[fic] Skidding Down the Sliding Scale 1/2

[keire_ke]

Title: Skidding Down the Sliding Scale 1/1
Rating: 14
Genre: fun
Pairings: Erik/Charles, Alex/Hank
Wordcount: 19k
Warnings: creative use of homophobia, crazy teenage logic
Summary: Alex chalks up his grudging love for his dad to Stockholm Syndrome. He’s not going to stand idly by while Erik harvests Mr. Xavier’s innocent soul, however. Human AU.

Author’s Note: continuation of Playing Havoc.

Damn you, kink meme! Damn you to hell!

Betaed by yami_tai and imprint_of_doe. <3



Coronary arrest feels like a fistful of ice shoved down the back of his shirt, a feeling Alex is intimately familiar with, because Erik used that exact method to teach him that getting up at the crack of dawn is good for him.

It was only the development of fabulous abs, a result of running every morning to shake off the cold, that stopped Alex from hiring a live alligator to put in Erik’s bed. When he thinks back on it, it was probably a good thing he decided against it; putting a live alligator in Erik’s bed might have resulted in Alex getting a new, scaly mother, and then he would have had no friends whatsoever.

His life is complicated like that.

Right now, Raven flutters madly at his side and, if Alex knows anything at all about girls, about Raven, she is mentally diving for her phone, because she is a colossal pervert, and Erik is soaped up and splayed on the hood of a dripping wet car, next to an equally disheveled Mr. Xavier. If life was porn, and, god willing, Alex remains hopeful, they would be humping in under a minute.

Oh god, he did not just have that thought about Mr. Xavier.

“It’s like he’s doing it on purpose,” Raven says, slack-jawed, when Erik takes control of the hose and sprays everything in thirty foot radius, grinning inanely.

“I think I’ve seen a porno like this once,” Angel says, and props a wet sponge on her shoulder so that the suds drip between her breasts and soak into her black bikini.

“Kill me,” Alex says miserably.

Mr. Xavier straightens and an honest to god giggle escapes his mouth. He turns to look at Erik, a guileless fool, and somehow their gazes meet, his grin gets wider, and Alex wants to die.

When Erik notices them watching, he blows a raspberry in their direction. Alex really, really wants to die then.

He escapes the humiliation as soon as he is able. Raven invites him and Hank over, to toast the success (the class trip is now more than a certainty, she says) and demolish Charles’ private stash of vodka.

“You know, I really think Charles has a thing for your dad,” she tells him later that evening. She sways as she speaks and the lamp light glistens in the scaly pattern of her bikini. Alex tops off her shot glass and raises the bottle in a silent salute. “Can’t blame him, your dad is a total DILF.”

Hank is so smashed, he actually nods. He must have forgotten sunscreen, because his face, around the pale circles left by sunglasses, looks pink. He’s stretched out all the way across Raven’s bedroom, all seventeen and a half feet of him (and every inch wasted on a nerd who’d much rather read than run, in Alex’s humble opinion), with his head propped on his hands. There are wet patches on his shorts, his shirt is hanging off one shoulder and sticking to the other. If he was a girl, Alex would be staring down cleavage, but things being what they are, all he can see is shallow valley of Hank’s sternum.

“He kinda is. Like a bad biker person in leather,” Hank says into the carpet.

Alex, who is in the process of taking a swig straight up from the bottle, chokes, coughs and addresses everyone in turn. “Please take that back, Raven. Please. For the love of god. And you, no. Just no. Gay people don’t get to vote on the hotness of my dad. He’s my dad!”

“Nope. He really is. Totally smitten.” Raven pours herself another shot.

“He’s not gay,” Alex says, desperately. He’s not sure if he’s talking about his father or Mr. Xavier. The picture of the two of them on the hood of the car is far more vivid than he’s comfortable with.

“Everyone is gay for Charles. He’s got this thing going on for him. Trust me. Everyone.” Raven looks around and lowers her voice. When she finally speaks it is very nearly sober. “My brother -- half-brother -- his stepbrother -- is totally gay for Charles. Was. Of course he is also insane, but my point is made.”

“Mr. Xavier isn’t gay!”

“No, but he’s willing to wing it.” Raven leans into him, grinning like the devil-woman she is, and licks her lips. “That one time, I saw him making out with the captain of the football team -- he was in college then, you wouldn’t believe the slut he was -- and I swear to god, that guy has been straight as an arrow all his life. A perfect zero on the Kinsey scale. Or ten. Can’t remember.”

Alex feels his brain trickle out of his ears. He’s happy to let it, if it gets the images out of his mind. Hank reaches out to pat him on the head, but only manages to shove Alex’s forehead into the carpet. The feel of his fingers in Alex’s hair is soothing, however, so he remains for the time being, crushed under the weight of the world.

He returns home in the morning, because fuck if he’s going to risk life and limb finding his way home in the dark. He leaves Raven’s palace -- or Mr. Xavier’s palace, really -- together with Hank, finding the requisite balance somewhere between the two of them. The pavement is a little unsteady under their feet, but Hank hasn’t been winning science fairs since he was five for nothing. He calculates (Alex can hear the numbers crunch in his brain) and adjusts the angle and they walk propped against each other, shoving one foot in front of the other, and it works beautifully. Hank’s warmth sinks into Alex’s shoulder, providing a nice counterpoint to the cool breeze which follows the nape of his neck. All the impulses meet somewhere in the center of his being and Alex is comfortable; Hank breathing on his side, pavement meeting his feet at regular intervals, everything is fine.

He’s going to miss it next year, when they all go to college, Alex thinks unexpectedly. It’s not a happy thought.

“If you’re so smart,” Alex says, slurring only a little, “how come you can’t walk and talk at the same time?”

“I can.”

“No, you can’t. You’ve been silent.”

“Nothing to say.” Hank is flushed and biting his lip and Alex knows he’s right when the rhythm of his steps falters.

“Knew it! You are so confused right now.”

“That’s my house,” Hank says and shoves his hands in his pockets. Alex stumbles and pauses to confirm that, yes, this is the place.

“Huh.”

