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"Probably, I'm, am — really… Not feeling good…"

"You — shut the fuck up! And you!"

"Excuse me, sir, but with all due respect," Angel giggled and saluted: her bold and cheeky grin was swaying before Charles' eyes — a semblance to the damningly classic Cheshire Cat was striking. Thereby, the general craziness ensured.

This grotesque image was too much, so Charles rather swiftly twisted himself out of the firm grip and hastened to hide his face in the juncture of Erik's neck and shoulder, suddenly hit by an over-encompassing exhaustion. For now this was the safest place in the entire universe, while said universe tilted, dangerously. Well, he's going to be sick again with all probability — philosophically reflected Charles, only dimly aware of awkward background clamor.

"S' sorry," he mumbled, while his hand has grabbed Erik's forearm on its own accord. Charles staggered and for the entire blissful moment exploited the undeserved opportunity to press his body even closer to Erik's to the hilt. In this way he learned that this close, in such lovely proximity, Erik was indeed the most… Oh, goodness, the sound of his name barked in a gruff voice alongside horror are suddenly holding Charles rooted to the spot.

"Oh, oh Jesus! Charles! What are you doing!?" Angel's panicked shriek has cut through him like a knife. "Please, sir! Just don't hurt him. This is really, really not his fault!"

"Getting shit faced is always someone else's fault," got out Erik through gritted teeth, but contrary to his own words he was careful when he pushed Charles within arm's reach, never letting go of his shoulders.

"Damn it! Charles, look at me!" that tone meant that Erik was confused, and Charles has just discovered that Erik's eyes were not grey but almost blue. Curious, he cocked his head to the side and announced it aloud as that was a matter of such grave importance he couldn't let it lie neglected.

"Hold on a minute," told him Erik, harshly, words resonating with furious undertones. Erik, Charles absently mused that instant, was frowning in a very handsome way.

"You-you're drugged. Fuck!"

You're saying it as if it's something bad — Charles perked up at that, slightly offended, and almost instantly regretted it as the wave of nasty dizziness hit him with the viciousness of the big, really big sledge hammer.

"That was a joke! I swear, sir," was saying Angel somewhere to his left, while Charles struggled hard to discern separate words.

"Logan meant to give that glass to Sean. You know our Sean, right? It would help him to… to relax. After all, this is a goddamn wedding! Christ!" she carried on, half hysterical, "Who knew that Charles would take it?! Trust me, it was an accident!"

"Which proves that you lot are no more than the pack of bumbling, spiteful, irresponsible idiots," seethed Erik, tugging Charles along and, oh joy, letting him lean on his arm. "And these people are calling themselves police officers."

Charles decided to interrupt, solemnly to keep the conversation from getting too heated.

"Erik, you," it came out slurred, and not as nice as he was imagining it, "you shouldn't talk like that! You know that we're a good team. You're a great boss of the g-great team. Also, we like working with you too. I, I think so… For instance, I-I like, like you a lot." Proud of his genuine speech Charles' gaze, with some effort, found Erik's eyes and, greatly pleased with himself, Charles felt that he was finally regaining his focus. For the brief moment, the look on Erik's face was oddly plaintive, but only until he snorted, all traces of awkwardness vanishing as his features twisted into impressive scowl. Again. Oh my, try and guess what the man is thinking about. Reading Erik doesn't become any easier.

Meanwhile, Erik, went on, in his cool voice, reserved for special occasions, and that alone was holding Charles warranted in believing that he, this time, should not intrude.

"Don't even dream that oral reprimand is there it ends," Angel gasped in bitter indignation, all laughter long gone. Erik added, turning away, "I hope, the phrase disciplinary record sounds familiar to you, Logan and four eyes."

The clicking of retreating heels soon died. This is bad. Very bad. Charles gulped down the acid bile, but there was nothing else he could think of, nothing to redeem the whole situation. Except, it's never late to try, surmised he.

"Erik, please, listen…"

"No, not this again! Absolutely not. Don't even start!"

Charles was pushed inside the car quite harshly. Thus it was a little miracle that he hadn't struck his head.

"Even you should be angry," the mutter was barely discernible. "Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" snidely inquired him Erik then, shutting the doors with more force than strictly necessary.

"I… not, I didn't," he subtly looked to his right catching the glimpse of his haggard reflection. This very moment, a terrible sense of déjà vu darted through him like a bolt of lightning, burning his insides. No, Charles stilled — he can't afford to have a flashback right now. He's over it. He's dealt with it.

