Chapter Text
I.
"Charles?" Erik was already tying on his robe, yawning, hungry and exhausted from the full moon and its imperatives, when he realized belatedly that Charles wasn't making a bee-line for the bathroom in the way that his mate usually did once they came out of the shift.
It had been about a quarter of a year since Erik had started living with Charles, and despite his best attempts (and this not all with patience), Charles had retained certain stubbornly human ideas, even when shifted, such as the insistence on voiding himself only when in human form and in his bathroom. Apparently the entire concept of marking territory was 'awfully barbaric' or 'terribly unhygienic', and given that it was entirely awkward attempting to do anything of the sort around the sprawling mansion grounds without Charles staring at him and somehow assuming a look of genteel horror on his wolf features, Erik himself had ended up settling grudgingly for scratches and glandular scent markings.
Frowning, Erik turned around, only to see Charles still in wolf form, next to the bathrobe folded on the chair beside him, wide-eyed and wearing an expression of comical amazement, staring into space. "What is it, Charles," Erik asked, looking around the foyer with narrowed eyes, sniffing at the air. There were no intruders, no other scents other than the Arctus-borrowed housekeeping staff, or at least, nothing that he could sense.
Charles made a yipping sound, sitting down, and Erik sighed. "Change back if you want to ask your bloody questions," he suggested, his tone curt from weariness from the long night that they had spent under the moon, and then he let out a yelp of pain as Charles growled and bit him smartly on the ankle.
"Charles!" Erik snarled, then the penny finally dropped, as instead of looking apologetic, Charles shot him an accusing look. "Ah. You can't shift back."
Charles couldn't shift back.
They had spent the last hour of the full moon entwined, snuffling and licking at each others' faces and-
Charles couldn't shift back.
Charles bared his teeth, then he abruptly lay down with a sobbing moan of despair. "Charles," Erik murmured, as gently as he could, kneeling down and scooping Charles' lupine head into his arms. "This is a normal process, you'll just be a wolf for the whole of-" Erik hastily jerked his head back as Charles growled again and snapped up at him, then the gray wolf let out a deep, slow sigh, rolling to its feet and padding slowly towards the bathroom, tail limp, a picture of utter dejection.
"Charles, I know that you're upset," Erik kept a careful grip on his temper as he followed his mate, "But four months will pass very quickly-" Erik had to hastily step back as Charles rounded on him, teeth bared, "And I'll be by your side throughout it."
The gray wolf stared at him for a long moment, as though measuring him up, then he sighed again and continued trotting towards the bathroom with dragging steps and a tail tucked low between his hind legs. Turning into the tiled room and skidding a little, claws clacking on the polished surface, Charles contemplated the ceramic toilet, blinking, as though another immediate problem had just occurred to him. The gray wolf stared at the toilet seat, then at the roll of paper, then down at his paws, then back up again, and sat down, his ears flicking forward, then back.
"You'll have to do that outside," Erik pointed out helpfully, after at least five minutes had crawled on past.
This time, when Charles bit him, it was hard enough to draw blood and crack bone, but Erik bit down on his stifled yell and knew better than to protest.
By the time Erik had regenerated enough to shift back into his dire wolf form and follow Charles out, worried, Charles was already sullenly returning, somehow managing to seem both deeply indignant and deeply mortified, padding into the bathroom and crawling into the tub, then glowering at Erik until he shifted back to human and obligingly turned on the shower for Charles, washing the dirt and grass off his pelt, kneeling beside the tub even as his mate rested his muzzle over the edge and closed his eyes.
"It's not that bad, is it?" Erik asked, soaping Charles' fur, unable to help but feel amused at the whole situation and Charles' reaction to it, after all. "You're acting as though your world's just ended. This is normal, Charles."
Charles cracked his brilliant blue eyes open briefly to glower at him, but only managed to look depressed, staring blankly into nothing, even when Erik washed himself off and dried them down, standing still on the bathroom mat until Erik shifted into his dire wolf form. Charles tried to ignore him at first, staring pointedly at his paws, but eventually relented when Erik licked at his face and mouthed at his muzzle, touching noses, then rubbing his wet cheek against Erik's scruff, with a low, huffing sigh.
In the living room, Charles settled on his favorite couch, watching as Erik shifted back, pulled on a robe, then located a pen and one of Charles' notebooks. Turning to a fresh page, he held out the pen until Charles managed to balance it in his mouth, scratching the nib awkwardly on the page.
Hate you, Charles wrote, though he thumped his tail briefly on the couch, then added, Tea, and laboriously underlined it.