“You want me to walk you home?”

“Hey, I walked you home, if anything. Nah, I got it. Good night, bozo,” Alex says.

“Good morning,” Hank tells him and almost grins. Almost, because for Hank grinning is like whipping off his pants and jumping into a fountain -- something that just isn’t done. His smile is good though, showing a proper amount of teeth, accompanied by a merry twinkle in his eyes. Hank might be a nerd, but he’s got the smile down. If he had any follow through, he would be swimming up to his ears in girls. Guys. Hank prefers guys.

Alex swallows, waves and stumbles proudly around the corner. He’s come to a tentative agreement with the pavement, so the road is uneventful, but the gates try to give him lip. He’s not going to spend his morning standing there and arguing with gates, god fucking damn it, and eventually he collapses over them, holding on with one hand and coming to rest on his own two feet on the other side.

The keyhole, the cheeky asshole, has the gall to resist. Alex jabs the key in with more force than necessary and then falls forward as the door swings open and he is lying at Erik’s feet.

“You,” Alex says, glaring at the carnivorous Cheshire Cat, who peers at him from the height of six feet and wears his father’s face, “are the worst father in existence. In the history of ever.”

“That reminds me, I was going to sell you into slavery. I knew there was something I was forgetting.”

“I want therapy. Because you are an awful person and Jesus fuck, could you make any more of a spectacle of yourself? In front of my entire class? I demand therapy!”

“You will have to email me about it.” Erik picks up a pair of sunglasses from the shelf and lights a cigarette.

“What, are you going somewhere?”

“I’m late. There’s cold beer in the fridge, in case you’re hungover, but I can see that won’t be for a while yet.”

“Where are you going?”

“Hopefully not to whore myself out for your grades.” Erik stares at him and blows out a perfect circle of smoke. His smile gleams in the blue nicotine mist. “Are you failing anything?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Good. I’ll be back sometime. Try not to burn down the house.”

“I have a bottle of gasoline ready to go under your bed!” Alex yells, but the most he achieves is Erik flipping him the bird. Alex glares, because what the fuck, seriously, even as the old lady at the curb and her poodle give him the stink eye. “Good morning, Mrs. Lambert. Any problems?”

She huffs and pulls the mangy dog to the other side of the street.

Alex picks himself up, even though the carpet in the hallway feels like a bed fit for a king, and drudges upstairs. He falls into his bed and the covers swallow him whole, closing over his head like a cloud of eternal fluffiness.

Alex sleeps the sleep of one who knows their criminally insane father is out of the house for the foreseeable future.

He wakes up in the afternoon and fixes dinner. Erik still isn’t back, so Alex reluctantly leaves the rest of the pasta in the pot and showers.

The world is somewhat normal, for a certain given value of normal.

*****

Monday morning begins like the apocalypse isn’t sure to strike later that week. Alex chews his way through his breakfast oatmeal and leaves for school with twenty seconds to spare.

Tuesday is more of the same, only considerably brighter, because he’s got the first period with Mr. Xavier, who is, oddly enough for a teacher, not a complete waste of space. It’s advanced biology, so it requires active neurons, but Alex is happy to pay attention when Mr. Xavier talks, if only because he gets adorable when the subject is of enough interest, and he has been stuck on hereditary traits for a while now. Alex nods and makes notes, only occasionally peering into Hank’s notebook (it never hurts to double-check).

Mr. Xavier drops the chalk and runs his hand through his hair, leaving a grey smudge across his scalp, and he turns to the class with earnest joy in his gaze. “This is the key to understanding evolution,” he says. “Chance and chance again. A random trait could mean death or life to a specimen, depending on the accident of territory, or conditions, or company, and these traits are accidents themselves, brought upon by mistakes or flukes of the system responsible for duplicating and translating the genetic code. The creature that lives multiplies, thus passing the traits on and on, until the species becomes something entirely new.”

Mr. Xavier is flushed and his bangs falls into his eyes, chalk-dust and all, and Alex draws a toothy shark on the margin of his notebook. He wonders what accident of evolution gave birth to Erik and where exactly evolution ran to hide from her accidental creation.

He shows the drawing to Hank later. They have a good laugh. The rest of the week is uneventful.

On Saturday, they leave for the trip. Alex is half awake when he shoves his duffle-bag into the back-seat of the Chevy and he could swear he dozes on the way to school. Someone had the bright idea to leave at the ass-crack of dawn, and though Alex is capable of getting out of bed, if required, he is not happy about it.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Erik says. “That way you’ll all be dead in the bus.”

“Shut up,” Alex mutters and tries not to slobber on the window. “Too early to deal with you. Don’t you have souls to lure to the side of Satan?”

“That’s my evening job. In the mornings I work for Microsoft.”

Then facts from this morning present themselves for inspection, fashionably late. “How are you even awake?” It’s too damn early and Erik is tweeting like a goddamn canary. Alex stares at him and frantically curses his brain for not reacting to the filter command, because the picture he’s seeing isn’t getting any sharper and the nags in the back of his head have found hammers. He is missing something, but he won’t turn back, because if Erik looks as happy as he sounds, then fire and brimstone is raining from the sky and the moment Alex turns, someone’s guts will hit the windshield.

He isn’t sure whether he should be glad or apprehensive about the lack of intestines on the car when they roll into the school courtyard. They are not the first ones there, which is a surprise, given the hour. Erik parks the car on the far end of the courtyard, beneath the trees, and raises a brow when Alex grunts.

“Out.”

“Leave me alone,” Alex moans, but fighting Erik is largely impractical. He ends up dragging his duffle behind him as he makes his way towards the bus.

“Alex, Erik, good morning!” Mr. Xavier comes to greet them. He has overdosed his Prozac, if the beaming smile is any indication. Alex looks at him blearily, half-expecting to see sun rays glowing right out of his head, but all he manages to note is Raven, rolling her eyes over Mr. Xavier’s shoulder.

“Would you believe me if I told you he is depressed by being awake?” she says in a stage whisper that carries to the everyone who is already there. “Always at his sunniest in the mornings. Swear to god.”