"…understand what could have happened? Besides, how did she even know that I was leaving this blasted party earlier? And dragging you, in your state, to the parking lot? Where is the logic? Admittedly, I might have overestimated Salvadore before. But now…"

Gods, Erik is doing it again — tiredly thought Charles. There was a momentary feeling of nausea, while the world swung and reeled about him, and the entropy of that maddening dance was absolutely, outstandingly revolting. He pressed his eyes shut, hoping to reign in the rebellious stomach. Too intense. His body was simultaneously heavy and light and his senses were going totally haywire.

Come on. This is unfair. These pills are supposed to make you feel nice. Why am I the one blessed with intolerance?

"Charles," Erik leaned over and lightly patted his knee, worried. "I should take…"

"Home," scarcely got out Charles, opening his eyes just a fraction to peer at his friend. The crazy party inside his skull has got a bit quieter — what a relief. "Please, Erik. Just take me home."

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The truth is that Erik always silently cheers the end of each matrimonial union for the reason. Consequently, weddings are on his list of things he never ever attends as well; that's completely rational as they are clearly a waste of time, especially the wedding of that woman from Forensics. And yet, yet he did come. Had it not been for Charles, he would have never found himself there in the first place. But, had it not been for him… what would happen to Charles in that case.

"Are you," no he won't be asking whether Charles is alright. It would be totally inappropriate in these circumstances. So he asked instead, "Are you ready to go?"

For a long moment he heard nothing in response, though the bathroom door was hardly soundproof.

"Charles, are you," he paused. The stupid question has waited for this moment to escape his traitorous mouth, "Are you all right in there?"

"Fine," came the strangled response and Erik realized that he was holding his breath for a while.

"Police will be here soon," he said, before stepping away from the door and into the living room, glass cracking loudly beneath his feet. He should grant the man some privacy, but, to be completely fair, he was more than just worried this time. If he is right, and Erik is seldom wrong in this regard, Charles and trouble are the closest friends ever. The person who, like Charles, is used to wearing his heart on his sleeve, although lately tries to keep one's feelings and opinions hidden and fails spectacularly; the one like him is doomed to be hurt, grimly concluded Erik. Only, in Charles' case additional hazards come with the job. First kidnapping and now someone has broken into his apartment and turned it upside down. Erik rubbed at his eyes, which felt heavy and irritated, refusing to let his mind wander. Were it not Charles he would have inwardly laughed at the sorry bastard and offered to buy him a lucky charm. But, well, Charles was…

"Erik? What's the matter with you?"

He tensed up. A consoling thought that Charles hasn't noticed his nervous gesture quickly disappeared after he felt a soothing hand on his elbow. Yeah, Charles is indeed too tactile for his own good. Erik could bet his weapon collection that his partner doesn't even realize this; as well as he doesn't notice odd looks they have been getting since this strange friendship has happened to be finally acknowledged.

"You are the one to ask," scowled Erik and quickly looked Charles up and down.

The sharp, stylish suit was only slightly rumpled. The same couldn't be said about Charles' face, the gentle features of which were sickeningly pale with patches of feverish blush. The living room was lit by white lights which emphasized the muted shadows on his face, making it look ephemeral. Bright, blue eyes were red-rimmed. Moreover, the natural amity of them was almost shaded, screaming of exhaustion and bone-deep weariness instead. Looking at Charles now Erik suddenly realized, with a pang of cruel, unidentified feeling — oh, he became so thin, maybe recently, and I hadn't paid any attention before.

"Do you have any idea who might have done this?" Erik curtly gestured to the upturned furniture and broken bookshelves, lying tattered on the floor, like the silent accusation. Watching mangled books and journals with purposefully torn pages was somehow the most terrible thing Erik has stumbled upon tonight. A violation. And he had sat through the entire wedding ceremony, don't forget that.

"I don't know," Charles heavily leaned on the doorframe, eyeing the mess around them with strange, unperturbed detachment. Erik has never seen him act like that and that's why he resolved to wait calmly for any sighs of something going wrong. More wrong, that is. Of course, he won't intrude just now. This is because he does respect Charles and inwardly understands that any other approach aside from the even, unobtrusive support would have been decidedly unwelcomed right now.

"But," looking genuinely confused, Charles shook his head, and buried one hand in his hair, absentmindedly tugging at it. "You saw that the doors were locked. Of course, it means nothing. Lock picking, for instance. Also," he let go of his hair, his hand migrated to rub at the temple, which was indeed a useless way to fight off dizziness if you ask Erik. "I still can't remember whether I've shut the kitchen window or not. Hence, we have to consider an emergency staircase too. Besides, nothing's stolen as far as I can… Well, suppose I can say," a sigh escaped him. In the meantime, Erik was legitimately impressed. Charles, however having spent the last couple of hours forcibly drugged and the last ten minutes hugging the toilet — accident, my ass, Erik will show them accidents — was nevertheless admiringly coherent.

