Theme Challenge #4: Rage
Theme #4: Rage
Rating: PG
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Word Count: 286
Notes: None
Somewhere between rage and serenity. The memory Charles finds fits that description perfectly. Buried under years of piled-on hatred and lust for revenge, most of Erik’s happier memories have been nearly forgotten. Aside from appearances in his dreams every few months (and even then they swiftly turn into nightmares), he’s managed to suppress the thoughts of those times when his family was still together- when his mother was alive and his father had a job and Erik was young and free with no idea of his future.
He’s consciously forged himself from a man into a machine. Mere men don’t get things done, Schmidt told him numerous times. To be superior one must be more than human. So that’s what he’s done- pushed his body to physical extremes, challenged his mind until his head has split from migraines, traveled to Hell and back. He’s tracked and followed and hunted every last step of the trail, from the lowliest camp guards to the Gestapo in their South-Sea hideaways. He has tasted blood and heard screams for mercy. He has killed husbands, fathers, sons.
He has never killed mothers. Women, yes, but never mothers.
The memory that Charles pulls from the dark recesses of his brain, of Erik and his mother and the candles burning warm in the darkness of a basement, is at the same time painful and soothing. It’s like putting balm on a burn: the touch of fingers against red, sensitive skin makes your nerve endings sing with pain, but the cool gel of the ointment overlays the sting with comfort. It stirs up contradicting feelings in Erik. He is in between happiness and anger, suffering and relief, rage and serenity.
Charles has outdone himself.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Word Count: 286
Notes: None
Somewhere between rage and serenity. The memory Charles finds fits that description perfectly. Buried under years of piled-on hatred and lust for revenge, most of Erik’s happier memories have been nearly forgotten. Aside from appearances in his dreams every few months (and even then they swiftly turn into nightmares), he’s managed to suppress the thoughts of those times when his family was still together- when his mother was alive and his father had a job and Erik was young and free with no idea of his future.
He’s consciously forged himself from a man into a machine. Mere men don’t get things done, Schmidt told him numerous times. To be superior one must be more than human. So that’s what he’s done- pushed his body to physical extremes, challenged his mind until his head has split from migraines, traveled to Hell and back. He’s tracked and followed and hunted every last step of the trail, from the lowliest camp guards to the Gestapo in their South-Sea hideaways. He has tasted blood and heard screams for mercy. He has killed husbands, fathers, sons.
He has never killed mothers. Women, yes, but never mothers.
The memory that Charles pulls from the dark recesses of his brain, of Erik and his mother and the candles burning warm in the darkness of a basement, is at the same time painful and soothing. It’s like putting balm on a burn: the touch of fingers against red, sensitive skin makes your nerve endings sing with pain, but the cool gel of the ointment overlays the sting with comfort. It stirs up contradicting feelings in Erik. He is in between happiness and anger, suffering and relief, rage and serenity.
Charles has outdone himself.