his empty office.
Although the bulk of MagneTech's products are constructed in a manufacturing plant upstate, a few floors of their New York office are devoted to experimental workshops. Most of the design work is virtual, of course, but Erik being who he is (and his powers being what they are), he makes sure to have a wide variety of raw materials on hand at all times for more practical testing.
Charles doesn't spend much time in the shops, because, well, they weren't exactly designed with a consideration towards accessibility. They may technically be ADA-compliant, but having a bunch of robotics parts in various stages of construction scattered across the shop floor doesn't exactly make for easy navigation.
Also, he's not an engineer, so. There's that.
But he still makes his way down to the robotics shop down in the sub-basement, where he finds Erik lecturing a number of terrified young technicians while various scraps of machinery hover and swirl slowly around him. The visual is rather striking: Erik gestures and the metal hums in response, his movements as elegant as a conductor leading a symphony. His pale eyes focus intently on the metal, with no thought spared for anything else.
He's beautiful. Also, mildly terrifying.
"What is that he's making?" Charles asks Angel, who looks very relieved to see him.
"No clue," she says in a low tone. "But I can tell you it used to be the repulsor drone that Janos has spent the past three months building."
"Ah."
Erik glances over in their direction, and a smirk flickers across his face, so briefly that Charles would have thought he'd imagined it if not for the corresponding burst of amusement from his mind. Come to rescue the peons? Erik projects, even as he continues haranguing Janos and the other techies.
Would it really kill you to play nice with your own staff? Charles replies, his mental voice bone-dry. Surely you have more important things to do than harass the techies. Though if you're bored, I have a stack of paperwork that needs your signature.
It's not harassment, it's education. Erik makes a complicated gesture, and the component parts in the air come together into something Charles couldn't begin to identify. Aloud, Erik concludes, "So if you're going to steal Stark Industries tech, you could at least put it to use instead of making cheap knockoff weaponry that no one ever asked for or could possibly need."
He waves his hand, and the new piece of tech hurtles in Janos's direction. Janos just barely catches it before it smacks him across the forehead.
"If you want to still have a job come Monday, you'll find a way to convert that rubbish into a functional water purifier. Or at least get me a mock-up of what you'll need to make it effective." Erik turns away briskly to join Charles by the lift, retrieving his overcoat from a cluttered workbench as he goes. "All right, nanny, what's next on the schedule?"
Charles rolls his eyes, but follows Erik back into the lift with a parting nod for Angel. "So what was all that about?"
"This new Iron Man obsession they all have," Erik huffs in irritation. "Imitation may be the mother of invention, but they've got it all backwards. Who the hell wants more of those explosive tin cans zooming around? One is bad enough."
Charles studies his face thoughtfully, doing his best to resist prodding directly into Erik's mind. "Given your extremely vocal opinions about Stark, I'd have thought you wouldn't mind a bit of friendly competition."
"Mutually assured destruction, you mean? You're not wrong." They emerge onto the executive level, Erik shaking his head in disgust. "Can you imagine if it were a mutant who'd built a flying death suit like that? They'd have been shot out of the sky months ago. But because he's a flatscan, and a billionaire, the US government just rolls over and wags its fucking tail. Honestly, if it were anyone but Stark, we'd all be in the shitter already, but he's too much of an egocentric jackass to allow anyone else to get their paws on his tech. Thank fuck for small favors."
"So Janos was trying to recreate the suit?"
"Pieces of it, yeah. The repulsor beams. Idiot. If I ever wanted to bring Iron Man down, I'd just crush the suit into scrap metal around him. I wouldn't need to shoot him with his own energy blasts."
Just one traumatic incident away from becoming some kind of supervillain, Charles can't help but think, with a faint flush of shame for considering it. But before he can say anything aloud, Erik goes on:
"What an embarrassing waste of technology, though. As a weapon, it's so limited as to be laughable; who really wants to duke it out 'toe-to-toe' in the age of drone warfare and nuclear power? We've already got mutually assured destruction. It's survival of the species that we should be focused on." Erik perches on the edge of his desk, leaning forward as he speaks, no less intense for all that it's only Charles here to hear him. "If we could recalibrate those repulsor beams to channel that energy in other ways, we could, I don't know, target particulate matter in the air of our most polluted cities. We could desalinize water by the gallon. That's the next big step -- clean air, clean water, reliable food sources… It may not be as sexy as Stark's suit, but energy efficiency in all aspects of life is the only way we're going to be able to thrive."
