Disclaimer: I do not own Charles or Erik, although you would be forgiven for thinking a slasher wrote Excalibur.
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Set early in the run of Claremont's recent Excalibur series. Whether or not you think this is slash probably depends on whether you thought there was a way to read the comic as something other than the gayest thing that ever gayed.
"I don't know what you find so amusing."
"Did I imply in any way that this was funny?"
Erik turned and fixed him with a steely blue gaze, as behind him the saucepan in the sink continued to scrub itself with steel wool. "You don't have to say anything, I know you too well."
"That's hardly fair. It's not as though you can read my mind."
If Charles was being honest, Erik was right. Usually, he was the one who burned things, which was why he left the cooking to other people. If the millions who feared him – and not without reason – could have seen the Master of Magnetism standing in his kitchen fretting over a burned saucepan, they'd have probably been incredulous. And amused.
"You do realise that this is all your fault," Erik said, returning his attention to the sink.
"I'm sorry that our bolognaise is burned beyond salvation, but I hardly think it's my fault that you became so absorbed in proving me wrong about the American electoral system that you forgot about dinner."
"You should have reminded me." Charles knew there was some anxiety mixed in with the irritation, even without reading his housemate's thoughts. Erik hated wasting food, and his concern wasn't without practical foundation. The devastated island of Genosha was not exactly well-supplied.
"Shall we call for pizza?" Charles asked.
Erik didn't dignify his joke with a response, instead crouching down in front of an open cupboard and rummaging inside it. "I'll improvise."
"You know, if it was just me I wouldn't bother. I don't think I've missed a meal since I came here, at least not when you've been around. I may be putting on weight."
Erik emerged from the cupboard holding a tin of tomatoes, and one of anchovies. "I somehow doubt it, with all the energy you've been expending exploring the island. Do we have any basil?"
"It doesn't seem especially likely, does it?" Charles replied. "Normally, I'd suggest you make us a quick omelet, but under the circumstances ..."
Erik smiled wryly. "Even I can't make powdered eggs edible."
"I wonder if we have any mutants here who could do that?" Charles mused. "Theoretically, of course, I could make people think they tasted like fresh eggs."
"It would seem simpler to start keeping chickens."
"That would be nice. Fresh eggs for breakfast. If only there was an easy way to get toast."
"Mmmm," Erik said, noncommittally. The cupboard closed with a snap, and a moment later, a different one opened and a frying pan floated out.
"So, you don't think we should get chickens?"
"It's not high on my list of priorities." He shook what looked like far too much dried pasta into the pot of water bubbling on the stove.
Sensing that dinner was approaching in its altered form, Charles reached for the bottle of red wine on the table that Erik had opened earlier, pouring out two glasses. "It would be rather … permanent, wouldn't it? Keeping livestock."
"Are you going to psychoanalyze me now, professor?" Erik asked, with a raised eyebrow. He opened the anchovies with his powers, and tipped them into the frying pan to cook in their own oil.
Erik did know him too well. "Some people might say that your reluctance to keep chickens is indicative of a subconscious unwillingness to commit yourself to staying here on a long-term basis." He said it lightly, but he knew Erik would be able to tell that it was his way of asking the question he's been afraid to find out the answer to.
"I'm exactly as committed to rebuilding this place as you are," Erik said.
"Touché." Charles smiled, and took a mouthful of his wine.
Erik added the tomatoes to his impromptu sauce, and a metal spoon began to stir them gently as he lowered himself into the chair opposite Charles. "You know, I used to think about doing this, back in Israel."
"I seem to recall we shared a lot of dinners. You even burned a saucepan once, do you remember? When we were drunk?"
"I didn't mean that," Erik said, refusing to be sidetracked into nostalgia. "I meant you and I, building something together."
This was another thing that neither of them had wanted to speak about lately.
There was another time when they were sure that their future together would be a constructive and peaceful one, until it all fell apart. Sometimes this reminds Charles so much of Haifa that it's almost physically painful, and it's impossible not to worry that the same thing will happen all over again.
"Do you think things would have been different," he said, "if we'd said something sooner?" Not telling Erik about his powers before Gabrielle's kidnapping was one of Charles' lasting regrets.
"Different, certainly. Better … I don't know."
"Perhaps this is how it was meant to be." They had so many illusions about each other and the world back then that have been torn away by time - at least now they had seen the worst in each other. Charles tried to think of this as a good thing.
"I don't believe that, and neither do you," Erik said, getting up to check on the pasta. "This is almost ready," he says.
Charles recognized the signal to change the subject to something less weighty. They've both been doing that a lot, treading carefully around all the awkward places in their relationship. Every time they get too close to some awful thing one of them did to the other, the conversation veers away. It's as if they both think that by pretending it never happened, they can rewind everything.
"Will we survive without the basil?" Charles said, telling himself it was a bad idea to push Erik before he was ready to talk about something more important than their poor access to fresh herbs.
"Yes, but it is a pity there's no cheese."
"Cows!" Charles said, with a grin. "Or goats. Goats are hardy, and they make good cheese. We could export."
Erik actually rolls his eyes at that. "I think we should begin with something smaller."
Charles wasn't going to push his luck by suggesting that they acquire a few sheep. "Chickens it is, then."
"One thing at a time. If your new-found obsession with livestock can wait a while, we have to consider a better way to supply everyone here with reliable fresh water."
Erik dishes up dinner, and they talk about island infrastructure and chicken varieties. One thing at a time, they somehow seem to be managing.
The End