“I thought he was on happy pills.”

“Oh, I’ve got that figured out. The bricks of our house are made of happy pills.”

“Really?”

“That’s the only explanation, I’ve been searching for them for years and he kept getting more chipper the earlier I woke. I figure he’s licking the walls when I’m not looking.”

“Or, I have a splendid brain chemistry that has me at my best in the early mornings.” Mr. Xavier laughs at the two of them and waves towards the yellow monstrosity waiting for them across the lot. “You can sleep on the bus.”

“Thank god for that.” Alex picks up his bag and rubs his face. “Bye, Dad,” he throws over his shoulder.

“Alex,” Erik says and as Alex turns something hits him in the chest. He wraps his arms around it reflexively and stares. It’s a duffle bag.

He wishes it was full of dynamite, or uranium, or condoms. Alex hopes to be told his mission is to assassinate the president, blow up the White House -- hell, he’d be happy if he was told to self-immolate by the Washington Memorial -- because the alternative which suggests itself holds more horror.

“Be a dear and pack it, will you?” Erik says, making the horror a reality.

“What the fuck?” Alex manages, as he is treated to the full extent of his father’s smile, the one that seems to reach all around his head and come at a guy from the other side of a room like a surprise flock of piranhas. “What the actual fuck!”

“Alex, language.” Mr. Xavier frowns. “Your father was kind enough to volunteer to chaperone the trip, seeing that the school is understaffed at the moment.”

Alex processes this one syllable at a time, even as Raven squeals. “Okay,” he says eventually. “That’s a good one. Where’s Freddy?”

“Who?”

“Freddy Krueger. Because I’m dreaming.” Probably in Erik’s trunk, begging for mercy, Alex reflects even as he says, “You can’t be serious.”

“I never kid around.” Erik’s grins narrows into something almost civilized. Great job, Dad, Alex thinks, you almost look like you don’t belong in the Jurassic Park, chasing down a panicked T-Rex.

“You hate kids. You hate everybody!”

“Having standards is not a crime now?”

“Your standards automatically exclude ninety percent of the human race.”

“Alex, please. Those would be very sorry standards indeed.” Erik looks at Mr. Xavier out of the corner of his eye. Alex can’t place the expression his face melts into. “My standards automatically exclude everyone. It is only a lucky few who can claw their way back into my good graces.”

“You have good graces? Since when?”

“Alex,” Mr. Xavier says, hiding a smile behind his clipboard.

“I give up. What did I do?”

“What did you do?”

“Come on, you wouldn’t be here if I didn’t do something terrible. What did I do? Forgot the shopping? Mixed in the red shirt with the whites? Chewed on your turtlenecks? What?”

“Why would you chew on my turtlenecks?”

“I’m teething. Answer the goddamn question!”

“Alex, language,” Erik says, parroting Mr. Xavier’s posh accent.

“I’m sorry for whatever it is I did. I’ll do all the chores for a month when I get back. Can we quit the nonsense now?”

More kids trickle into the yard, some with parents, some without. Erik’s grin only gets wider. “Good morning Mrs. Cassidy,” he calls over Alex’s shoulder.

Alex tries to have the earth open up beneath his feet. When his efforts fail, he prays for an alternative. Anything. Martian attack. Third world war. The plagues. Sudden onslaught of chicken pox, for crying out loud!

“Get in the bus,” Erik tells him sweetly. “You wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“If I promise to stay with Mom, can I stay?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The trip will be educational.”

Alex narrows his eyes and looks to the side, at Raven, who is staring at them with little hearts bouncing in her eyes. “God is punishing me.”

“Preposterous. God has long since ceded the job to me.”

“Excuse me.” Mrs. Cassidy is pulling a distraught looking Sean behind her. “Mr. Xavier tells me you will be chaperoning the trip?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? The kids can be a handful.”

Erik smiles at Mrs. Cassidy and when Alex hears the overture to his “I am an intensely fuckable shark, don’t you want to trust me?” speech, he dives for the bus. Sean follows, because unlike his hapless mother, he has met Erik before. From there they watch the drama unfold.

“He’s really into your mom,” Angel says.

Outside Erik laughs and props the splayed fingers of his right hand on his cocked hip. Mrs. Cassidy leans a little closer to him. If Alex could see her face, he is sure he would see little stars in her eyes.

“My mom’s married, thank you very much,” Sean says.

Angel snorts. “I’d fuck him if I was married. Hell, I’d fuck him if I was a lesbian.”

“Aren’t you a lesbian?”

“Do I look like a lesbian to you?”

“I dunno, but I have photos of your tongue down Raven’s throat. They make a compelling argument.”

“Raven doesn’t count.”

“Raven totally counts,” Raven says, pressing against Angel and blowing a raspberry in her direction, before turning to the window. “I agree. I would totally do him in a heartbeat.”

“I’d take longer, or he wouldn’t go back for more.” Sean grins and evades the mad swipe Raven takes at his head.

Alex slams his face against the backrest. Maybe if he breaks his nose he won’t have to go. That’s not a bad idea: he could give himself a concussion and then Erik would have to take him to the ER and he wouldn’t be able to go on this stupid, stupid trip and end his social life forever.

“Alex?”

Alex turns to get an eyeful of Mr. Xavier’s worried, baby-blue stare. “Are you feeling alright?” His mouth is curved in a worried pout and Alex can just see the apprehension pouring out of every pore of his body. The early morning sunshine, coming through the window, paints his skin pink and brings out the unearthly vivid color of his eyes.

“I’m just sleepy,” he says, and glares at his father, who, somehow, notices. Alex really doesn’t like the look of that face.

“We have a few hours’ worth of a drive ahead of us,” Mr. Xavier says. On the other side of the glass Erik bids Mrs. Cassidy goodbye and boards the bus. “Plenty of time to catch up.”

“Charles,” Erik says. Alex takes one look at him and slams his forehead against the backrest again. There is a clipboard in Erik’s hand and a smirk one his face that looks too benevolent to be genuine. Oh god, he’s plotting someone’s murder, and by the direction of his gaze, Mr. Xavier is his intended victim. Alex freezes. “I’ve got everybody ticked off.”