"Sounds sexy enough to me," Charles murmurs. Erik's vision for the future is...potent, a refreshing antidote against the apathy and dysfunction that seem to paralyze so many aspects of modern life. It's easy to understand how a man like this could have made a name for himself and consolidated corporate power so swiftly and unexpectedly. Erik's lips quirk into a smile, and his gaze suddenly feels too intent, hot on Charles's face. Charles clears his throat. "Although if you plan to pitch that idea to your board next week, you might not want to lead with how you could crush Iron Man to death in his own suit."
Erik laughs, throwing his head back, loose and relaxed in a way Charles so rarely sees him. "I suppose not."
Week two of the StarkExpo coincides with MagneTech's quarterly board of directors meeting. It lasts the better part of the day, and Charles remains onsite with a laptop in case there's anything Erik needs taken care of immediately. He could eavesdrop if he so chose, but in all honesty, Charles finds these meetings deadly dull. It's not worth the mental energy. Anything he needs to know, Erik will tell him afterward, far more succinctly (and with his own brand of sardonic commentary, which Charles can't help but appreciate).
The morning passes uneventfully enough, but halfway through the afternoon, Charles feels a spike of thunderous anger strong enough to pierce his usual mental shielding. The headache nearly blinds him for a few nauseating seconds before he can shore up his shields. He does mentally ping Emma Frost, the only telepath in the room, and she sends back a quick Nothing to worry about and then, unusually for Emma: Sorry, sugar -- it wasn't my idea.
Charles does not exactly find that reassuring.
Can you call a break? he asks.
We're nearly at the end of the session, just be patient.
Sure enough, the meeting ends about fifteen minutes later, and Erik is the first person to emerge, his face a storm cloud. Charles intercepts him neatly. "Care to talk a walk outside?" he asks, even though it's freezing out there.
"I need to get back to the office," Erik growls.
It's true that there are about two hours left in the work day, but Charles refuses to inflict Erik Lehnsherr upon his own employees in this mood. "Well, I need some fresh air first, and you're coming with me."
He adds just the barest hint of telepathic compulsion to it, and all but shoves Erik's coat into his hands. Erik glowers, but it's not really directed at Charles, so he doesn't take it personally. He simply sets off with the full expectation that Erik will follow, and after a moment's irritation, Erik does.
The meeting was held at Emma's private residence, in a luxury building across Fifth Avenue from the park. Charles knows the area well, and the walking paths in this part of Central Park are shallowly inclined enough to pose little trouble for his chair. He sets off determinedly, setting a fairly rapid pace, and allows Erik to stew in silence for a few minutes alongside him. It's cold enough that the paths are relatively deserted -- well, by December in New York standards, at least.
Once they're more or less alone, Charles asks, "So what happened to get you so riled up in there?"
"Haven't you read it out of my mind yet?" Erik replies caustically.
Charles sighs. "No, of course not, as that would be grossly unethical. Not to mention a fireable offense."
"And which of those factors is stopping you? Spend a lot of time pondering ethical quandaries, do you, Charles?" Erik's tone is conversational, but there's a bitter edge to it that Charles can't quite chalk up to his lingering ill humor.
"More than you do, I expect," Charles shoots back. "Which is likely why you're the CEO of a multimillion-dollar company and I'm just a glorified secretary."
Erik narrows his eyes at him. "You've certainly never seemed overly concerned about getting fired, I'll give you that."
"Firing me would hurt you more than me, and you know it. Are you going to tell me what's got your knickers in a twist or not?"
That startles a laugh out of Erik, albeit a grudging one. Finally, he says, "My board of directors are all idiots."
"You've complained about that before," Charles points out. "More than once. What set you off this time?"
"They asked if I could build my own version of the fucking Iron Man suit." Erik shoves his hands deep into his pockets, outrage etched in every sharp line of his body. "Apparently Hammer has been running his own tests -- all miserable failures, of course. But anything he can do, I can do better, so why aren't I? Never mind that MagneTech focuses primarily on aeronautics, never mind that we've never been weapons manufacturers -- it's the new hot thing in the tech industry, so of course we're expected to jump aboard this dead-end train."
He's been unconsciously increasing his pace as he rants, and Charles has to struggle a bit to match him. At least the exercise is warming him up. "So did you tell them that?"
Erik scowls ferociously. "Not in so many words. I do know better than to alienate my entire board, even without your voice in my head chiding me to play nice."
Charles snorts. "Please. That only applies to your underlings. You don't have to play nice with your board of directors, not when they're being idiots." He considers, then adds, "I'd still generally advise cutting down on the expletives and murder threats, but there's no need to censor yourself otherwise. If any of them disagree with you, they have the power to talk back to you. Your employees don't. That's the difference."
"It's certainly never stopped you."
"We've already established that I'd survive being fired just fine. You threaten it so often I'm practically immune by now." Charles shakes his head. "Anyway. You're not actually considering replicating the Iron Man suit, are you?"