"So, it has been planned ahead. It means, you need to consider another obvious motive — personal," sinks a bite Erik, careful not to press too hard. This is Charles, after all. Charles, who trusts him and calls him his friend; and who did everything possible to warm his way into the daily hell of Erik's life — be it for better or worse. He hadn't decided yet.

"I suppose," Charles closed his eyes and turned even whiter than before: Erik doubted that that pallor was owing to the remaining effect of drugs. "You might be right," he quietly said.

"Do you want to tell me?" frankly speaking, Erik found the situation quite bizarre. Had he ever considered himself interrogating Charles? Definitely not. No, he hadn't. Except, this was his job and the good old instincts kicked in uninvited.

"You don't need to use that look on me, my friend," Charles attempted a pale smile. "It's still difficult to concentrate, uh, but of course, I'll tell you."

The door bell rings, interrupting Charles midsentence and he exchanges a wide-eyed, bewildered look with Erik.

"They're a bit early," marveled Charles.

"Hey," Erik cursed their luck. Honestly, may the weddings be damned. Now he hasn't even got his sidearm on. "I will get it. You stay behind."

"Erik, surely you don't think…"

"I often wonder how you had survived on your own," it was enough to shut Charles up for now, and his indignant reaction never failed to amuse Erik.

After the door bell rang for the second time, impatient, Erik was already at the door, straining to get to the peephole through the general mess the hall has become without making much noise.

"Who's there?" that moment Erik hated how Charles' voice had faltered, lost.

"Looks like a sissy wimp with a brown tabby, who is very anxious to see you," levelly said Erik and looked curiously at Charles.

"Jason! And he brought Cat, thank goodness!" exclaimed Charles, alight with relief, and hastened to swing the doors open.

"Charles!" the young man looked from Erik to Charles and tried to offer a polite smile, "Is everything all right?"

Erik didn't like him at first sight, despite the pleasant, albeit somewhat frippery manners or, maybe, because of them.

The cat, which Erik has seen before only once or twice — the recollections were far from pleasant as the animal clearly hated him, meanwhile migrated to Charles arms and started clawing at his suit jacket in agitation: her cries piercing air and making Erik greet his teeth in frustration.

"This is my neighbor — Jason," Charles is anxiously trying to calm down his hilarious pet and provide introductions simultaneously. "Jason, this is Erik. My," he stammers minutely, oddly inept, "my friend. Hush, dear, everything's fine."

"Nice to meet you," freshly introduced neighbor offers his hand, keeping that annoying smile on. Erik firmly ignores him — his hands never leave his pockets.

"Unfortunately, I can't agree," calmly replies Erik and, pleased, observes how Jason's smile dims and the jaw trembles when he lowers his hand, eventually realizing that no one is going to shake it. After the proper pause filled in by oblivious Charles, who was muttering some nonsense under his breath, and the neighbor staring at him like a little girl whose teddy bear has just grown fangs, Erik starts, "Senior detective Lehnsherr, sir," at least his badge is here so he demonstrates it to the stupefied man, "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"What questions? Charles, what is going on?" to Erik he sounds suspiciously alert.

"Well," for some reason Charles is looking right at Erik as if silently begging him to fill in the awkward silence.

"Someone broke in your neighbor's apartment, mister…"

"Stryker," he gulped.

"Okay, mister Stryker."

Stryker, huh? If he means that Stryker, someone here's got a daddy in the 'uppermost'. Shit, Erik has forgotten for a moment who was Charles exactly and where he lived. This fucking neighborhood is the cozy nesting corner, the snake pit as Erik puts it, the exclusive pit for rich and privileged.

"Have you heard anything unusual tonight?"

"Oh, Charles, I'm sorry to hear that," gasped Stryker with proper amount of shock as if aiming to win the most sympathetic person of the year award. "Yes, now, that you mention it…"

That's interesting.

"Your cat has climbed up to my place again. I live upstairs," explained the neighbor. Aha, so Charles did leave the window open. "You know that I don't mind, so I thought you left again and I was so taken up with rehearsing, that…"

"Why did you decide so?"

"Decided what?" dumbly asks him Stryker. Yeah, now Erik remembers Charles mentioning a violin playing neighbor. Must be him.

"Decided that Charles has left," patiently clarifies Erik.

"But his cat always comes only when he leaves."

"Erik," Charles gasps right behind his back, mildly horrified. It appears — his partner is standing closer than he expected.

He sheepishly tugs at Erik's sleeve then to attract his attention, "They're here."