"No tea," Erik was fairly sure about this. "And no vegetables either, your current stomach can't process that. I'll arrange for some water and raw beef steak-"
Charles made a moaning, horrified sound, slightly muffled around the pen, and pressed his head to the couch, covering his eyes with his paws. Erik watched, tight-lipped, and now that all the shock and the amusement at Charles' doggedly human reaction had faded, he could only feel a cold sense of self disappointment and guilt.
Charles was very young yet for a werewolf, even though he was an adult, and although Erik had thought that pregnancy was improbable, he had also known how horrified Charles had been of the very concept. Charles, after all, had never been brought up as a werewolf, through no fault of his own; hell, he hadn't even known that his wolf form was female until earlier this year. Erik couldn't claim to understand humans with their unnecessarily intricate peccadilloes and predilections, let alone a werewolf that had been brought up as one, but he should have waited, until Charles was more used to their ways, taken Charles to see his mother's ancestral Pack, perhaps, travelled around the Continent and opened his eyes, given Charles at least half a decade before bringing up the topic again.
Gott, Erik remembered having to talk Charles out of the bathroom after the first full moon that they'd spent as a pair, in the cold light of the morning when biological imperative had faded and left only probably traumatic memories in its wake. Charles had been more or less reconciled to the concept of wolf-form mating, after the next couple of full moons, but Erik should have had more self-control. He should have waited.
"Charles," Erik reached over, stroking fingers gently behind Charles' flattened ears, over the powerful curve of his jaw. "I'm sorry. I should have given you more time. If you truly hate this..." Erik trailed off, uncertain. It wasn't uncommon for werewolf pregnancies to miscarry, particularly after the third month, usually from accidental exposure to too much silver, but he couldn't bring himself to suggest it. Charles was carrying his pups.
On the other hand, if Charles hated this, hated him because of this - Erik wasn't sure what would be worse to bear.
Charles abruptly sighed, leaning up to write. I dont, he wrote carefully, the apostrophe dashing awkwardly against the 't', and dotted it instead, conscientiously, then dropped the pen with a snuffling sound of affection when Erik shifted over to encircle his arms tightly around Charles' scruff, his heart hammering in the intensity of his relief. Rational logic told him that it would never be inside Charles' character to even remotely consider the possibility that he had envisaged, but still, deep down, Erik was wildly thankful that as crazy as the entire situation was to Charles, as embarrassing and inconvenient and brain-derailing as it had to be, Charles was going to try and move forward and take it in his stride. For them. For their Pack, for the life that had just begun within him.
The gray wolf nuzzled at him until Erik looked up, then he picked up the pen and underlined tea again, and looked so hopeful that Erik nearly caved.
"No." Erik murmured, cheek pressed against Charles' scruff, fingers twisted in his fur.
Tyrant, Charles wrote in large block letters, with an aggrieved sigh, and underlined it, though his tail thumped again on the couch, and he dropped the pen, jaws gaping to loll his tongue out in a wolf's silent approximation of amusement when Erik automatically reached over to still the dog-like motion.
1.0.
Erik was usually a very solitary, private person with a wider-than-normal concept of personal space, and prior to what Charles now mentally termed the Unfortunate Incident, tended to keep to himself for most of the day, reading papers or watching television, though usually within one or two rooms away from Charles at the maximum. Attempts to insert himself into Erik's personal space and/or ask questions tended to be ignored or worse, tended to irritate, and after a few months of overtures Charles learned to recognise when Erik wanted space and when Erik would tolerate conversation.
It wasn't that Erik was distant by any means. Outside of their wolf forms, the sexual aspect of their relationship was more than entirely satisfactory, they shared the same bedchambers, and consciously or not, Erik did obviously try to keep him within sight or at least, within a few minutes' reach. Charles had tested this hypothesis out of curiosity and mischief, once even by sneaking out of the mansion to race off into the woods, crossing over streams to break his trail, crossing back and forth over his scent tracks to throw off pursuit, only to be tracked down an hour or so after by an exasperated dire wolf which had no compunctions about nipping him sharply in rebuke.
It was probably just not within Erik's usual nature to be overtly affectionate, and besides, with the main driving force of the last two decades or so of his life dead and buried, occasionally Charles wondered if Erik simply felt... lost. Adrift. Bored with his now purposeless life, an ocean away from what was familiar to him. Erik, however, had treated suggestions of travel with brusque dismissal and an invitation to get involved in Charles' research with studied disinterest. Having spent most of his own adult life more or less alone, Charles had been left with few solutions other than to give Erik the space that he seemed to need, and after a while he'd grown comfortably used to their arrangement.