"Of course not."
"Good. You're better than that."
Erik scoffs. "Better than Tony Stark or Justin Hammer? That's setting the bar rather low."
"I mean it, though," Charles says, more quietly. "I don't share your aversion to Stark -- I think he's genuinely trying to make the world a better place, in his own ham-fisted way -- but I do agree that his solution is painfully short-sighted. One vigilante in a tin can, no matter how powerful, is just a weapon. The real evils in this world can't simply be shot in the face. What you said to me the other day, about using the technology to enable humankind's survival in a changing world…that means something. It's important."
Erik's eyes are unreadable on his. Charles is abruptly surprised to realize they've long since stopped walking and are just...looking at each other in the middle of the cold, quiet path. "You know it's our people whose survival I'm most concerned with," Erik says, voice equally low. "Mutants. Not anyone else."
"You say that, but the technology you dream about is anything but exclusionary. Cleaning polluted air, for example -- that would benefit everyone, not just mutants. Or do you mean to shut the rest of humanity out?"
"If only that were possible," Erik sighs. "But I suppose you're right. Despite what Fox News would have you believe, I'm not actually genocidal."
Charles can't help but smile. "I know. There is good in you, Erik. I've seen it. Even if you can be a truly appalling boss."
Erik doesn't return the smile, not quite, but there's a hint of it in his eyes. "I really should fire you, you know. For your own good. Charles, what on earth are you doing as a 'glorified secretary'?"
"Keeping you honest," Charles replies, trying to keep his tone flippant. His mouth feels very dry. "At least, that's the dream. It's rather an uphill slog, most days." He can't quite meet Erik's too-direct gaze any longer, so he glances around at their surroundings instead. They must be halfway across the park by now. "Speaking of which, we really should be heading back to the office. If you think you've calmed down enough to survive the rest of the day?"
Erik continues looking at him steadily. There's something more Charles might read into that, if he tried. He deliberately keeps his mental shields firm. "I suppose so," Erik finally says. "If you insist."
The path slopes more steeply downhill on the way back out than Charles remembered, and his arms already ache a bit from their rapid pace earlier, but his chair progresses smoothly and steadily without any extra effort on his part, though Erik never once lays a hand on it.
"How much longer do you really think you can keep this up?" Raven demands, during their weekly dinner date. Well, "weekly" might be too strong of a term. It's the third time Charles has rescheduled on her in as many weeks, but he hasn't canceled outright, and he feels that should get him a few brownie points.
Charles sighs. "I'm sorry, I really am, but with the StarkExpo going on all month--"
"I'm not talking about your impossible schedule. Although honestly, Charles, you need to reevaluate what counts as a 'work emergency', it's not like you're a doctor or firefighter or something where actual lives are on the line." She shakes her head, blue scales gleaming in the restaurant's candlelight. Raven almost always wears her own natural form these days. It's good to see her so comfortable in her own skin.
"This from the person who has been known to miss an actual flight -- to Europe -- because 'the light was perfect.'" Raven is an artist who works in just about every medium Charles can think of (and a few he can't), and has the temperament to match.
"Well, it was," Raven says breezily. "And don't try to change the subject. Seriously, you've been working for that asshat for almost a year now. It was funny at first, but now it's just getting ridiculous. Any sane person in your position would have quit months ago."
"Any sane person wouldn't have been in my position in the first place," Charles points out wearily. "It's complicated."
Raven shakes her head. "I just wish I knew what you thought you were getting out of this."
"Maybe it's not about me. Maybe I actually believe in MagneTech's mission and want it to succeed."
"Even the 'build a mutant utopia on Mars' shit, really?" Raven says skeptically. "Don't get me wrong, I love my science fiction, but that's pretty far out even for me." At Charles's look, she rolls her eyes. "Okay, so I got bored last night and went down your boss's YouTube rabbit hole. Some of his earlier stuff was...well, I'm not saying I totally disagree with him, because mutant and proud and all that, but there's a reason the ACLU had a come-to-Jesus meeting with him about what exactly qualifies as hate speech. Didn't the Mutant Civil Rights Commission, like, excommunicate him, or something?"
Charles winces. That had happened about three days after he'd been hired, and provided an eye-opening object lesson on public relations. "Not exactly. And we've been rebuilding our relationship with MCRC since then. They don't automatically issue press releases disavowing Erik every time he makes a public statement anymore, that's progress."
"Sure," Raven says. "Progress. Seriously, what do you see in the guy? I get that he can be charismatic as hell when he wants to be, but you grew up with Tony Stark, you should be immune to that by now."
If only. Tony's particular brand of persuasion is what got him into this whole mess in the first place. Raven still thinks that Charles just lost a dare or something.