“Oh, wonderful. We still have fifteen minutes, but if everyone is here we can go.”

The bus starts and, when they hit the highway, Alex feels an intimate sense of kinship with the songwriters of AC/DC. “We are going to hell,” he tells Sean.

“Probably. Hey, did you pack any weed?”

“Not as much as I’m going to need.”

*****

It takes Alex all of three hours to conclude there is not enough weed in the world to get him through this trip. The rest of the time he spends wondering how to rectify the situation.

“I knew you were out to get me to commit ritual suicide,” he tells Erik when they file into the hotel. “I just thought there were more humane ways.”

“I’m out of goats at the moment.”

“I hate you.”

“Yes, but your friend Raven keeps staring at me like I’m made of chocolate and I have seen the things she does to chocolate ice cream. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I could swear she is happy I’m here.”

“Can I murder you in your sleep? Please. You can make it my birthday and Christmas gift.”

“What did I say about murder?”

Alex sighs. “Not to do it unless I can get away with it.”

“Exactly.”

“You could get me off on a technicality though.”

“I could get the victim’s family to apologize for wasting your time, if I so desired. Then again, given your plans that wouldn’t help you, now would it?” Erik slings the duffle bag over his shoulder and looks to Mr. Xavier, who is coming towards them with a handful of keys in hand.

“Alright, Alex, you’ll be rooming with Hank, Armando, you’re with Sean, Raven, this is for you and Angel, Azazel, Janos, and here’s Kitty and Ororo.”

“I hope you get to sleep on the curb,” Alex mutters in Erik’s direction.

“We’re in 62, Erik,” Mr. Xavier says brightly, mindless of the destruction he rains upon Alex’s thus far calm mindset. The man hands over the key to his own personal hell, just like that, like it was nothing, like his whole life didn’t depend on it. “I’ll just finish the paperwork here.”

He is going to be eviscerated, the fool.

“Thank you.” Erik twirls the key on his finger. “Up you go,” he tells the kids.

“So are you going to stand there or are we gonna go up?” Hank asks.

Alex resists the urge to punch him in the face. “What, does your make-up need redoing? Chill the fuck out.”

*****

Against all expectations Mr. Xavier is still alive when everyone assembles in the dining room for dinner. He continues to be persistently alive at supper and, judging by the fact that there are no ice cubes in Alex’s bed the next morning, he is the one going round with the wake-up call, which indicates he survived the night.

Alex withholds judgement until he sees the man, because Erik has been known to fuck with his head from time to time, but Mr. Xavier is cheerful, whole and sipping tea at the breakfast table. Erik is sitting at his side, glaring at his coffee cup.

“I wouldn’t even call it a coffee. It’s an abomination. A slap in the face to the entire industry, insult to generations of fair trade farmers.”

“All the more reason to switch to tea, my friend.”

“Do you know you might be the first person to consider me anyone’s friend before morning coffee? I happen to know that before the second cup I’m considered public enemy number one. My own grandmother leaves the kitchen before I have my coffee.”

“It’s a talent of mine.”

“I’m amazed you’ve lived this long.”

“It’s not the only talent of mine.” Mr. Xavier smiles. “Toast?”

“If it kills the taste of this garbage, certainly.”

“I can’t promise miracles. We might stop by a Starbucks later, if you wish.”

“I said I want coffee, not a cup full of fluffy milk with sprinkles.”

Sean leans across the table, so that his pale face hovers like the moon over his cereal. Alex starts. “They seem to be getting along okay,” Sean says, indicating the two men further down.

Alex spends the rest of the meal watching that end of the table like a hawk. He’s covert about it, he’s the motherfucking James Bond, only less British. He’s chatting up Raven and watching Erik put on the sheepskin and flutter his eyelashes. Oh, he’s got it down, baby! No way Erik’s making a move on his watch. No way in hell.

“Charles is such a slut,” Raven says meanwhile. She has the good sense to be quiet about it, so Alex is the only one who hears. Forget the blatant untruth of the accusation (because Alex has spoken with the man, no way in hell he’s scored half of what Raven claims he has), Mr. Xavier is their teacher. Alex is the only son of a top-notch lawyer, who cares what specialty, so he knows all about slander and the required need to keep one’s tongue under lock and key. “Oh well. At least one of us will get laid.”

A sunflower seed detaches from the bread Alex is chewing and makes a valiant effort to explore the respiratory regions, hitherto untouched by food. Someone slaps his back before he can vomit through his eyeballs and the whole thing ends in a very embarrassing coughing spell.

“Try not to choke at the table,” Erik calls. “It’s unhygienic.”

Alex scowls. Mostly at Raven. “He’s my dad.”

“So what, he’s not allowed to have sex?”

Alex opens his mouth and honestly tries to explain that obviously, it’s his own damn bedroom, he can do whatever he wants, and that Alex knows for a fact Erik is fucking Alex’s mother whenever she’s around, and oddly enough he’s got no beef with that. He’s walked in on enough questionable situations to get the message: parents are people too, and people have sex.

“Raven, if I could pack Erik in a box and give him to you for Christmas, I would,” he says instead, because it’s easier than voicing his misgivings. “But please, I’m begging you, never bring that up again.”

“Huh. Do you think morphine would work?” Raven taps her mouth, looking thoughtful. “There must be a drug of some kind, right?”

“One that induces amnesia, if you plan to live to see the light of next day.”

“Or really good ropes. I bet he’d look good in ropes.”

“He’d mostly look pissed and that wouldn’t be half as hot as you think,” Alex says. Mom has a collection of shibari art photos and more than enough pairs of handcuffs for Alex to know not only that Erik, given a paperclip, can get out of four pairs of handcuffs in under a minute, but also that he doesn’t much like being tied up.

“You know it’s creepy how much you know about his sex life, right?”

“You know it’s creepy how much you know about Charles’?” Alex parrots and dodges a well-aimed bread crust. “At least I have the excuse of Erik not giving a fuck about my peace of mind, what’s yours?”

“We’re only a little related.”