Now, however, somewhat to his surprise, Charles found himself at the full focus of Erik's attention, all the time. Erik was following him everywhere, even when he went out of the mansion to tend to his bodily functions in the woods, and while at first it was amusing and somewhat gratifying, after a week or so it was beginning to chafe on his nerves.
After two weeks Charles was ready to start trying to climb the bloody walls.
Going out of the mansion was now restricted to the immediate garden, with Erik simply using his larger dire wolf bulk to block Charles or herd him back whenever he tried to get too far out into the wilder sections of the woods, and once when Charles had written 'town' and looked hopeful Erik had simply muttered something about it being too dangerous, as though Charles hadn't successfully hidden most of his life within Westchester.
Within the mansion, in wolf form, he couldn't even read a book without a lot of careful page-turning and/or Erik's help, he couldn't proceed with any of his genetics research in the lab he had set up in the east wing, hell, Charles couldn't even talk. Depressed, bored and silenced, at once both fascinated and vaguely repulsed at the idea of the life growing within him, Charles took to lying listlessly around the house or in the garden and trying not to look too closely at whatever the housekeepers were feeding him, and if Erik occasionally shot him worried looks, this was all his fault, anyway.
And then, close to the end of the first month, the house was abruptly (in Erik's later words), infested by Arctus.
Judging on how Erik was clearly furious, Emma and Raven had probably blithely ignored Pack protocol by descending upon them, but Charles was too gratified by their presence to care, nuzzling at Raven's hands and even attempting to lick Emma's fingers. Visitors!
"Look at you," Emma had jerked her fingers away, and then had absently smoothed down part of his scruff as though Charles' attempt at indignity had never happened. "My poor nephew."
"What are the two of you doing here?" Erik snapped, his tone edged with an ugly tension of potential violence. Both of the Frosts, however, ignored him; Raven was kneeling down and running her palm under Charles' ribs to his belly, rubbing soft circles until his jaws parted and he thumped his tail against the wood-panelled floor with puppyish pleasure.
"So our source was right. Since the last full moon, I suppose... almost a month." Raven scratched at Charles' ears and chuckled when he nuzzled her happily. "Are you naming one after me? You are, aren't you, darling cousin?"
"I suppose that naming one after Kayla would be somewhat acceptable," Emma mused, "If the pup is female, Arctus, and tolerably appealing in nature."
"How did Arctus even know..." Erik trailed off, with a hard glance behind him, at the servants' quarters. "You and your spies. I should have known."
Raven was scratching under Charles' chin and grinning wickedly at how Charles squirmed and thumped his tail again in delight. "A little bird told us that my cousin was growing out of sorts and hadn't been able to change forms since the last full moon. We grew concerned."
"I'm taking care of it," Erik growled, "I've had all the silver in the house locked in the attic, and he's being fed and guarded."
"Poor cousin," Raven seemed to ignore Erik again. "Bored out of your mind, are you? Of course you are. I remember when my dam was last pregnant again. Everyone had to line up to entertain her, for fear of her tantrums. Being unable to shift forms must be so very upsetting."
"What is this?" Emma had found the notebook, and was leafing through it with a curl to her lips. "Is this how Charles has to communicate his needs? This situation is unacceptable. We are returning to Ilulissat, where my nephew may at the very least be properly attended." At Erik's rumbling growl, Emma sniffed and added, "I suppose that the dire wolf may come along, as well," in a tone that strongly implied that as far as Emma was concerned, that was a (barely tolerable) necessary evil.
Charles stared at Emma in astonishment, then he had to hastily pull out of Raven's grasp and insert himself between his aunt and his mate as Erik stepped forward threateningly, every line in his body tight with fury. Grudgingly, Erik relaxed a little when Charles bumped at his thigh with his muzzle, though he reached down to curl his long, elegant fingers possessively in Charles' ruff. "We're not going anywhere."
"Oh, come on, he's still good to travel," Raven dusted herself off and rose to her feet. "You have no facilities here and no one with any expertise. What if there are complications? Other than old age and trappers that's the main reason why female werewolves buy the farm, after all. Look at what happened to Kay-"
"Raven," Emma interrupted, her tone glacial, and Raven glanced over at her, unrepentant, and Erik's grip on his ruff tightened to the point of pain.
"He deserved to know, Emma."
Erik's grip closed even further, to the point where Charles had to grit his teeth to keep from whining in protest. Emma narrowed her eyes dangerously at this, her gaze flicking between Erik's curled fingers and Charles' flattened ears, then she said, quietly, "Charles," and her left, delicately booted heel shifted back a hand's breadth, as though bracing herself for attack, her white-gloved hands splaying loose-fingered over the fur-lined pockets of her coat.