"Erik is...different," Charles tries to explain. "He really does believe in building that mutant utopia -- and while I absolutely disagree that we need to disavow baseline humans in order to achieve it, it's...you can't see the look in his eyes when he talks about the possibilities for technology. How passionate he is, how strong his vision for the future is." He shakes his head ruefully. "I sound ridiculous, don't I? But I've touched so many minds, Raven, and his is just...extraordinary. If I'm helping him become a better man, even in the smallest of ways, it'll be worth the effort."
Raven tilts her head to one side in contemplation, not without sympathy. "You're a lot of things, Charles, but you've never just been a follower. If this weirdo thing you've got going on with Lehnsherr is going to work, you've got to do it side by side with him, not following behind him running his errands or whatever. And if he's willing to keep you in that little box, then he's nowhere near as brilliant as you think he is. So we come back to my original question. How much longer can you keep this up?"
A question he's been asking himself with nagging frequency over the past several months, with no good answer in sight. "A little longer, at least. We're too busy right now for that sort of...discussion."
"Well," Raven says, toasting him with a sardonic little smirk, "here's hoping for some kind of Christmas miracle, I guess, 'cause you sure seem like you're gonna need it."
"A holiday party," Erik repeats flatly. "Hosted by Tony Stark. Why the fuck would I bother attending?"
"Because I already sent in your RSVP a month ago," Charles says, summoning all his patience. Erik has been pricklier than usual since the board meeting last week, prone to fits of childishness whenever anything related to the StarkExpo is mentioned in his presence. Charles can sympathize, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating to deal with. Hank actually flinches whenever Erik passes him in the hallways these days.
Erik whacks furiously at his keyboard, even though Charles is 95% positive that he's not actually in the middle of writing anything. "So un-RSVP me."
"Not a chance. I already promised Pepper Potts personally that you'd be there, and she's scarier than you by a long shot." Charles tosses the engraved invitation in his direction. It bounces off the leftmost monitor. "Erik Lehnsherr and plus one. Any party Stark throws should be opulent enough, find a date and impress the hell out of them for a night."
"Any 'date' who'd be impressed by Tony fucking Stark isn't someone I'd have any interest in," Erik retorts.
"So go stag and pick someone up there. Get drunk and get laid, you might actually be a tolerable human being the morning after." He says it jokingly, but actually, it's not a bad idea. What would post-coital Erik even be like? That train of thought leads to rather uncomfortable places, however, so Charles quickly derails it and goes on: "Seriously, though, if nothing else it will make for an excellent networking opportunity. Wouldn't you like to recruit someone who's not an idiot for your board of directors someday? Or start convincing a few fat cats that your water purification idea actually is sexy enough to warrant investment?"
Erik doesn't look away from his computer, but his hands have stilled on the keyboard. "Fine. I'll go. On one condition. You have to be my plus one."
Charles opens his mouth automatically to protest, then rethinks it. It will certainly be a lot easier to clean up Erik's inevitable messes afterward if he's present as witness. He might even prevent a few. And maybe get the chance to do some networking of his own while he's at it.
The perk of getting to see Erik in a tailored tux has absolutely no bearing on his decision.
"Deal," he says, and deliberately ignores the fizz of surprise from Erik's mind, colored with something almost like pleasure.
Charles regrets his decision almost immediately and spends the next few nights at home quietly panicking about the upcoming event.
Here's the thing: Charles is not unacquainted with the fact that Erik Lehnsherr is an extremely attractive man. Charles doesn't really have a type -- he's generally drawn in by the contours of someone's mind rather than their physical appearance -- but he's not blind. If he'd encountered Erik during his wilder college days, he'd have climbed him like a fucking tree. The fact that he actually is finding Erik's mind increasingly compelling as well is…unfortunate, mostly.
Another thing: he knows that Erik finds him attractive, too. It's not obvious to the outward eye, and Erik is the sort to keep his personal feelings bottled up tight behind his veneer of anger and dickishness, but Charles is a telepath, okay? It's not like he goes looking for that sort of information, but it's pretty hard to miss. He always knows when someone's interested in him in that way. Even when he's deliberately balls-deep in denial, he still knows. He can't help it.
But Charles is Erik's employee -- worse, his personal assistant -- and for all Erik's flaws as both a boss and a human being, he's just not the sort of person to take advantage like that. Which is good, because it means they can both just go on mutually ignoring it.
And that's for the best. Because sexual attraction aside, they would be a very bad idea. The absolute last thing Charles needs to complicate his life further right now is to develop any sort of actual feelings for Erik bloody Lehnsherr.
Even if he is his plus one at a fancy party.