“The same woman gave birth to you both, you’re pretty damn related.”

“At least he’s not my father.” Raven flicks her long hair over he shoulder and straightens her back. Her blouse is open to reveal a low-cut tank top beneath, and a hint of a blue bra. Alex is not ashamed to stare, because her breasts are just that awesome.

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says and grins, dodging yet another projectile.

“Raven…” Mr. Xavier is staring at them and his lip wobbles. “Please. We are among civilized folks here, let’s act it.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, but turns to Angel. Alex smiles at Mr. Xavier and glares at his father simultaneously, which ends up seriously confounding his facial muscles.

*****

“You realize stalking is illegal,” Hank whispers directly into Alex’s ear. The warm air sends shivers down Alex’s spine, ruffling some hitherto undiscovered inner hair inside his chest. Alex can’t wait to get into medicine and start cutting people open. Somewhere inside there is the answer to the mystery of the fluttering gushes he feels every time Hank stands too close, and damn if he isn’t going to find it.

“It’s not stalking if we live together, right? Besides, I’m just keeping watch.” Hank is a comforting presence against his shoulder -- most of all, he’s warm, and Alex has been crouching on the shadowed stone for far too long. His ass is numb, to start with.

“On whom?”

“Abraham Lincoln.” Alex makes a show of looking over his shoulder, but no, Abe’s sitting where he’s sat for ages now. “Seems to be doing well for himself.”

“I didn’t think you were a fan of chess.”

“Fan of what?”

Hank smiles his squirrelly smile and points. “I’ve watched them play a little, they are good.”

“I never got chess. I know Erik’s really good at it, though.”

“You don’t play?”

“Not well enough to be a challenge to a kindergartner.” Alex looks down at the casual way Mr. Xavier is sprawled on the stairs, the easy brightness of the smile, Erik’s smirk (this he infers from posture, rather than sees, because the most he can see of Erik’s face is the hint of grey at his temple) and the lake shimmering between them.

The weather is changing, however. The sun is trying its best, but the rays of light stand out against the bruising mass of cumulonimbi, which close in on the city. Alex hears the first gushes of wind and far in the distance he sees the lightning strike, splitting the sky directly between Mr. Xavier and Erik.

“If that’s not a sign from god, I don’t know what is,” Alex says as he gets up.

“What? What sign?”

“Never mind.”

Mr. Xavier sits up and stands, extending a hand to Erik. He says something, obviously a joke by the way the corner of his lips curls into his cheek and shakes his head.

Alex bemoans the naivete of school teachers, then Erik takes the proffered hand and as he stands Alex sees the look on his face. Erik looks hungry. His teeth are bared in a smile and his gaze is fixed on the back of Mr. Xavier’s head.

This is what terror must feel like, Alex thinks, as he stares at Erik, who is still watching Mr. Xavier. Erik, who is channelling the ice ages of gruesome battles for survival into a single stare of supernova intensity.

“Hank,” Alex says, as his heart does flopping motions inside his chest. He remembers the stare. He has watched a cat play with a mouse before. “We need to save Mr. Xavier.”

Hank, to his credit, doesn’t ask stupid questions. He doesn’t protest. He just nods. “Okay… What’s your plan?”

Alex can only stare. He’s not one for planning. Never was. He’s the guy who rushes in and yells, sometimes sets things on fire, then deals with the fallout. Nine times out of ten setting the problem on fire does away with it, and the resulting other problem (the fire) is manageable by more physical means.

If all troubles could be solved by a fire extinguisher, Alex would be a happy man. He could go round solving any and all issues by setting shit on fire and then swooping in to save the day with a bright red extinguisher, because not a single fuck is given about the pesky details of broken hearts when a handsome stranger with a fire extinguisher appears to put out a fire.

“Alex,” Hank says. “The plan?”

“Working on it.” He could set the hotel on fire and frame Erik. That could work. He knows his way around a bucket of gasoline, thanks to a very enlightening three hours spent with Erik in an empty parking lot (God, Alex can’t help but adore Erik with all of his heart, sometimes, because to a fourteen year old there is nothing more beautiful than an explosion). He could easily plant the evidence in Erik’s room, then Erik would be arrested and promptly sentenced, and then he would be carted off to some remote, government-controlled location and left there, until Mr. Xavier settled down and got himself a squad of bodyguards and moved to a thinly populated island in the Pacific.

Alex considers his triumphant victory parade in his head, but whatever he does Erik is there; he stands off to the side with his arms folded across his chest and a handful of red balloons in his hand and he is grinning. Fuck. The plan would require putting Erik in court, in front of a judge and jury.

Alex has seen Erik go to court, once, on Mom’s behest. Her business was facing a lawsuit over something really silly, Alex couldn’t recall what it was, because he was ten then, and it was the first time he saw his parents for when they truly were. They sat together at the table, Mom in an immaculate snow-white suit, Dad in charcoal grey, and when Erik casually leaned against the table and began his speech, Alex saw the counsel opposing them drown in his own sweat and tears.

No. Erik in court was not a good plan, ever.

Back to the drawing board, then.

*****

“Three most common causes of mutation,” Alex mumbles into his forearm, “are insertion, deletion and mismatch.” Hell. Stupid Mr. Xavier. Stupid shorthand. Stupid red ink.

He blinks tiredly at his notes and shoves them off his bed. Stupid goddamned college biology. Stupid Mr. Xavier, for taking them all the way to DC for a lecture by the grandfather of all knowledge of genetics.

Stupid Mr. Xavier for assigning papers on the goddamned subject.

Somewhere below a door slams and Alex sits up.

“Dad?” he asks when he gets downstairs.

Erik glares at him. He’s still wearing his impeccable work suit, his hair is neatly combed over his forehead, and the tie could be used as a ruler, because the edges of the knot are an exercise in perfection. He looks like a million dollars in a suitcase. “What?”

His face, on the other hand, is locked in an expression of anger far outside the limits of professional setbacks.