Charles was right. The police were finally here, apparently, two men have just stepped out of an elevator.

The cops proved to be the ones of the common type of constantly tired, grim men, at war with everyone who could potentially earn more or were slightly better off. Almost with everybody, by default. Meanness was blunted into their eyes and settled there long ago. The neighbor, definitely a shady character, has disappeared after offering Charles to stay at his place and getting a civil, but firm refusal.

Erik grew furious when one of the policemen snidely implied that Charles was hardly in the position to issue any official complains, seeing as he himself was very evidently too intoxicated to be taken seriously. Were in not for Charles, Erik would have done something he might've regretted later. The desire to crash something, aside from things at Charles' — there was literally nothing left, had to remain buried until the right time comes.

"Erik, please, don't," as if the trace of anguish in Charles voice was not unsettling enough it robbed Erik of the power of speech. Okay, he can always find the bastards tomorrow, which he vowed to do first thing in the morning.

He snatched up the bag, which Charles has stuffed with some clothes and personal belongings. Charles once again was holding that feline, practically cuddling her impossibly close to his chest. This time, noted Erik, there was purring involved. It was a truly disreputable scene. It ought to have been. Still he couldn't possibly admit it to himself that something sharp, unspeakably hot instantly went through him at the sight.

As Charles was far from feeling good, it was mutually decided that Erik would drive him to the nearest hotel. Nevertheless, closely examining Charles' features not for the first time tonight in the uneven light inside of his car, Erik said, with resolution, which, he was absolutely sure, laced every single word.

"You don't need to go to the hotel," Charles barely managed to react when he finished, "You can stay at my place. There is a spare bedroom in case you worry about that."

"This is unexpected, though I'm grateful of course," Charles said slowly. "But what about Cat? You are not fond of her, I can say."

"Neither will be the hotel personnel," his response was instinctual.

"Good god," murmured Charles, drained, as he slumped into his seat, "Not exactly typical of you, Erik. No offence. And I'd rather sleep in the familiar place. Does that make sense? I don't know if it has anything to do with the pills but I feel that once I get to the closest flat surface… I just want to sleep very, very much. So, yes, you've saved me the headache of explaining the cat-issue to other people. Thank you, my friend," smiles at him Charles. For some bizarre, illogical reason, his smile manages to radiate more sincere gratitude than Erik though humanly possible. Especially, if one considers the events of the evening.

But, fuck, he's got himself quite a deal, somberly muses Erik. Cat lets out a single curious meow and promptly agrees.

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The pillow under his head is soft. Even foamy soft. Charles' mind, though sluggish and not fully awake, still registers that he feels both weird and wonderful. Whenever he manages to sleep lately, his nights are full of fitful dreams, discarded pillows and twisted sheets. Charles mechanically ponders over this phenomenon for a while. For the time being, he feels splendidly weightless. So he exploits the rare opportunity to bask in the comfort of this warm, friendly bed by stretching from head to toe and pulling the blankets up and over his head. After doing so he sighs a little, pleasantly content as the action has made him pretty comfortable. Linens, now that he registers it, smell of almond and something distinctly flowery. They feel extremely nice where they gently touch his bare skin to the point when the contact becomes bordering on faint, but unmistakably sensual caress. No, Charles thinks to himself, reasonably rueful, I'm not making out with sheets. And just like that, with a start, the memories from yesterday return in a rush. In gruesome detail. His body, entirely relaxed before that, now freezes in trepidation.

In his heart, he hoped that it was nothing more but an extremely vivid dream. Wouldn't it have been too cruel if everything he remembers did happen. But the truth is — Charles has exactly that brand of bloody luck. Better look facts in the face sooner than later. Yesterday he exposed himself to endless mockery and humiliation. He, oh goodness, he was throwing up in the closet during the better part of his friend's wedding, embarrassed himself by attempting to climb on the table and he definitely… Oh no, his speech. Why did it have to happen during his speech? Why nobody stopped him?

Charles could think of nothing. Thinking seems singularly futile. The lack of positive ideas gets on his nerves more than anything else. He briefly entertains the idea, which mainly involves going to sleep again, chiefly because he may literally die of shame in case he sees Erik.

"Oddly enough, I never took you for a heavy sleeper."

His heart leaped, starting high and fast when he heard that gruff and bemused voice. Good grief, Charles swept away his embarrassment and abashment with certain difficulty, and, bracing himself for the worst he slowly, so very carefully, pulled the blankets slightly lower, peeking out of the improvised cocoon. Clearly Charles forgot that Erik from the precinct and Erik at home were two different people. This Erik, for instance, huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes at Charles, as he said:

"Come on, don't make that face now. I'd rather forget yesterday completely as if it never happened. Deal?"