Charles's first impression of the event itself does nothing to settle his nerves. Tony's holiday gala is being hosted in the primary StarkExpo pavilion, and the main entrance is located up a fucking flight of marble stairs. For a few long, wasted minutes, Charles literally just sits outside in the cold and stares at the steps. How had he not thought to look into this beforehand? He always did a virtual site inspection before attending an event like this. It was second nature to him by now. But somehow, in his idiotic fit of pre-party nerves, he'd completely failed to call ahead to the venue and ask his usual accessibility questions.
Fortunately, the rational part of his brain kicks back into gear before he can freeze to death on the pavement. No, he hasn't been here before, but he has been to a hundred other event venues very much like this, and he knows the drill. It only takes a moment's conversation with a valet to be directed to the service entrance, and Pepper herself meets him there five minutes later to escort him upstairs.
"It's good to see you again, Charles," she says warmly as they wait for the lift. "Tony's looking forward to it as well -- I told him you were on the list as Lehnsherr's plus one." She gives him a quick wink, and he smiles back automatically even as his stomach sinks a little. He hasn't spoken to Tony Stark in person since...well, since accepting the job at MagneTech. "However did you manage that?" Pepper goes on to ask.
"It was Erik's idea, actually," he replies, trying to keep his tone light. "Believe me, Miss Potts, I've developed a newfound appreciation for how hard you've striven to keep Tony in line all these years."
Pepper laughs, the sound only slightly brittle. "It's certainly a challenge."
They arrive at the main ballroom, and Pepper graciously moves on to greet Tony's other guests. It only takes Charles a moment to hone in on Erik's particular mind in the crowd -- and while he's certainly had practice over his past year as PA, it's only now that he realizes just how easy it's become for him. Erik's mind shines like a beacon, bright and sharp and utterly unique.
And maybe Erik can feel Charles's presence, too, somehow -- maybe he's responding to the call of Charles's telepathy, or recognizes the metal in his wristwatch or his chair -- or maybe it's just sheer coincidence. But the precise moment that Charles locates him, Erik turns around (just as devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo as Charles had feared) and catches sight of Charles as well. And in that first, unguarded moment, he smiles.
God, Charles is fucked.
It all comes to a head about an hour later, aided by a touch more alcohol than is strictly advisable and, of course, Tony fucking Stark.
Tony can be a devious little shit when he so chooses, which is how he manages to corner Charles in the service hallway just barely out of the main line of sight from the ballroom. In fairness, Charles has been expecting this ever since he stupidly agreed to be Erik's plus one. It's rather like a trip to the dentist, he thinks: annoying, mildly painful, but might as well get it over with quickly if you can.
"I've got to hand it to you, Charlie, you're a goddamn miracle worker," Tony says by way of greeting. "Lehnsherr's become downright mellow since you joined his team. Well, I say mellow, but I mean like how Schwarzenegger's Terminator was super chill compared to the T-1000 model, it's kind of a sliding scale when you're dealing with someone with the power to literally rip apart a building. But hey, I'll totally take it."
"You're the one with a killer robot," Charles retorts. "And please stop implying that I've been somehow…brainwashing him. Erik's mind is entirely his own, and always has been. You've just overestimated the threat he presented from the beginning."
Tony leans back against the wall, loosening his bowtie with a grimace. He looks tired. "Yeah, well. You may have noticed that I've had enemies sprouting up out of the woodwork lately, and you heard the shit he used to spout about mutant supremacy. All that, and controls metal, too? You can't blame me for being a little overcautious."
"I suppose not." Charles shakes his head. Tony's life has always been a bit surreal, but ever since this whole Iron Man business...well, Charles can't even imagine. And he's not interested in poking about Tony Stark's head. "Look, Erik will never be your number one fan, but he's not gunning for you, either. Frankly, he's happiest when he can ignore you and your alter ego entirely."
Tony cracks a smile. "The feeling's mutual." He straightens and takes a gulp of whatever's in his glass, briskly. "So that's that, I guess. Thank you for your service, et cetera, I'm honestly shocked that you were willing to play along for this long. Erik Lehnsherr's plus one, huh?" He waggles his eyebrows, in that way only Tony can. "You really did go above and beyond this time, Chuck. Talk about taking one for the team."
"It's not like that, and you know it," Charles sighs, inwardly reeling. That's it? Like he could just shake hands and walk away from the past year of his life? He continues aloud more or less on autopilot: "Erik's just punishing me for making him show up here at all. Misery loves company, you know."
The expression on Tony's face shifts into something a lot closer to a leer. "Well, if it's company you're looking for tonight, I'm always happy to put a word in. Or lend a helping hand. Strictly for old time's sake, you understand, but you know I'm up for anything."
