Hi! Are you still accepting congrats on 1k! prompts? (If not, no prob.) If yes... Charles is an adorable doggie. I mean, Dr. Charles is a qualified therapy dog. He is assigned to live with his human patient, Erik. Erik improves under his care. (If that is too depressing, the Avengers (+Loki?) have accidentally travelled back in time to 1962 and are currently living in the Xavier mansion. What is a day of it like?) Thanks! (Sorry if this is sent twice. The previous one looked like it vanished ><)
Decided on: Charles is an adorable doggie. I mean, Dr. Charles is a qualified therapy dog. He is assigned to live with his human patient, Erik. Erik improves under his care.
With thanks to garnetquyen for suggesting making dog!Charles kemonomimi (if you're unfamiliar with the term like I was, see her cat!Erik posts :D). Our headcanon for Charles is based on a chocolate flat-coated retriever.
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Erik did his research carefully and meticulously, just like he does everything else in his life, but the knowledge still does nothing to stop him from lingering on the sidewalk across the street in front of the clinic, back pressed against the cool concrete of the building behind him so that no one can sneak up on him, tense and unsure.
He’s supposed to meet the Agency representative who is bringing his new service companion he’s been matched to. He hadn’t wanted a service companion. Had argued extensively against it. But Emma still wouldn’t be his therapist after five long years if she ever conceded to him at the first sign of his temper.
“You need somebody who’s got your back 24/7 if you ever want to start healing,” she’d said in her best no-nonsense and straight-to-the-point tone that was another reason why he’d gone through four other therapists before finally settling with her. Erik hated beating around the bush for the sake of coddling. “Here’s a list of agencies that train suitable companions. Get yourself on a waiting list by our next appointment or I’ll do it for you.”
“You can’t do that,” Erik had snapped, but that was beside the point as it’d spurred him into action and he’d spent the entirety of the following weekend going over every inch of each agency’s website off the list Emma had given him and now here he is six weeks later, having finally gotten the call that they’d found him a match.
There’s a low roaring in his ears that’s steadily growing louder, threatening to drown out the busy sidewalk and street around him, but Erik takes several deep breaths, willing his heart rate to slow, fists clenched tightly at his sides. If anyone walking past him notices, no one stops, and it takes him several long minutes until he’s calm again, white spots clearing from his vision.
Erik ducks across the street before he can think better of it, shoulders slightly hunched with tension. It’s second nature, now, to glance upwards as he steps under the building’s low-hanging awnings to make sure no one is waiting to drop down on him from above, and then again when he pushes the glass door open to check for a bell. The last time he’d forgotten to check for a bell, he’d nearly torn down the building on accident when the soft ringing noise startled him into defense mode.
He steps into a warm and cozy waiting room, plush chairs lining the walls and various magazines scattered across a low coffee table. Erik’s gaze flickers around the room once—empty, one other doorway besides the one he just came in through, the legs of the chairs are all metal so he can lift them with his power and use them as weapons if he needs to—before he walks over towards the reception desk, unwinding his scarf in quick, practiced motions.
“Major Lehnsherr,” the girl behind the desk greets him, sitting up when he comes to a stop in front of her. “I’m supposed to tell you that you can go on back. They’re in examination room D, so take the first left and then it’s four doors down, but Agent MacTaggert should be out in the hallway.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Erik says stiffly with a nod. He slips through the door, which leads to a long, empty corridor. He walks down towards the first fork, glancing to the right to make sure nobody is in that direction, and once satisfied he takes a left, walking down towards the lone figure standing at the end of the hall.
Agent Moira MacTaggert is flipping through something on her tablet as he approaches, gaze flickering swiftly up and down the glass. He first met her last week, when he came in to sign the official contract. Like Emma, she’s efficient and doesn’t mince words, so Erik finds her tolerable enough.
“Lehnsherr,” she greets him, shaking his hand. “They’re just finishing up some blood work tests on him and then he’s all yours. Remember that if you think that you’re not a good match and want to bring him in after the first week there’s no charge, but after that the fees start racking up.”
“I remember.”
“Good, then initial here, saying that I reminded you.” Moira flips her tablet around and holds the stylus out to him for him to sign.
Erik reads carefully through the small blurb of words on the screen anyway, and then carefully marks the date and his initials at the bottom. Moira tucks the stylus away after he hands it back, and then offers her hand out once again.
“He’s excited to meet you,” she says, with a hint of a faint smile, “so you can go on in whenever you’re ready. You have my card if there are any problems.”
Erik merely nods, shaking her hand again, and then watches her leave before turning around to face the door to examination room D. Now that he’s here, he feels himself calm, centered and still. It’s the same feeling he’d always get right before dropping into a hot zone—no turning back now. He pushes the door open and walks inside.