"Deal," eagerly agreed Charles.

Bedroom turned out to be just a small room with the walls painted in two shades of green and only one large window. Charles doesn't remember walking into it, or getting into the bed at all for that matter. He does remember the car though.

"I reckon, I shouldn't even ask how I get in here," Charles grabbed the blankets a bit tighter, trying to sooth himself with a thought that at least he had a T-shirt and his boxers on. How did he put the former on, if, in all probability, he passed out on the way here, was a mystery he didn't want to think about.

"As you wish," generously replied Erik and stepped into the room. He went directly to the window on the farther wall and pulled the heavy mahogany curtains, letting the sunshine in. One playful sunbeam reached Charles' eyes and he squinted as he leaned against the headboard more.

That one ray of light boosts his mood and pierces through the feeling of guilt and inadequacy, so Charles decides — why not make an effort and look at the bright side of this summer morning and enjoy a good day off in a company of his friend.

"I don't know what about you, but all I want is breakfast," says Erik, the corners of his lips quirking up.

"Brilliant idea."

"So, you know where the kitchen is. Your animal is already there," there was a mild sarcasm in his tone, which forced Charles to grin.

"She often likes to sleep on the kitchen counter," he shrugged, "I wonder whether it's comfortable."

"Whatever," Erik shakes his head, exasperated.

After Charles was left alone, he caught himself smiling. That peculiar sensation was awake in his heart again. Having figured out very early that honesty, at least when applied to himself, makes life a great deal easier, Charles already knew what this feeling was. From the very beginning, he was immensely attracted to Erik in so many ways, a bit intimidated, but nevertheless sincere and always, constantly open to him. It was clear — Charles liked Erik a lot, no, even loved him. The realization came quietly, exactly two months ago when he and Erik walked down the street and Erik listened to him hypothesizing about the current case, adding sharp remarks from time to time. Charles was elated that evening; it was a wonderful comfort for him — to be heard, finally, to be considered as an equal. He recalls that moment perfectly: he turned his head to Erik in order to ask him something and at the same time the setting sun had cast the last reddish ray of light. It reflected off Erik's aviators, and Charles, literally blinded by that light, halted, shaken to the core by the abrupt understanding. He laughed then, and said some nonsense, while his world was smashed, broke violently into pieces and was instantly reorganizing itself anew. Around Erik. Of course, there was plenty of anxiety on his part, because the newfound rules — don't slip, keep your hands to yourself, watch your tongue — were anything but easy to follow. But Charles was happy, despite the ceaseless aching of his soul. And Charles was patient.

Hot, long shower helped him to wash away the stress and lingering discomfort of the previous day. When he stepped into the kitchen Erik was already setting the table. He looked up and made the gesture which indicated that Charles should sit down. From experience, Charles was well aware that Erik followed the strange guest codex, reminiscent of Hellenic traditions. He protested any kind of help in the kitchen or around the house when Charles offered. Being warned once, he never attempted to defy Erik again. After all, everyone was entitled to have certain domestic rules. And, frankly speaking, Charles thought this quirk of Erik's was absolutely endearing.

The breakfast was luscious. That and also Charles was almost uncivilly hungry.

"It was delicious, Erik. Thank you!" he managed, fighting the temptation to close his eyes tight and fall into a content slumber.

"It was not bad," nodded Erik, collecting the plates. There was something on his mind, as he was wearing that expression of thoughtful concentration.

"Let's," started Charles, but he never had a chance to finish as the companionable silence was interrupted by Erik's ringtone.

Erik wiped his hands with a towel, before reaching for the mobile. He shot Charles a look and picked up. Charles expected him to leave the kitchen, but Erik stayed. As usual, the conversation was short and by the end of it Charles anticipated the unenviable.

"Where?" he asked.

"Ledville."

"Ledville's ten miles from the city," Charles wondered, moving to stand.

"Apparently, there was a rock festival nearby," it was very nice of Erik to satisfy his curiosity. "This morning, they found the entire band slaughtered in their trailer."

Goodness, Charles has already regretted that he had had a breakfast. He hoped he would have spare time today, the whole day to change the locks and clean up his apartment at least a bit. Well, maybe thinking like that makes him an awful person in the light of all those terrible murders.

"Charles? We need to hurry," reminded him Erik, "Come on! Someone has to deal with reporters."

Erik is still in a good mood, is still teasing him. It means, Charles is actually moving in the right direction. With this in mind, Charles follows his partner, inwardly grateful that in spite of everything, he believes, he has just had an amazing morning.

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