He doesn't mean it, the innuendo coming as naturally to him as breathing, as Charles well knows. Does it even count as innuendo when it's basically a single entendre? So Charles just bats Tony's comically grabby hands away, rolling his eyes. "As if I'd ever--"
And of course, that's when Erik decides to make an appearance. "Stark," he says, voice cold and sharp as steel, and though Charles hadn't been feeling particularly drunk, that sobers him up all at once.
"Lehnsherr," Tony replies, mimicking his tone.
Erik looks between the two of them expressionlessly. "Is there a problem here?"
Tony opens his mouth, but that's never a good idea, so Charles cuts in before the words he can hear tumbling about Tony's brain have a chance to escape. "Not at all," he says firmly. "We just happened to run into each other--"
"Just catching up with an old friend," Tony says, his smile sharp and mocking. He slings an arm casually across the back of Charles's chair, not quite touching him. "Charles and I go way back, didn't you know? I was just pleased as punch when he joined the MagneTech team. He's working directly under you these days, isn't that right?"
I will murder you in your sleep, Charles projects directly at Tony, furiously. Tony's grin widens in response.
"Old friends, huh," Erik repeats, deliberately ignoring that last insinuation. "No. He hasn't mentioned that. Not once." He looks directly at Charles as he says it, but his mind is a blank steel wall, and Charles can't read anything from him at all.
Charles does his best to keep his voice steady. "Our families ran in similar social circles when we were both young. I never told you because it never seemed particularly relevant. But I was about to head back into the party--"
"Well, you two enjoy yourselves, then," Erik says frostily. "I'm done for the night."
He turns on his heel to leave them there.
Charles shakes off Tony's arm, all but slapping him away. "Hold on, Erik!"
"I'll see you Monday morning," Erik calls back over his shoulder, but he doesn't slow his pace, shoving open the door to a service stairwell where he knows Charles can't possibly follow. There's a loud bang as the heavy door shuts again behind him.
Charles slams his palms on the arms of his chair in wordless frustration.
A moment later, Tony steps up again beside him. "Real charmer, that one. I can see why you like him. You two have gotten so cozy, it's adorable--"
"Shut up, Anthony," Charles sighs, scrubbing his hand across his face. "You're not helping."
Tony just shrugs. "When do I ever? But seriously, what does it matter now, anyway? Come on, Charles, we both know you weren't gonna keep working as his PA forever. You're way too good for that--"
"Like Miss Potts is too good for you?" Charles snaps, and Tony reels back half a step, eyebrows jumping to his hairline. "You don't know the first thing about it, Tony. You don't know the first thing about him. So don't you dare tell me how to manage my own business. You're the one who got me into this mess in the first place!"
There's silence for a few long moments. Well, as much silence as there can be just off of a ballroom with two hundred guests and a terrible DJ blasting Mariah Carey. Finally, awkwardly, Tony says, "If you really are hard up for a job, you know I'd hire you in an instant -- and not as a secretary, either. I could use someone with your genetics background in our labs. I'll double whatever Lehnsherr's paying you--"
"You know it's not about the money," he interrupts wearily. "I'm never going to help you build weapons. Or turn other human beings into them."
"That's not what Stark Industries does anymore," Tony retorts, clearly stung. "Not like that, anyway. But can you honestly sit there and tell me that MagneTech is any better? Philosophically, I mean."
Charles takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "Yes. It is. It will be. I may not always agree with Erik's vision for the future, but at least he has one. And I can't leave him now."
Tony looks at him a moment, then shakes his head. "Well, mazel tov and good luck, I guess. So glad I could bring you two crazy kids together. You better make me best man at your wedding."
Yeah, right, Charles thinks despairingly, feeling that deliberate blank wall slamming down between Erik's mind and his. "Fuck right off," he says aloud, but there's no bite to it, and Tony just laughs and gives him a two-fingered salute.
He doesn't go home. He calls a cab and gives the driver Erik's address instead.
Charles has been over to Erik's apartment on a few different occasions, as previously mentioned, for assorted work emergencies. Still, it surprises him every time how normal the place is. Charles had grown up very wealthy, and moved in rarified social circles (albeit mostly against his will); one would expect a corporate executive of Erik Lehnsherr's estimated net worth to lead a particular sort of lifestyle. There are a variety of ways to show off one's wealth, Charles knows: from the gaudy opulence of the nouveau-riche to the restrained elegance of those who know that their status goes without saying, and a wide assortment of luxury buildings in Manhattan eager to cater to those who can easily blow $20 million on a pied-a-terre they only live in one month out of the year.