“What the hell happened?” Alex asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Erik jerks on his tie. The knots comes unravelled at his fingertips and the tie crumples to the floor in a dead faint. Even Erik’s wardrobe is smart, Alex thinks, playing dead while the storm is raging. “Sebastian fucking Shaw,” he says by way of explanation and falls silent. The angry vibes start rattling the furniture, however, so Alex moves to the kitchen and gets out a bottle of whiskey. After a moment’s thought he puts a pot on the stove and gets the milk, too.

It takes a while, but when he goes back he is holding a huge mug of hot chocolate, which is about one-third milk, one-third whiskey, a dollop of honey and the rest of it the blackest chocolate known to mankind. He holds it out as both a shield and a white flag.

“How bad was it?” he asks, though he mostly wants to know what happened, because the name doesn’t ring too many bells. Erik snorts at him and makes a face, but drains half of the cup in one go.

“I wanted to kill the fucker in school, but now? Now I want to eviscerate him.”

“Won’t that kill him, too?”

“It’s not so much the fact, but the manner of his demise,” Erik tells him and falls into the chair with a sigh. He cradles the mug in his hands and sips at it.

It’s weird; every book Alex has read in his life insisted that a man with a mug of hot cocoa in his hands should look fluffy and harmless and squishable. Erik looks like a shark with teeth stained by a brown, coagulated substance. Shows what literature knows about life, really.

“Murder is still illegal.”

“Damn shame. The more time I have to spend with the man, the more I regret homosexuality being taken off the WHO disease list. He’s a fucking menace. If I could pick up a phone and watch them put him in a straight jacket and into isolation, I would.”

Okay. “Uh. What?”

Erik lets out a long breath. “Never mind. I really want to punch someone, and I can’t punch him, because the son of a bitch has connections. Or, knowing him, incriminating photos of connected people.”

“Who’s that Shaw guy, anyway?”

“He was my thesis advisor. Now he’s brokering my motherfucking deal from the other motherfucking side.”

“So, you’re saying he’s better than you.”

“So, you want to live without your spleen?”

“I’m not seeing the problem, really. He’s a douchebag, I get it, but so are you.”

“The problem is that he is a fucking pervert and wants in my pants,” Erik sing-songs and puts the mug on the table. “I swear to god, if I ever see his disgusting queer face after I wipe the floor with it, I will break something expensive.”

Alex opens his mouth and then closes it. He might not be Mr. Sensitive, or even Mr. I Sense Something Vaguely Emotional, So I Will Cautiously Inch Away, but he knows issues when he sees them.

“Can’t you get a restraining order?” he asks.

“Not until he starts showing up naked in my bed, I can’t.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna let that stop you? What kind of a lawyer are you?”

“Restraining orders are not equivalent to flipping someone the bird. It takes honest effort and a prosecutable reason to procure one.”

“I could maybe slash his tires,” Alex says. “Harass him a little. Show up naked in his bed. Then he’d have to take a restraining order against me. Since I live with you, then he can’t show up here, right?”

Erik guffaws. “I will keep that in mind,” he says when he calms down.

“I could set his car on fire.”

“You will stay right here.”

“Come on, douchebags deserve some comeuppance, right? A slashed tire is the least we can do.”

“Alex.” Erik picks up the mug and drains the last of the chocolate. “Don’t. He’s a fucking disgusting excuse for a human being, which is exactly why you will give him a wide berth. Are we clear on this?”

Alex shrugs. It’s not like he doesn’t trust Erik to make that guy cry if he tries anything. Things being what they are, he should probably seek out this Shaw character and console him over the horror he is about to rain down upon his own head, by hitting on Erik.

He forgets about it until the next month, when Erik doesn’t return home Sunday night. Sure, he calls, but Alex spends the lonely evening biting his fingernails. Erik is staying the night at Mr. Xavier’s place, which is bad, so bad.

He doesn’t fully realize how bad until he gets to school on Monday and Raven is waxing poetry to the perfection of Erik’s abdominal muscles.

“So you’re saying Erik stayed the night and stripped for your viewing pleasure?” he asks as he sits down.

Hank chokes on his sandwich.

“I can hope, but no. I just caught him when he went to shower and let me tell you, I have never been this glad that the guest rooms have a shared bathroom in the corridor,” Raven rambles on and Alex starts hitting his forehead against the table.

“Why was he staying over, anyway?” Sean asks.

“They were playing a very enthusiastic game of chess and then it got late.”

Angel grins a very nasty grin. “Did they fuck?”

“Not for a lack of trying. Charles fancies Erik something awful. It’s very nearly adorable, how smitten he is.”

That’s it. Alex stands up. “My dad and Mr. Xavier are not fucking. They are not. Not now. Not ever! Got that?” God, the very idea! Erik would rip Mr. Xavier to tiny shreds for hitting on him. Tiny, well-chewed shreds.

“Relax, will you?” Angel licks a speck of mayo of her finger. “What’s gotten your panties in a twist, that your dad might get laid? Because, dude, Mr. Xavier is a hot piece of ass.”

“It might seem like fun and games to you, but I’ve got to live in the same house as that guy. If he’s going to fuck his way through the faculty, couldn’t he at least start with MacTaggart?”

There is a brief silence. Raven is red in the face and looks like she might explode any minute. Angel bites her lip and stares at the table, along with Hank and Sean.

“Alex,” someone says behind him.

Oh fuck. Alex closes his eyes. “Principal MacTaggart.”

“My office, if you don’t mind.”

“Busted,” Raven murmurs into her food.

Alex catches Hank’s eye when he leaves the cafeteria. He shrugs -- he can handle chewing out and detention -- but Hank is worried. Alex resolves to give him a call later that evening.

He sinks into the chair in front of the principal’s desk and hangs his head. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to.”

“I rather hope so.” Ms. MacTaggart raises an eyebrow and smiles at him. “Do you want to tell me what brought this on?”

“Uh… my dad is really lonely?”

“Am I supposed to consider this a matchmaking attempt?”

This doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Alex brightens. This sounds like a godsend, actually. “Would you? He’s really handsome, I’m told.”

Principal MacTaggart sputters. “You cannot be serious.”

“One date! It can’t be that bad, right? He’s really smart, besides. He’s a lawyer.”