The stainless steel of the examination table in the center of the room is comforting to his senses, and so oddly is the warm body sitting on top of it. The companion’s ears perk up at the sound of the door, chocolate brown in color and nearly blending in completely with his floppy brown hair, arresting blue eyes sweeping over to meet Erik’s inquisitively. Even though he isn’t standing, Erik can gauge that the companion is a head shorter than he is, though his legs are long and his chest is lightly muscled. Other than his ears, the only other dead giveaway that he’s a companion is his tail—with the same long, chocolate brown fur that is slightly lifted as he studies Erik in return.
Blue eyes widen when he remembers himself. “Hello, Erik,” he says with a crisp British accent, hopping down off the table and approaching with another offered hand, “I’m Dr. Charles Xavier. Er, I guess that’s Dr. Charles Lehnsherr now.”
“Doctor,” Erik says blankly, even as he shakes Charles’ hand. The agency had sent him a file on Charles that Erik had memorized, and that hadn’t been in it.
“My previous master, Dr. Bryan Xavier, allowed me to attend courses remotely,” Charles explains, “so while it can’t be recognized officially on my papers, I’ve still got the credentials.” He lifts his chin, meeting Erik’s gaze squarely. “I do hope that’s alright.”
“It’s impressive,” Erik admits honestly, “they should recognize it officially.”
Charles’ smile lights up the tiny room, and his tail waves back and forth once or twice. “Thank you, Erik. Maybe one day.”
They lapse into a slightly awkward silence—or at least it’s awkward on Erik’s end, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s never been a people person, and now he’s going to be practically joined at the hip with a companion. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do this.
“The nurse said she was finished drawing blood,” Charles says calmly, seemingly unaffected by the silence, “so we can leave whenever you’re ready, Erik. Is Erik okay? I can call you master or sir, as you prefer.”
“Erik’s fine,” he says gruffly, and then nods towards the two small suitcases sitting by the table in order to change the subject. “Those yours?”
Charles nods. “I can get them—”
“No, let me.” Erik feels them out with his power, searching for the tiny metal screws that usually hold the wheels and bottom of suitcases in place. He lifts them up like that, faltering a little at the unexpected weight of the first one. “What’s in here, rocks?”
“Books,” Charles admits with a faint flush.
“Of course,” Erik says wryly, and Charles’ tail wags again, pleased.
“Oh, right,” Charles says, trotting over to the single chair in the room and picking up what looks and feels like a bulletproof vest that has an official-looking tag clipped on one side. “Here’s my service companion vest. They had more casual ones, but I…” He looks at Erik uncertainly, holding the vest in front of himself with both hands. “They gave me a packet of information about you, too, and I assumed that you’d like this one best. I hope I didn’t presume too much.”
“No,” Erik says, stepping forward. It doesn’t even take his full attention to keep the two suitcases hovering behind him as he takes the vest out of Charles’ hands. “This one is good.” Safe. A bulletproof vest is safest for Charles, in case they’re attacked.
Charles wags his tail, delighted. “I’m glad. The tag has some basic info about me and is also my official license, so you can take me everywhere, even places that don’t allow companions normally.”
Erik nods slowly, absorbing this information and filing it away carefully. “Turn around, then.”
Charles smiles and obeys, and Erik helps him slip on the vest, making sure it rests flat against his compact shoulders. He finds the front zipper with his power and gently zips it up, encasing Charles in protection. It inexplicably makes Erik feel better just looking at him.
“And here’s the leash,” Charles says, holding it out. It’s short and black, probably to match the simple black collar at Charles’ throat. “You can clip it to my collar or there’s a ring you can hook it onto on the vest, whichever you prefer. Either way I’ll be walking right beside you and won’t be tugging on it.”
“You’re very helpful,” Erik says for lack of anything better, feeling—not overwhelmed, but as if he’s treading water and starting to get tired. This is probably the longest conversation he’s carried out with someone who isn’t Emma, and she barely counts anyway because he’s paying her to talk to him.
Charles smiles warmly. “That’s my job.”
To avoid having to answer, Erik lifts the leash by the metal clip on the end, considering Charles’ collar and vest. Black doesn’t suit him. Blue would be better, to bring out his eyes. Maybe, if this works out, Erik will get him a new one. They’ll have to get a new leash too, because while the clip is metal, the loop on the other end that Erik’s supposed to hold onto isn’t, and that definitely has to change.
