Two years later

Charles dodged out of the way of a boisterous group of men and women with painted faces holding New York Giant pennants. Erik bought four season tickets to just about every sport. The two of them went to games with Hank and Raven, or Moira and her new beau, or guys from the steel factory. If the Summers brothers were around, they had first dibs on the tickets, and that's who they were with tonight.

Alex Summers found Charles and handed him a Coke. Erik was over by the stairs, talking to a man that Charles recognized from the steel factory. The man waved over a woman his own age and three teenagers. Erik shook hands with all of them, that shark grin splitting his face as he joked around.

"Pretty amazing, huh?" Alex said.

"Hmm?" Charles asked.

"It was four years ago this month that I found him in that POW camp. You did know I was the one who found him, right?" Alex said.

"Yes, Scott told me," Charles replied. It had been a long time since Charles had thought about the fact that Alex had been the one to fish Erik out of that hellhole.

"He was too scared to even look at me at first. I'd never seen anyone look so broken. I pretty much had to carry him out of that cell to the rescue truck." Alex paused to shake his head at the memory. "Now look at him."

Charles did not need to be invited to look at Erik. He was in jeans and a Giants t-shirt. Somehow, Erik made even a t-shirt and jeans look like a million dollars. He was happy and relaxed, and had apparently just complimented the teenage daughter on her hair, because she was smiling, self-consciously putting a hand to her long, wavy mane of chestnut hair. With a slap on the back, Erik left his co-worker to find their seats and rejoined Charles and the Summers brothers, taking the nachos Scott handed him.

They cheered and yelled throughout the game. Charles' mind was only partly on the game. Alex's comment had thrown him into a reflective mood in spite of the chaotic surroundings. He kept sneaking glances at Erik, trying to picture him four years ago - hungry, scared, and too broken to walk. He couldn't superimpose that image over this vital and enthusiastic man sitting next to him, who hollered at the top of his lungs at every play and kept elbowing Scott in the ribs to get a rise out of him and joking with Alex.

Four years? Charles had been there through much of it, first at Bellview and then living with him through that difficult first year leading up to Erik's breakdown. He would never downplay how hard that time had been, but he didn't regret sticking it out. Look at what he had now. A bemused smile curved his lips and Erik gave him a quizzical glance.

"Nothing," Charles said, and he turned to yell at Shofner to watch his back. The Giants managed to lose despite all their encouragement, but it had been a hard-fought loss, and Darrell Dess had showed real improvement.

They got home late, after consoling themselves at a bar with the rest of New York. Charles had only had the one scotch, and Erik had limited himself to half a beer, so Charles thought it would be alright to ask something that had been on his mind since Alex's comment.

"Erik, I have a question," Charles said.

"Sure."

"In all those letters you've written, you've never brought up the POW camp. I just wondered," Charles said.

He'd caught Erik completely off guard, and there was a flash of surprise before his expression blanked out entirely. Charles waited. Erik didn't shut him out anymore, though sometimes it took him some time to find words. Always more physical than verbal, Erik reached for Charles and folded the smaller man up in his embrace, burying his face in Charles' hair. Another long moment passed while Erik just held him. Charles ran his hand up Erik's arm, fingers under the sleeve of his t-shirt, feeling that sweet ache when his love for Erik swelled large enough to encompass all the pain that came with it. Erik belonged to him, in both good times and bad times.

Then Erik jerked back. "Wait. Am I not treating you well? Is that why you asked? Have I been impatient with you or anything?"

Charles smiled at the concern in Erik's voice and tugged on Erik's shirt until he came back into Charles' arms. "You're doing just fine. At the game, Alex mentioned it was four years ago this month that he found you at the POW camp. That's what made me think of it."

"Four years," Erik said, his voice trailing off. It was several more minutes before Erik said anything else, and when he did, it was just, "I may need a few more years before I can write those letters, Charles."

"That's fine, Erik," Charles said, running a comforting hand up and down Erik's arm. "I'll still be here."

Erik's arms tightened around Charles. "That's good to know. I couldn't face it without you."

Charles pressed a kiss to Erik's cheek, deeply happy to be needed.

"Put your hand right there, and tell me when you feel the lever catch," Dale told him.

Erik grasped the lever, eyes on the ladle running along the overhead track. Through the lever, he could feel the vibration and then, "now, it just caught."

"Right. Once it catches, you shift this lever sideways, see?" Dale demonstrated.

Erik nodded. Dale was training him on the more advanced crane operations. Now that he'd been out on the floor for three years, he could start some specialized training. Erik was toying with the idea of becoming a crane operator, partly because it would be easier on his hands. He'd gone back to the doctor after those hand spasms persisted for most of a year. The doctor had given him an injection and recommended regular hand massages to keep the nerves from tightening up again. It mostly worked.