But Erik lives in a smallish two-bedroom apartment in an unremarkable co-op on the Upper West Side. Nothing to sneeze at, certainly, but soundly middle-class. He doesn't have a vacation villa or a private jet; he does own a very nice Mercedes-Benz (which Charles has seen exactly once), but still takes the subway to work every day. Charles has glanced through MagneTech's financials, and Erik funnels the vast majority of his salary directly back into his own company.
The night doorman doesn't know Charles on sight, but Charles sends him a touch of mental distraction and the guy just waves him in absently. The lift up to the ninth floor takes either half a second or a full decade, Charles isn't quite sure which. He feels overheated in the sudden warmth after the freezing night air, palms sweaty inside his gloves. His pulse races. He can feel his heartbeat throb in every single individual vein of his body.
It's not terribly late yet, especially not for a Friday night in New York City, but he doesn't bang on Erik's door. He just gives the telepathic equivalent of a polite knock and waits.
And waits.
A century passes, or maybe twenty seconds. Charles forcibly reminds himself how breathing works. Slowly, grudgingly, the door opens. Erik isn't standing behind it. He's slouched across his sofa on the far side of the living room, barefoot, still wearing his fancy slacks but stripped down to just a plain white T-shirt on top. There's only a single lamp on in one corner, aided by some light from neighboring buildings filtering in through the uncurtained windows. The room is a study in shadows. Erik's face is unreadable. He gestures impatiently, and Charles's chair gives a faint tug beneath him -- not actually moving, just an invitation to urge him forward. Charles wheels inside, and Erik shuts the door behind him again with a wave of his hand.
It takes every ounce of willpower Charles possesses not to peek into Erik's mind right this very instant.
"I've known Tony Stark since we were children," he says. No need to beat around the bush. Erik deserves an explanation. "He's a few years older than me, but we were both...fairly isolated, in our own ways. Lonely, bored, too clever by half. We got on well. I was so used to being three steps ahead of everyone else, even as a child, but not Tony. I could barely keep up with him. It was a novel experience. We weren't close, exactly -- he bounced between California and New York, while I was stuck in Westchester, and after my father died, our families grew more...distant. My mother remarried, so I gained Raven as a sister, which helped. But Tony and I still saw each other once a year or so. He was doing graduate work at MIT when I started as an undergrad at Harvard, so we hung out more frequently then, though I was never part of his inner circle. All those parties, all that drinking...I couldn't keep up with him socially, and didn't really try. But I still looked up to him. And after the accident…"
Charles doesn't talk about the accident that left him wheelchair-bound. Those who knew him then don't need to be told, and for anyone who's met him since, it's honestly not important. They can see the chair; what difference does the story make? Shit happens, and he's fine now. He has no interest in reliving one crappy moment for the rest of his life.
Erik has never asked, and there's a part of Charles that would have loved him just for that. He doesn't ask now, either, just continues regarding Charles steadily, waiting him out.
"Well, he was there for me, in ways I wouldn't have expected," Charles finishes simply. "Him and Raven, and no one else. We've grown apart since, as childhood friends do. We're very different people, with different interests and goals. And despite what he implied earlier this evening, we've certainly never been...involved. But I still care about him, even when he's an absolute shit, and after Afghanistan, and the whole Iron Man business going public...he asked for my help. So I gave it. And that's the long and short of it, really." He takes a deep breath. "I honestly never expected it to go this far. Tony's AI ensured that I'd get the job interview -- not that I needed his help. But I thought I'd just scan your mind, suss out how extreme your views really were and how far you might be willing to take them, and pass that information back to Tony. And that would have been the end of it. I wasn't expecting you to actually offer me the job, or that I'd genuinely be interested in taking it. Or...well, you in general, I suppose. Nothing could have prepared me for you." Charles runs a hand through his hair, hoping he doesn't sound as shaky as he feels. "I've been trying to work out how to tell you for...oh, months now, I suppose. But the longer it went on..." He trails off, somewhat helplessly. It's completely ridiculous, he knows, like some badly-written spy novel that never goes anywhere interesting. How has this become Charles's life?
He's expecting Erik to shout at him, to rage, to throw him out of the window using the metal in his chair. But Erik regards him silently. Even his mind is quiet behind the steel walls he's erected. (Emma Frost has taught Erik a thing or two about mental shielding, Charles knows, although he could rip through it in a heartbeat if he so chose. He doesn't.)
Finally, Erik says, "So you've been spying on me since the beginning."
