Moira MacTaggert arrives just before dinner the following day, toting take-out from the greasy diner down the street from their precinct. The glorious smell of the cheeseburger sets his stomach rumbling, but seeing his partner again is more than enough to obliterate Erik’s appetite.
“Eat it while it’s hot,” Moira says, dropping her purse on the ground with a grunt and flopping into the chair next to Erik’s bed. “I tipped the cabbie extra to get me here in less than ten minutes.”
It shouldn’t have been such a surprise he muses, as Moira shoves the bag into his hands, that Charles would find comfort in her arms after their split. She and Erik have always worked well together, their years together as partners making her one of the few people he values and trusts with his life. That she became best friends with Charles was something Erik welcomed once upon a time; had in fact teased Charles that his compatibility with Moira made her more ideally suited to him than Erik.
The irony is not lost on him now.
“What…why aren’t you eating?” Moira asks, frowning as he sits there with his fists clenched around the take-out bag. “What’s wrong, Lensherr? Look if you’re mad that I didn’t come sooner you should know I’ve been undercover these past three weeks and I only found out about your accident this morning.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, MacTaggert, acting like everything’s okay,” he growls. “Like you didn’t stab me in the back by sleeping with my husband! I don’t care if Charles and I are divorced, you’re supposed to be my friend! My partner! I trusted you, how could you—”
“Woah, woah, woah, hold on! I never slept with Charles!” Moira objects, throwing both hands in the air to ward off the accusations. “Where did you get the ridiculous idea that I slept with Charles?”
Erik can’t help but shout, livid that she would try to lie when he’d heard the words straight from his ex’s mouth. “He told me! That he was drunk and it just happened and—”
“God you idiot he wasn’t talking about me—”
“He said my partner—”
“—he was talking about your other partner! Howlett! At the O.C.C.B!”
The name only sounds vaguely familiar, Erik having no recollection at all of his time in the force after leaving the 9th. He must look suitably bewildered because Moira seems to take pity on him, pinched brow smoothing over and expression softening as she answers, “Detective James Howlett. Logan, as he likes to be called. You told me you guys were at the Academy around the same time. He was assigned to you after you joined the O.C.C.B. I think you two were pretty close.”
“Apparently not that close,” he snarls, ripping the bag open and crumpling it into a ball, whipping it across the room and into the garbage can, “if he fucked my husband, MacTaggert. Sorry, ex-husband.”