"So can you and Larry come to the game this weekend?" Erik asked as they oiled the machinery together towards the end of their shift.

"Nope, Larry's nephew is getting married. And I'm helping a neighbor move. Next time for sure though, okay?" Dale said.

"Sure thing," Erik replied. Larry Swann and Dale seemed to have it hit it off, though nothing like what he and Charles had. Erik figured that what he had with Charles was pretty unique. But Dale didn't look wistful around Charles anymore, so that was something.

"Floor boss wants to see you after the shift," Dale said as he wiped his hands off on a rag.

"Oh?" Erik stripped off his gloves and went to the floor boss's office, removing his ear plugs as he left the furnace floor.

The floor boss, Brookes, waved him in.

"Sir," Erik said, resisting the urge to salute. Brookes was a World War II vet; he'd been an officer, not a non-com like Erik, and Erik's spine straightened whenever he was in the man's presence.

Brookes asked a few basic questions, how did Erik like the work, where were his interests, before launching into the reason he wanted to see him. "Dale tells me you read science books."

Erik almost corrected him to say he read science fiction, but then caught himself. He'd started out reading science fiction, but had expanded from there. He read everything Asimov wrote, and Asimov wrote as much non-fiction as fiction. Then he'd gotten interested in some of the principles of rocketry that Robert Heinlein dropped into his space adventure stories and found a book about Robert Goddard, the father of modern rocketry. "Yes, sir."

"You've got G.I. Bill money. What were you planning to do with it?" Brookes asked.

Erik hesitated. He knew about the G.I. Bill, the money Congress set aside to give any returning veteran a college education, but it hadn't seemed to be something he needed to think about. "I haven't made plans, sir."

"Go to college, Lehnsherr. I'll put a note in your personnel file. You can work here on substitute shifts in the summer, and school holidays too if you want. Then we'll hire you back full-time once you've got a degree. Major in chemistry and metallurgy," Brookes said, dropping into the chair behind his desk.

College? Him?

"Sir?"

"Look, Lehnsherr, we need people who can run this place, not just work the machinery. You know who I've got applying for supervisory positions now? Skinny know-it-alls with book learning who have never been out on the floor. You going to take orders from someone like that? No, and neither is anyone else out there. Get yourself a college education and get back here. I'd make that an order, but I got discharged some years ago," Brookes said.

"Yes, sir," Erik replied automatically.

College? Erik thought about it the entire bus ride home. He had plenty of money saved. The Army pay he'd never spent while in Vietnam and then as a POW had piled up in the bank. Working at the steel factory paid better than Charles' teaching job, and they lived simply. The G.I. Bill would cover his tuition; his savings would only have to pay living expenses. Him, Erik Lehnsherr, with a college education. It seemed like a dream.

As long as he was dreaming, maybe he could forego working at the steel factory one summer and take Charles on that trip to Peru they'd talked about in their letters all those years ago.

Erik got home and slept all day while Charles was at school. He woke up when the door slammed that afternoon and he heard Charles in the kitchen. He wandered out, yawning. Charles had several packages from the deli spread out all over the kitchen counter. It looked like they were hosting a dinner tonight.

Charles set the cheese back down and came to run his hands up Erik's chest and kiss him. Then he ran his hands back down Erik's chest and kept going. Erik gave a long, slow exhalation of pleasure. They were both a bit randy when Erik came off-shift, after four days apart.

"You're wearing too many clothes, lover."

"Whereas you are only in boxer shorts," Charles replied.

"Do you get your powers of observation from that college degree?" Erik asked. And then he blurted out everything Brookes had said about him going to college.

Charles, predictably, was ecstatic. "I'll call tomorrow and get you class catalogues, and an application. I'll help with that, of course. You're thinking one of the local state colleges, right? Although if you wanted to apply to Oxford, I probably still know a few people," Charles said with a thoughtful frown.

Erik gave a bark of laughter. "Oxford? Let's be real, Charles. I'm going to the easiest college I can find, something cheap and right here, because I'm not spending four years away from you."

"Admit it, Erik, you only love me because I massage your hands so well."

Erik leered at him. "Yes, that's very therapeutic."

"How do you make that word sound naughty?" Charles asked, and kissed Erik a few more times. Or a lot of times, but there was no point in counting.

Erik was wondering if he could get Charles to the bedroom when he stepped back. "I've got to get the food ready. Could you set the table? Raven and Hank are coming over. Raven said she had something important to talk about."