She watches him with her mouth open. Alex smiles winsomely. She is a fantastic woman -- tough, pretty and capable of killing a man with her pinky, if the rumors about her being ex-military are true. Erik needs someone like that. Someone who won’t allow themselves to be eaten alive.

It’s a stroke of genius, if he says so himself.

She picks up the phone with one hand and types something into her computer with the other. “Mr. Lehnsherr?” she says after three rings. “This is Moira MacTaggart. I have Alex in the office right now.”

Alex hears the sigh as if his own ear was against the phone. “What’s he done now? If he set anything on fire, please alert the authorities and let me know where they’re taking him.”

“Nothing quite so serious.” The principal looks at Alex and grins. “He offered me a date with you.”

Erik says nothing.

“Apparently you are lonely, handsome and smart,” she continues, and looks at Alex over the desk. He knows that look. She’s calling his bluff.

“He did, didn’t he.” Erik grins into the receiver, Alex doesn’t need to be present to know that. “Well then, he is technically still a minor and I am obliged to own up to his foolhardy behavior. Would you like to go out with me on Friday?”

“Since you ask so nicely.”

“I’ll pick you up at eight then,” Erik says. “Feel free to slap Alex with a detention until then.”

“Duly noted.”

She ends the phone call and Alex beams innocently. “Awesome. I’m totally okay with you dating my dad, just so you know. I’ll get out of the house Friday night, shall I?”

Principal MacTaggart looks at him with a very odd expression on her face. It’s not quite a smile, but there is a touch of amusement there; it’s not quite a frown, either, even if she seems perplexed. “Alex,” she says slowly. “You know we are just going out for dinner. It’s not exactly a proposal.”

“I know, just keep an open mind about it, alright? My dad’s quite cool, when you get to know him.” He can’t help it if he sounds a little desperate. He grabs the guilt that’s clawing at him from within by the scruff of its neck and sits on its head. Principal MacTaggart is tough, she can handle Erik’s bullshit. She managed to subdue Azazel by glaring at him, after all. No way is she going down because of Erik. Mr. Xavier though…

Point being, Alex has the fucking Satan as his grandsire. He is capable of triage. Not that anything will happen to Principal MacTaggart, of course not.

He squashes down the guilt, shoves its head into the mud, grins and casts the very pleasant woman to the sharks. She can swim and she has a gun, he reasons. She will survive.

*****

Friday arrives as per usual. Alex watches it roll onto the front of the calendar with trepidation.

Erik returns home at quarter past six, not unusual for Friday evenings. He showers and flops onto the couch in a bathrobe. Again, perfectly normal. It’s worrying. He’s supposed to be going out on a date.

“Do you need anything?” Alex asks.

“Like what?”

“Help?”

“From you?”

“I could check online.”

Erik shoots him a look. “For what?”

“I don’t know, when was the last time you were on a date?”

“Since when do you care?”

Alex crosses his arms. “Maybe I really need a mom.”

“You have a mother.”

“No, I have Emma. She’s not exactly a mom.”

“Took you long enough to bring this to my attention. You’re going to college next autumn. I fail to see how a new mother at home will impact your life.”

“It’s an emotional time for me.”

Erik grins. “Are you set on Moira?”

“You’re on a first-name basis already? Cool.” This is promising indeed. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“What do you want me to do, put on make up?”

“Kohl is really hot these days.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I might score with your principal?”

“Why? She’s pretty hot. Do you want me to get out of the house?”

Erik shakes his head and gets up. “I’ll keep you posted.” He emerges from his bedroom an hour later, looking like a very sharp knife with a smile to match. He’s clean-shaven, which is promising -- stubble might attract women, but making out suffers for it, in Alex’s experience. Good. This night might end happily after all. “Behave,” Erik says in the door, then he is gone.

Suffice to say Alex spends the evening camped out in front of his cell phone. Too bad Erik returns three minutes after midnight, alone. Alex tries not to show his disappointment.

“How did it go?”

“Well. We had dinner, chatted about your stunted emotional development and the abysmal state of the school system in this country.”

Alex waits. “And?”

“And what?”

“She didn’t put out?”

“You are over-invested in my sex life, did you know that?”

“I have to be over-invested in something and football is boring.”

“You really don’t.”

“Are you going out again?”

Erik sighs. “Look. It’s nice that you care, but don’t hold your breath for a new mom at this point. I’m fine with the way things are.”

“You said it went well.”

“I spent a pleasant evening in the company of an intelligent woman. The food could have been better, though.” Erik shrugs and yeah, he’s relaxed and fine, Alex sees that, but he is also flat. Disinterested. Nothing at all like he is with Emma sometimes. Parsecs away from the hungry intensity he adopted since he started hanging around Mr. Xavier.

“Fuck,” Alex says. “Fuckity fuck.”

“If you like the woman so much, why don’t you ask her out?”

“It’s because of Mr. Xavier, isn’t it?” Alex balls his hands into fists and grits his teeth. “He’s the reason you’re not really into Principal MacTaggart.”

“No,” Erik tells him. “I’m not into Moira, because we managed to have three very clandestine fights in the space of an hour and restoring friendly relations took us the rest of the evening. Charles has nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah, right.”

Erik crosses his arms and waits.

“It’s just… I’ve seen the way you look at him and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“You don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be friends with a man who teaches you?” Erik smirks. Either Alex is seeing things, or his poker face slips for a second, because he could swear Erik looks nervous. It shakes him to the core. “Or is it the British accent that you find hard to stomach? I find it cute.”

“Xavier is a fag!” Alex yells when Erik pauses for breath.

He ends up chocking. “Excuse me?”

“Xavier is a fag, Raven told me.” Alex hugs himself and scowls. Lying to Erik is always a risk, partially because he normally could tell, but mostly because he is a real hard ass about not doing it. He feels justified. If Erik spends any more time with Xavier people would start to talk and then Alex will have a gay dad and everyone will assume he is queer too, and that would be bad.

It would be very bad. End of the world bad. He projects that aura as loud as he can. Thank god for acting classes.

