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Charles is easy to dislike, underneath his amiable, crooked smile and his charmingly lousy pick-up lines; he's all privilege and idealism in an ugly, twisted center, a tunnel-visioned asshole bent on martyrdom with a perfectly vulgar trust fund, and a nose, as his mother used to tell him, that is too big for his face. He's well aware of his own failings, thank you, though he can't ever seem to fix them––one more fault to add to the list, his staircase wits about him, the way he can only offer his apologies after he’s fucked up yet again.
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He spends the entire first month after he loses the use of his legs apologizing––to his nurses and the physical therapists, for his bad temper––to Moira, in her absence––to Raven, whom he failed again and again, too proud to see it––even to Erik, for all his sins. It’s not enough; he won’t walk again.
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The nightmares start back up, the ones he thought he had chased away for good, but this time it’s worse––when Kurt unbuckles his belt, he can’t run away anymore, but crawls using only his hands, abased, Kurt’s sarcastic, grunting laugh echoing behind him.
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Hank tries, but he’s nursing his own wounds, the raw patch of Raven’s departure, learning to groom his fur and trim his nails by himself, ravenously private; Charles wouldn’t intrude on him even if he did long for an eighteen-year-old confidante.
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He’d never been one for relationships––they were always so much work, before, and then when he’d found Erik and everything had started to make an inevitable kind of sense, he thought he’d have time––but now the worst part of it is that he can see his future stretching out before him, alone, alone, alone, and it doesn’t get better.
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He thinks about it once––just once, that's all. It wouldn't be very hard. He knows how people do it, how it ends. But Jean interrupts him as he contemplates the easiest method––even in this last he is a coward––and somehow he forgets all about it.
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Erik comes to him first. Once the wall between them is breached Charles breathes easy for the first time since Cuba. “Join me,” Erik says, holding out his hand, “please,” and Charles has to look away––to disappoint him yet again.
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“I can’t,” he says, but takes the hand. “Come here.”
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Erik says, I can’t, but he comes anyway, gentle.