A/N: Hi, so I LOVE Cherik. So I thought I would take a try at writing a story for them, something I recently thought of. AU ONESHOT
Walking through his favorite part of the museum, Charles strided his short form over to the sculpture section. Aside from the library, the museum was his favorite place to be at during his free time... Which wasn't often.
Being a professor in genetics at Oxford wasn't a job that you could just prance around with. But considering the amount of cash he inherited and recieved as salary, he would be well of for 2 lifetimes. Still, he wanted to do something with his life.
It was winter break, so he spent his days between switching between the library and museum.
He heard today that they were bringing in a new sculpture made of metal.
They've become more modern I see...
So far, everyone was making a very big deal about this sculpture.
"It looked so realistic, it was almost as if a man was painted in the color of steel!" A woman said to her friend walking out of the exhibit.
Now, he wouldn't miss a chance to see and learn about something new. He was always up for more knowledge.
The glossy floors reflected his soft features, when he finally made it to the well acclaimed area.
He spent his time looking at sculptures made of marble, rock, copper, and other ores. He really appreciated the artists, appreciating their talent, as his own mother was a well-known artist before she died in an accident.
Charles tried to sculpt many times, but each time he tried, it was always missing something. The sculptures he tried to make were certainly not public worthy, so they definitely weren't museum quality.
A shimmer caught his eye, and what he saw made him hold his breath and heart stop.
There the metal sculpture stood.
It formed what seemed to be a nude man, looking straight forward with a cold glare. A small tear fell down his cheek, but it was the only sign of the sculpture's sorrow. Charles was entranced and walked closer to it.
Many people were standing around it, taking pictures and talking about how wonderful it looked.
The detail was so intricate, catching every feature a man could have. It looked like it had stubble, and frown lines. Sinewy lines of muscle too. It was absolutely breath taking and controversial.
Charles shoved his way through the small crowd, and went to look at the description.
Melancholic Metal Man by Erik Lensherr (Born: Berlin,Germany 1970-)
"I was inspired to make this sculpture because of my father's experience in the Auschwits concentration camps. I hope history never repeats itself, and I know that no words or visuals could describe any of the survivor's anguish. I hope this sculpture moves you."
Wow. This sculpture certainly has moved him, and it held such deep meaning.
Whoever this Erik Lensherr was, he was a talented artist. It shouldn't just be sitting at a local museum, it should be at the Metropolitan or Louvre.
Smirking, he examined the sculpture more thoroughly, looking at every thumb print and ridge. He felt someone lightly bump into him, probably by accident. He still let out a sound of surprise, but put a hand over his mouth immediately after.
"Sorry, it is crowded like a box of sardines here." The man murmured in a thick, German accent. Charles looked at the man, letting out a quiet gasp of surprise.
The man was grey hound like, very tall and lean. Charles couldn't see his eyes because the man was wearing thick, black sunglasses. He was also wearing a fedora, and a turtleneck with skinny jeans.
Sexy and foreign... I like. Charles chuckled under his breath.
"It's okay sir, I also shoved my way through the crowd to see this master piece. By the way, I'm Xavier. Professor Charles Xavier." He grinned to the man, who smirked at Charles, lips reaching right under his eyes. Almost like a sharky smile.
"That is exactly what I was doing. My name is Max Eisenhardt, nice to meet you Charles." Max held his stout, calloused hand out. Charles put his soft, pale one is Max's, and it was a very warm gesture. He felt a spark, like they always describe in romance novels.
They let go before things got too awkward, and just kept an eye on the sculpture, keeping a comfortable silence.
After many minutes of examining, Charles heard Max clear his throat.
"Want to go for a cup of coffee afterwards?"
"I'd love to."
As they walked on the glossy floor of the museum to the exit, they learned about each other more. Because of this, they took their time, as it was break and Charles was in no rush or anything to be fretful for. Except for his very pregnant sister, Raven, but if anything happened Azazel would be sure to ring him. Or else.
"What are you a professor for?" Max asked while staring intently at Charles.
"Genetics and mutations. What do you do for a living?"
"Well... Uhh... I engineer and I also do some art."
"What type of art?"
"Sculpting of course, considering all the scraps I get from the car shop I work at." Max told Charles very playfully, letting on a full out smile.
"For an engineer, you seem very well off. I don't see many engineers with Rolex watches." Charles expressed curiously, hoping not to offend Max, or make him arrogant all the same.
"My art pieces sell well, and the car shop I was talking about, well, I own it."
"Now that makes more sense. You are very modest for someone who has many accomplishes in his life."
"If you use half you concentration on bragging, then you are only paying half attention to whatever else you are doing."
"Noteworthy notion, my friend." Charles verbalized, while Max held the pristine glass door for him to walk through. Charles nodded as in a way of saying "thanks" and kept a steady pace with Max, who took long strides.
"Any coffee shop reference?" Max inquired, slowing down so the small man didn't have to run to keep up with him.
"No, any source of caffeine is grand for me."
Max smiled, feeling his face crinkling up. He has never met someone so carefree, considering what job position he had. Even though Charles had a stressful job, he obtained a comical and jubilant demeanor.
This Charles spoke with remarkable confidence, and although he looked around 29 years old, he had the intellect of an old monk. They carried light conversation, still learning about each other, until they reached the quiet coffee shop.
Max, again with his gentleman behavior, held the door for Charles.