He clips the leash onto the vest, and Charles immediately moves to stand next to him, not close enough to touch but his presence is still solidly there, and Erik can clearly see him in his periphery. For all his bright and cheery mannerisms, now that he has the vest and leash on, there’s a different kind of air to him—he’s calm and focused, alert and ready to take any cue that Erik gives him.
“Well,” Erik says, unsure how this is really going to work but a little more willing to try now that he’s met Charles, “let’s go home.”
X
6 months later
Erik undoes the lock and opens his front door with his power, directing their load of grocery bags to float in before them—his homemade rig of reusable bags with a long, thin chain wound through all of their handles has saved the circulation in their fingers on more than one occasion. Charles pads inside beside him, waving tail brushing against Erik’s leg.
Absently Erik unclips the leash from Charles’ vest and sends it floating over to hang on its hook beside the door. He continues forward towards the kitchen to put everything away, while Charles takes off at a trot through the house, sniffing.
It used to be Erik’s ritual, to check every room and closet in the house each time he got home and then once more before he went to bed, unable to truly relax until he’d made sure that he was safe and secure. Now it’s Charles’ job, and Erik trusts him fully—he has ever since the first time Charles asked to check for him in their very first week together, when he’d stood uncertainly in the doorway while Charles made a slow and thorough circuit through the house, and then had come back and said, calm and solemn with no hint of mockery, taking the task just as seriously as Erik did, “All clear.”
“All clear,” Charles reports now, coming back into the kitchen just as Erik is stowing the now-empty grocery bags away. Even now the words still allow Erik to relax by a degree or two, but he’s getting better. This house has never felt more like home, with Charles here.
Erik unzips the vest for him, still the same bulletproof one with a few modifications he’s made himself: namely more metal, so he can feel the shape of it at all times whenever Charles is wearing it. He sends that flying out to hang beside the leash, and then runs a hand briefly through Charles’ hair, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards when Charles’ tail thumps against the cupboards as it wags.
The rest of the evening is quiet, Charles spending most of it curled in his usual corner of the couch with a book while Erik flips through the channels before eventually heaving himself back up to make dinner. Charles doesn’t even look up from his book but moves to the countertop bar overlooking the kitchen to keep Erik company, the metal ring of his royal blue collar bright in Erik’s mind even when Erik has his back to him while he stirs pasta on the stove.
After dinner they retire to Erik’s room together, Charles hopping up on the bed while Erik goes through his nightly routine. He originally set up the guest bedroom for Charles’ use, but after the first time Erik woke up from a night terror to Charles curled around him and talking casually about his studies, what he’d seen and smelled earlier that day, places he’d like to visit both in the city and abroad, Erik found that he very much wanted Charles to stay. Charles hadn’t objected either, and the guest room is empty once more.
When Erik climbs into bed Charles hops back up, setting his book down on the bedside table and slipping out of the room, making one more round through the house for the night. Erik is halfway to dozing by the time Charles returns, a marked improvement from when he used to sit up, tense and ready for fight-or-flight as he waited for Charles’ report.
“All clear,” Charles murmurs as he crawls back up into bed, slipping beneath the covers beside Erik, a warm and familiar presence that Erik never knew he was missing until Charles was there to fill in that empty space.
“Thank you,” Erik says, flicking off the lights with his power and rolling over onto his side to pull Charles close, burying his nose in his soft hair and breathing in deeply. They curl around each other, as they have every night for the past six months, and Erik has never slept better, never felt safer.
Charles merely snuggles closer, and Erik doesn’t have to look to know that he’s smiling.
Hi. We haven't exactly met, but I'm someone who enjoys reading your fics. I saw your post about GNS and just wanted to send you a hug, I'm sorry it happened that way.
Oh, gosh, thank you! And it is lovely to meet you. <3
I’d be less bothered if they’d asked permission—they asked the artists, but not the authors, so obviously it occurred to *someone* that the creators might be upset…so why the inconsistency? I am baffled. We shall see what happens, and if they respond to my email…
Hello! Is there any Anastasia AU Cherik fic out there? (Especially with Anastasia!Charles and Dimitri!Erik) I just really feel like reading a Cherik version after reading an Anastasia AU fic in another fandom recently. Lots of love if you can find something! (And still lots of love if you can't, of course. I've often found this tumblr useful both for rereading fics and discovering good fics I've missed on topics of interest. Thanks for keeping it going.)
Aloha! :D Yay, thank you for the loooove! It means a lot to see you guys liking and reblarghing things. Also asking!!!! Because the latter keeps us in business!
To my knowledge, there's been 3 prompts on the Kinkmeme, but neither of them have fills. (Prompt 1, Prompt 2, Prompt 3) Perhaps you'd find some inspiration there? -wink wink nudge nudge-