Besides, it isn’t really a lie, Raven did say Mr. Xavier was a total slut in his college years and had flings with guys, too. The info was worth the brain bleach it took to process. Method acting, Alex tells himself. Believe the emotion and it will be true.

Erik is giving him a look. The poker face is back on, and Alex can see jack-shit from his face. “What’s your point?”

Alex chokes on his tongue. “What do you mean, what’s my point? He’s gay! And you’re spending time with him! Do you know how that looks?”

“Right now it looks like you have a problem,” Erik says slowly. “Did he come on to you?” Bless the evil fucker, he sounds concerned. Alex rolls his eyes. Nice try, Dad.

“No, of course not.”

“Then what?”

Alex flounders. He’s been so sure Erik would have a problem with the gay thing. “Well, you know. He’s queer,” he finished lamely.

Erik purses his lips, but the crinkling corners of his eyes tell Alex he is laughing at him. “Yes, thank you for this crash course in youth discourse on homosexuality. I think I grasp the concept now.”

“You don’t have a problem with it?” Isn’t that a damn surprise, after the Shaw debacle.

“He plays a mean game of chess, I would forgive much more for that,” Erik says and shrugs. “God knows I did everything in my power to avoid raising you, but at least try to act like you are somewhat civilized.” He smirks. “You know what, never mind. Go and try to raise hell over your teacher being gay. Bring it up with Moira, especially. I want to see the fallout.”

“Fuck you, who do you think I am?” Alex waves his hands in the air and scowls. As if. There’s no way in hell Alex is gonna go make trouble for Mr. Xavier, he likes the man far too much, and that’s discounting the fact that Principal MacTaggart, despite the bimbo figure, can tear a guy apart for bullying with her pinky, be it teacher or student.

No, raising hell for Mr. Xavier would be worse than kicking puppies, because puppies, despite their cuteness, don’t wear their wounded souls in their blue eyes. Alex would really rather eat puppies raw than hurt Mr. Xavier, in any way. It is a little pathetic, but he is vindicated by the fact that Azazel, who is the meanest bastard in the school, has been seen voluntarily cutting out golden stars for Mr. Xavier to hand out to kids during the school festival.

The alternative to hurting his feelings, however, is throwing him to the sharks, by which Alex means his dad, who is the unholy offspring of the shark mother from Jaws Four and Satan himself. Alex is normally very proud of his parentage, because it means Satan is his grandfather, but in this particular case he wishes the world was less grey and more full of bona fide heroes, so that his spawn of hell parents would have been slaughtered before they decided to fornicate and Mr. Xavier wouldn’t face the risk of being eaten alive in short order.

Because that’s what has to happen, doesn’t it? Mr. Xavier is just so nice, and Alex, god damn it, likes him, and his dad is a spawn of Cthulu with no human feelings whatsoever, and therefore this can only end in disaster.

Alex runs his head through his hair. He loves his dad and he is reasonably certain his dad loves him. Somewhat. Stockholm and Lima, he tells himself, are very odd cities and he supposes he has them to thank for the emotional attachment. So yeah, it’s not like he wants the man to be miserable and alone, but the thing is, Alex knows just enough about people to know Erik is not good. Because come on, he’s enough of a bastard that Alex’s mom, the woman who singlehandedly destroyed more businesses than the recession, doesn’t want him, and that right there is a big clue. So he is totally wrong for Mr. Xavier, who is nice like a Sunday cartoon whose theme song is Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows.

Alright. Alright. He can fix this.

He is relatively certain he is thinking straight when he slinks back to his room, to wallow in the gloomy promise of Mr. Xavier’s swift demise. He’s not left to wallow for long, however, because soon enough he hears footsteps on the stairs.

“You better not be jerking off,” Erik says and opens the door with a cursory brush of knuckles against the wood.

“Could you be any more of a creep?”

“I don’t know, but I will look into it.” Erik pulls out his wallet and hands him a hundred.

“What’s this?”

“A hundred dollars. What does it look like?”

“Why?”

“Condom fund.”

“Dad!”

“Don’t knock it. I went through that phase in high school, too. Passing a queer on the street is a frightening experience, makes you think it catches, then you go and fuck the first willing girl and the next thing you know you’ve a screaming brat on your shoulder and no future.”

Alex listens to the tirade with his mouth open.

“What, you didn’t seriously think you’re the product of puppy love, did you?”

Alex is fairly sure he will never again in his life utter another sound. It’s not like he wasn’t informed he was an accident, hell, he has seen Erik’s driving license, and he knows how to subtract. Seventeen year olds aren’t exactly well-known for planned parenthood. There’s a staggering difference between being an accident and being the product of a gay crisis, however. No wonder Erik gets a violent rash whenever a man hits on him.

“Have you met your mother? I mean, have you ever spoken with her, or did you spend all your time trying to remember sucking on her breasts?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dad!” The mental pictures, fuck!

Erik is laughing and if there was any doubts whatsoever as to his parentage, Alex has lost it now. God knows how he got the conscience he has, but he did. He is so doomed it isn’t even funny.

“You’re not getting a raise of your allowance, mind. This is for condoms only, so be sure to collect receipts.” Erik pauses in the door and looks over his shoulder. “Oh, and Emma called. She wants you to scare a boyfriend away next weekend. There might be a car in it for you, so hold out on her.”

The worst thing, Alex thinks as he stares dumbly at the crisp, green hundred on his dresser, is that his parents are the envy of his classmates. The more he protests what horrible people they are, citing events such as this one, the more offers of switching he gets. It’s like they don’t understand what it’s like, to have the Shark Satan for a dad and the White Witch for a mother.

Alex sighs and gets his cell.

“Hey, Mom,” he says when she picks up.

“Alex, dear. How is life?”

“Dad is ruining it. He just gave me a hundred to spend on condoms.”

“Tell him to give you another. I’ll pay him back later. Now, how do you feel about Thanksgiving in Miami?”

Alex listens and his mom is the only person he knows who is scarier than his dad, but her ideas for a fun trip are out of this world.

So, okay, his life is really not that bad.


Part two.