"What would you like, I'll go order, and you can get seats for us." Max articulated.
"I'll just have a strong, black tea and a lemon scone."
"Well chosen, Charlie boy." Max chuckled, while hearing Charles grumbled behind him.
Charles absolutely despised the nickname Charlie.
He looked over at where Max was ordering, and felt a flicker of jealousy when he saw the barista checking Max out.
Charles blushed a bit, his primal tendencies still needed to be put under control. He just discovered that he was attracted to men, just realizing why he never felt any desire for woman. Poor Moira, he let her on for too long. At least she understood, still staying good friends with him. In fact, she was his best friend.
Max walked over, holding a buzzer to alarm them when their order was ready.
"So Charles, tell me why you loathe being called Charlie?"
"It's a long story... and not really a optimistic one either." He said glumly, his eyes dropping down to his hands. He felt a warm finger tilt his chin up, gently.
"Hey, it's all right. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Max comforted him, putting his arms around Charles.
"Considering you're pretty much a stranger, and it's a big secret, I should be frightened to. But I have a feeling we'll be good enough friends soon, so why not?" Charles sighed with a ting of humor in his voice.
Broad arms lifting his small frame into the air and making realistic plane noises.
"Daddy, put me down!" Young Charles giggled, while his dad laid him carefully on the love seat. Francis Xavier had a mirthful shimmer in his midnight blue eyes, as he stared with adoration at his son. He was the chief pilot of the air force, and didn't get to see his 6-year old son very much.
"Alright Charlie, alright." He chuckled, while looking into his son's identically colored blue eyes.
Charles hugged his father. He loved him so very much, and secretly, he preferred his dad over his mother. Sure she taught him well, as he was smarter than most children in his neighborhood, but when ever his father was away, she sat in her bedroom drinking a bitter juice. He tried it behind his mother's and servant's backs, and it tasted absolutely revolting.
Not only that. Father always let him have sweets before dinner, and never stayed mad at Charles for too long. His dad was his role model, and he knew when he became a father, he would be exactly like his dad. Except not a pilot.
"Daddy, do you have to leave again tomorrow?" Charles murmured in his father's ear, while holding his dad very tight. He knew every time his father left the house, there was always a chance he wouldn't return.
"Yes I do. But it's for the good of you. I do this job to give you the best life you could possibly have, and that's all that matters." His dad said passionately into his young child's ear, while stroking his mousy brown hair.
"I will miss you very much so. Do you promise that you'll try to call every night?" He asked his father with hopefulness, already knowing that his father would probably be very busy.
"I promise I'll try to, Charlie."
The next day, early in the morning, Charles walked outside. He breathed the fresh, crisp air of the rural area he lived in, away from the smoky city. He was holding his mother's boney, but yet warm, hand while walking to bid farewell to his father.
He was blinking back tears, as he detested saying "goodbye" to his father.
Francis was putting his bulky luggage into the back of a rental car when he saw tiny Charlie hasten towards him. He held his wide arms out, always ready to catch him.
"Daddy." Charles breathed out into his father's ear, feeling tears threatening to spill out.
"Charlie." Francis choked, feeling his own tears pricking his eyes. He saw Sharon, his wife and love, stare at his with a melancholic look. She let them have their moment.
"Charlie, promise me one thing." Charles knew this, as his father always made him keep it every time he left, which was often.
"Promise to take care of your mother when I'm away, and especially take exceptional care of her if I don't come back. Promise me, Charlie?" Francis pleaded with his son, knowing he'd understand.
Charles nodded, giving out a choked sob. He hugged his father tightly, and let his mother have a hug and a kiss too.
Before Francis got into the car, he looked back at the too people he cherished most in the world.
"I love you both! Never forget that!" He declared loudly, as his driver ushered him that they were late.
Days, weeks, months past with no word of Francis Xavier. Charles kept his promise, trying to keep himself and his mother together.
But what they fear worst, came true one stormy winter night.
He knew it came after his mother screamed and collapsed on the floor while holding the phone receiver to her chest.
From that day forward, he tried to be the glue of both of them. But his mother was, as always, a hopeless case.
Years passed, and Sharon Xavier never smiled in front of people. She avoided eye contact with Charles, his midnight blue eyes reminding her too much of Francis.
Charles was just beginning college when he heard that his mother was critically ill. He learned that she overdosed on depression pills as attempt for suicide.
She suffered a slow, painful death. But her last words for Charles were "I love you, everything your father and I owned is your possession. Use these resources wisely, my dear Charlie." Then she smiled. She smiled.
Charles would never forget her smile.
Charles finished the story, and wiped a tear from his eyes.
Max also felt a wetness on his cheek, and quickly wiped them away with his hands.
"Charles, wow, I'm so sorry." He said with all seriousness, hugging Charles closer to him.
"It's okay. Just don't pity me, I don't deserve pity." He mumbled, but rubbed Max's arm to assure him he was okay.
"Well you revealed your secret, why don't I reveal mine."
"You have a secret?"
"Yes, and I agree with you that we'll be good friends, so why don't I tell you?"
"Well, go on!" Charles screeched with his light, British accent eagerly. His blue eyes shone, always loving to hear more about a person. He had a knack about knowing people well.
"My name isn't Max Eisenhardt. It's just a pen name."
"... What's your real name?"
"Erik Lensherr." The beautiful man whispered in his ear.