His mate didn't move, but the aggression scent in the room spiked, and hastily, Charles shook his head, and tried to look as ingratiating as possible. He didn't want trouble, not between Emma and Erik, not now, not ever. So his mother Kayla had passed away... because of his birth? Charles wasn't sure what to think. Emotions were more difficult in wolf form; he'd previously hypothesized that this was because of the way wolf minds were shaped, sharpened on instinct and muscle-memory rather than unnecessarily complex cognitive function. Dimly, he could feel sadness, and a lurching, vague sense of guilt at being the cause of his mother's death, but the wolf-form's pragmatic nature soon shrugged it aside, focused on the life that it knew was growing within its belly.
Charles suspected that this would be no different, even had he retained his human mind. The shock and unpleasantness of the situation aside, no matter which form he wore, he knew that he would willingly die if that was what it took for the birth to be successful. The wolf accepted this as fact. The human within him sought refuge in social sentimentality. Either way, the possibility of death, however painful, however protracted it might be, did not frighten him. Nor, somehow, did the possibility of an improved life expectancy in Arctus hands seem attractive in the least.
Therefore, pared down to wolf-logic, coupled with his acceptance of his situation, come what may, it seemed only that Emma and Raven were trying to remove him from his home - his territory, and his mate, Erik, was clearly thoroughly unhappy about the prospect, and at that, wolf-logic stood steadfast where human-logic might have caved out of curiosity's sake. Firmly, Charles shook his head again, and this time, locked gazes with Emma, steeling himself as he did so, trying to find a balance between seeming friendly, yet determined.
Eventually, Emma sighed out aloud and averted her gaze. "You're just as difficult as she was."
"You owe Grandsire a Macallan, Emma. He did tell you that this would be the only result." Raven said, her tone lightening into wicked cheer. "It takes moving heaven and earth to dig a gravid she-wolf out of her den, let alone one with Arctus blood. How many rooms are there in this old place?"
Erik shrugged. Even Charles wasn't sure; he'd once counted about twenty separate, functional guest rooms before he'd decided that he hadn't really needed to know. "Why?"
Charles winced. The aggression spike scent remained, the fur on his scruff stiff from it, and Erik's tone was outright hostile. Charles rubbed his cheek against Erik's thigh in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, but he was ignored, and Emma merely pursed her lips at the sight, as though observing something distasteful.
"Grandsire was certain that Charles would refuse to come back. So we packed a medical team and a security detail. They'll move into the spare rooms," Raven waved a hand at the mansion around them, smirking at Erik's undoubtedly stormy expression. "And decent rooms will be arranged for Emma and myself, I presume. Oh, don't scowl, Lehnsherr, it's tiresome," she added, every bit as imperious as her aunt, "You have no Pack other than yourselves, no security, and you're in the badlands. Grandsire decided to extend my cousin a gesture of good will."
"And his price?" Erik asked, as glacial as the winter winds.
"Why, I'm shocked," Raven pressed a palm over her ample breast. "To think that you would suspect Charles' family of base conspiracies."
Erik growled, and this time, Charles huffed, pulling carefully out of Erik's grip, nuzzling his fingers affectionately, nipping gently at the digits until Erik looked down at him. "Charles. Arctus will have an agenda. We can't simply..." Erik's words trailed away as Charles stared at him, waiting, until Erik finally sighed explosively and closed his eyes, hands clenched. Charles sat down, and looked back towards Emma, nodding carefully.
As possessive as Erik was, as paranoid as his life after the War had made him, logically Charles knew that he could very well need this - now that the issue of not having to leave his territory was sorted. He knew nothing of what was to come, and if pressed, deep down, he doubted that Erik had a very good grasp of the mechanics, either. Although Charles had little care about his life, he knew also that he now had other lives to worry about, and a little expert medical aid would not go amiss. At the very least, it would quite possibly spare some local human vet from being press-ganged into the unbelievable, should Charles actually end up needing medical attention, and he didn't want to think about that.
Besides, it posed an excellent opportunity to study werewolf interaction, this time between two separate Packs, without the destabilizing presence of Shaw. Not to mention werewolf genetics, if the medical team was specialised to such an extent. Even sharpened and simplified by his instincts, Charles couldn't help but perk up at the very thought. He'd have to get the notepad back from Emma, somehow. Raven seemed amenable enough, and Charles had questions.
"Fine." Erik said finally, flatly. "But I'll be watching all of you very closely."
"Wonderful," Raven said archly, even as Emma sniffed and glided past them, stalking towards the eastern wing to inspect it, "I'll get the staff arranged immediately."