Erik backed off when Charles washed his hands and went back to the cheese tray. He let his eyes wander over Charles, undressing him with his eyes instead. He was in a sweater against the chill in the fall air. His shoulders had filled out with the boxing and weight-lifting. And those trousers certainly hung nicely on him.

"I know what you're thinking," Charles said. "And you're going to have to wait until Raven and Hank are gone."

"Mmm-hmm, it's like you can read my mind," Erik said. "Charles, do you think I can handle college? I never really went to school. There were a few years of high school, but I had to have tutors to catch me up on everything I missed to get the diploma before I joined the Army."

"Do you know what goes on at college? You read books, you talk about the books with people, and sometimes you write about what you're learning. What part of that worries you?"

Erik laughed. "So you've been prepping me for college all this time?"

"Yes, lover, I have. Go put clothes on." Charles handed Erik a stack of dishes and Erik set the table before going to shave and get dressed.

Charles announced Erik's college plans almost before Raven and Hank had taken their jackets off.

"What are you going to study?" Hank asked as they sat down at the table.

"Chemistry and metallurgy," Erik replied.

"Science?" Hank asked.

"You know Hank teaches science," Raven supplied.

"Yes, I knew," Erik said.

Charles set down his sandwich and retrieved a few of Erik's books, dropping them onto the table next to Hank. Hank picked up the chemistry book by Isaac Asimov, then the principles of physics book, thumbing through and reading some of Erik's notes. Then he read the jacket flap on the book about rocketry. He asked Erik a few questions that Erik answered. Then Erik started asking Hank questions, and he and Hank took over the conversation entirely, talking about science.

Raven tolerated it while they ate, then blew out a noisy sigh and started clearing the table. Charles, who had also been excluded from the conversation, pitched in to help.

Erik and Hank wound down their discussion, but it seemed that Erik would have a tutor if he needed one.

"Erik, that's totally fab about college and all that, but Hank and I have an announcement too," Raven said.

"That's right, Charles said that's why you came over. What was it?" Erik said.

Raven came up between him and Charles, grabbed them both around the shoulders and pulled them down to knock their heads together. "You're going to be uncles!"

Charles rubbed his head, his eyes went very wide, and then he shouted and hugged Raven, spinning her in a circle.

"Uncles?" Erik repeated. Was he really included in that?

Raven hugged Erik while Charles started planning the baby's first birthday party. It seemed he was included in that.

How remarkable.

"Congratulations," Erik said, extending a hand to Hank. Hank looked both sheepish and proud, and shook Erik's hand hard, then apologized for squeezing too much.

Erik said not to worry about it.

Charles moved on to the baby's second birthday party.

Erik's eyes were stinging, and he blinked hard. How strange. He'd never had his eyes act up like that before. They were definitely moist.

Charles was planning a trip to the zoo for the baby's third birthday.

Tears, there were tears stinging his eyes.

Charles.

College.

A niece or nephew.

For the first time in his life, Erik Lehnsherr shed tears of happiness.

A/N

ToriTC198: I started this story many years ago as a way for me to kind of deal with some of my own inner demons from my PTSD. I never expected that it would connect with people the way that it has and I am so grateful that it has. At every point in this story, people have loved and supported it in a way I could never have anticipated. I love all of the readers, those who have been here since the beginning and the ones who have found this story and connected with it later. I'm so glad that it was able to be finished after all this time, so another heartfelt thank you to Lindstrom for that. Writing about things like PTSD and recovery, trying to navigate a relationship with something like that, is a challenge but it's one that I am glad we took on. These are themes that many people can relate to and that draw out a lot of emotions, so thank you to everyone who has read it , commented on it, and cared about it. It's been a great journey.

Lindstrom: Thanks for reading! And a huge thank you to those who left comments. Not only are comments encouraging, but I would adapt future chapters when I saw what stood out to readers. Feedback means so much. Writing is a hope to connect with readers, and making that connection is the pay-off for the work.

Any story draws on personal experience, and this one was no exception. I've dealt with mental illness firsthand, and as a support person. There are several military personnel in my family (I tried to join but didn't make the cut); I've got a loved one leaving for a war zone next week, actually (non-combat role). I've struggled with wishing someone I loved would accept my help, and coped with the fallout when things went so terribly wrong. Writing this story has helped process some of those thoughts and feelings. I've been deeply affected by a commenter who has also been through experiences reflected in this story. I love this story. Many kudos to ToriTC198 who got it started, and was gracious enough to let me barge in and finish it. Thanks again for reading.

And hurray for happy endings. They may not always happen in real life, but when I'm writing the story, there will always be a happy ending.