"Not much of a spy," Charles sighs. "And I never lied to you. You knew up front that I was a telepath, I've never tried to hide that from you or anyone else at MagneTech. Emma Frost scanned me herself as part of my final background check, as per company policy. I have never been an employee of Stark Industries, nor have I ever violated a single clause of MagneTech's confidentiality agreement. Nor do I intend to. Tony never cared about corporate sabotage, or stealing industry secrets -- you know he believes he's better than everyone else, he doesn't think we have anything worth stealing. He was just scared of you. A vocal mutant separatist with the ability to literally rip his suit apart around him? You can imagine why he wanted someone he trusted to check up on you."
"'Someone he trusted,'" Erik echoes. There's a mocking edge to his tone now. "How much did he pay you for this trust?"
Charles laughs. It feels like shards of glass. "Nothing. I have no interest in Tony's money. I inherited more than I could ever possibly need. Google 'Brian Xavier net worth' sometime, it'll make your eyes cross."
"Well, that certainly explains why you never seemed worried about getting fired," Erik remarks drily, getting to his feet and crossing his arms across his chest. The ten or fifteen feet of distance between them feel like an impassable chasm. "So what happens now, Charles?"
Charles's throat aches. He feels bitterly cold inside, despite the heat of the apartment and the coat he's still wearing. "I'll have my letter of resignation on your desk first thing Monday morning. If you want my recommendation for a replacement, I think Moira in administration would do well as PA. She's not a mutant, but she's smart and can think on her feet, and she won't take shit from you or anyone else. You'll hate her, of course, but she'd be good for you." He turns slowly, moving toward the door. He can't help but hesitate there. Quietly, over his shoulder, he adds: "For what it's worth, Erik -- I'm so sorry. You deserved better. And I wish you nothing but the best."
His hand is on the doorknob when Erik says behind him, far closer than he should have been: "I've known. From the beginning."
Charles just breathes.
"I didn't know why," Erik goes on quietly, as Charles turns back to face him. "Or how it came about. But I knew you were Tony Stark's preferred candidate for the PA position, and that you had some sort of history with him. I hired you because I wanted to know what the hell Stark was up to. Keep your enemies close, and so on. I assumed it had to be some kind of corporate espionage, but you were just…you." Something almost like a smile flickers across his face, gone so quickly Charles thinks he must have imagined it. "Nothing added up. Emma had me plant a few false flags, early on, to see if anything would come of it, but...nothing. You never pried where you shouldn't, you never acted oddly, you were just a really fucking excellent assistant and world class pain in my ass. I could never figure out what game you were playing." His eyes are strangely bright in the shadows, reflecting the light from the lamp. He's standing right in front of Charles now. "And then I suppose I stopped caring."
It's a lot to process. Charles only had a couple of drinks at that horrible party, hours ago now, but he feels light-headed in a way that is not particularly distinguishable from drunkenness. "So...you're not angry with me?"
"Are you kidding me, I am incandescently furious," Erik says, far too calmly. "Are you still quitting your job?"
Charles's breath hitches in his throat. "I think that's probably for the best, yes."
"Fine. I accept your resignation. Which means I can finally--" And Erik cuts himself off in order to lean down and grasp Charles's face in his hands, kissing him firmly.
It's not soft or sweet or even particularly romantic. Erik has kept an iron grip on his emotions all night, but that anger and hurt and betrayal has been simmering just under the surface of his skin, so deeply entwined with months of frustration and reluctant affection and repressed lust that Charles couldn't pick the different strands apart even if he spent hours trying. It's all he can do to just grip tightly to Erik's forearms and kiss him back, straining his neck to reach up into it, Erik's lips hot and demanding against his own.
It's not a solution or resolution, but it does feel inevitable, somehow, and so goddamn good. If there's one fucking thing Charles can get right in this whole bloody mess, he thinks frantically, desperate to drag Erik closer -- let it be this.
He does manage to ask, some hazy indeterminate amount of time later, when they're both wearing significantly less clothing and Erik has maneuvered him onto his extremely comfortable bed: "Erik -- what comes next?"
"You're going to tell me what you like best, and I'm going to get you off," Erik replies with deliberate intent.
"Oh God yes -- I mean, wait, no, but seriously. After that part. Where do we go from here?"
"Well, I'm going to be angry with you for a while, probably, and make you hire and train my new PA as punishment," Erik says, licking a hot path down along Charles's collarbone that nearly makes him lose track of the conversation completely. "And I'll continue being an asshole, and you'll continue to get on my last nerve, and hopefully we'll find a way to make the world a slightly less shitty place in spite of all that. Can I please fuck you into incoherence now?"
"Nngk," Charles agrees, very coherently.
It's not that easy, of course. It never is. But what the hell, at least it promises to be interesting.
Erik Lehnsherr is not a morning person. But as Charles discovers when they finally blink awake sometime past noon the next day: once allowed to sleep in as late as he wants, preferably after mind-blowingly good sex, Erik can be downright charming.