X-Men: First Class - Better Men.
fic: Better Men
Title: Better Men.
Author: Kenandbarbie
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: PG
Summary: A first delve into first class! Show love for more of this Post-First Class fic'! This will not interfere with our other projects ~ ! <3
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. better men .
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It had been a month since the incident at the embargo line. Nearly time for a new year already, it was almost now a feint memory in the back of the mind of 'Erik Lensherr', or ' Magneto' as his comrades so affectionately had coined him these days. It was as if it had all happened to someone else here, tucked away on some arctic base in the middle of nowhere by Azazel. While it was all together convenient that the former Sebastian Shaw had a slew of hideaways and resources that remained untapped upon his death, it was unusual for any creature to be so vastly tossed such a distance from what they had come to understand was 'home'.
While Erik would've loved to pretend that he was the proud, unshakable leader; the suave predator with unfathomable strength at his fingertips it was really quite the opposite when the man was left alone with his thoughts in the cool halls of the military complex, away from the onlooking eyes of the mutants that he had pulled under his wing in a fit of what he could only describe as tactical panic. He'd become quite good at presenting himself the way he wanted to be seen, steeling himself against the onslaught of emotions that constantly berated the underbelly of his thoughts as the days passed, and weeks turned into two, then three. He couldn't wonder every time he motioned for coffee, helped Raven train, or opened some new blueprint for his coming schemes; how his dear Charles was back in New York. Distance and time had done nothing more than open the still fresh wounds of his heart, and even a warrior could not help but succumb to such overwhelming abandonment when alone.
Alone with himself, sleep seemed an imaginary thing brought on only by exhaustion, days on end spent pressed against the curved, metal walls of the installment, his fingers pressed to the walls to find some comfort in the vortex of metal and energy pulsating at his fingertips. Magneto's quarters at the complex has served to be little more than a library, no personal affects kept as was his usual style. If ever he had a home to speak of in this life, Erik had long burned any path back to it in the torrent of his sins. What had he expected? All out war immediately? Some trumpet to sound in the sky to heed others to his cause? No. Just a quiet complex, and a sea of abused, broken strangers around him. None of it mattered, it seemed, in the face of what he'd done to his friend.
While Mystique was of good company, there was really no way for Erik to make a real connection with the others at the complex. He admired her for her courage, at least. It was rather hard for anyone to gain the master of metal's respect in the first place, but the girl was willing to break her own heart to follow his cause,all the way out to a place like this; and not once had she cracked. He had to respect that, didn't he?
After breaking out the recently incarcerated Emma Frost, he'd made a ghost of himself to the others, only seeming to confided in Azazel from time to time while in midst the throws of contemplation of his next move. While he'd have loved to claim he was off being some mad genius, in truth Ms.Frost set his teeth on edge a bit, the way she looked at him. He'd been all together aware of just how powerful a telepath could be thanks to Xavier and he hadn't exactly had the best of history with her. A women scorned, and all that, Erik found it best to steer clear of any conflict that might have arisen, choosing rather to be an accommodating host to the lady. She, at least seemed to enjoy not having to be told to fetch him drinks or be host to other cat-call grade advances from the Brotherhood.
Piled high about Erik's room, science and physics literature stacked about in a tiny city of paper skyscrapers. His quarters had become wall-papered in maps and strange graphs that only seemed to grow thicker as the winter solidified glaciers outside of their rooms, sheets of ice grew thick over the metal encasing around them, choking light from the halls. Deep winter, and Erik felt numb to it all. Surely the plans of a mind that was eroding in guilt wouldn't bode well for the members of humanity; not when they came from Erik Lensherr.
There was no grandstanding for some grand "call to arms" in the name of "protection" when Erik was alone, and the rage distilled seemed only to give way to a torrent of pure, raw, awe-inspiring regret. One could have undoubtedly timed a watch to the anxiety-ridden, angry pacing around his quarters, the way the city of books seemed to change daily; marker ink spilled itself over pages carpeting his floor like abstract art. There were not many in this world that managed to main integrity and act with honor behind their words, he reminded himself. There were not many who could see the world for what it was, and dare to stay fast to a moral compass against the might of all that dared to turn one from the path of justice.. . . And he'd let one of those precious few slip right through his fingers, he' remind himself at the height of any sort of comfort he reached, before it all came crashing back down.
There'd be no turning back now. Charles was right. He was right about everything.
He couldn't help but recall a mix of sand and tears, of the feeling of his knuckles colliding with the bone of Xavier's cheek, and as he'd dragged his wrist up to stare rather aimlessly at the faded numbers placed there, he couldn't help but think of the feeling of Xavier rifling through his thoughts and gently pulled them forward in him. He'd managed to wound, so deeply, the only person he'd even managed to feel something real for. Erik had, after all, spent his entire life believing he'd been alone until he'd been plucked from the water that night by the professor. Charles had saved his life, and he'd given him only pain in return. He knew that.
No one understood the pains of humanity, the darkness hiding beneath it's skin, but Charles? He knew. No matter how kind his eyes or gentle his smile, the two of them seemed to simply see each other. Some part of him, the part that now had began the process of spiraling plot in the stillness of the night, figured the only real way to end the conflict between the two of them? Was to simply beat him. To prove himself right once and forall despite whatever Charles might have believed. It was the worst way to go about it, he knew it, but as a full month passed, his compass was left spinning out of control. The killing machine of a man had shoudl've never left the beach that day. Not alone.
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Erik's watched beeped him out of a trance when he realized he'd fallen asleep face down in some astrophysics text from the 1920's, it's spine torn and ratted around the edges where the cover could be seen on the small, simple desk he'd been granted where he'd obviously folded his arms to nod off. Ten o'clock pm? Ah right. He'd never reset it past his location shift from New York, which,he had to admit, boded such nicer tidings than this place that he now equated to a fucking tomb. Time didn't even matter, as they were so far north then that the sun seemed to stretch on it's show over them for a god damned eternity.... However it was easy to remind himself that the grandest things in life all required careful, thoughtful planning and considerable strife. It'd prove worth it, once he gathered his force.. . And if not, well, Magneto had a great many grand back-up ideas, if only he could manage not to drool on the pages that would help sow them.
Thoughts of war seemed pushed aside as the mutant began to wake himself up and stared at his watch for a long moment, zoning out as he watched it's neon face flick dark to spite him. Nearly a new year, and he'd not even seen Charles's face again. While he knew, distantly, it was peculiar to find himself so utterly distracted, obsessed by the thoughts of another man, it was beyond words, what he'd felt for his younger friend. He'd just. . . blown it. Friendship, respect, love; all words so small in comparison of what he felt for the man oceans away to the south.
After a punch of knuckles against metal ringing out loud through the hollow expanse of the complex, Magneto had to stifle what could only be described as a frustrated roar before he'd torn off through the bowels of their headquarters to corner his teleporter for a favor of oddest and most discreet variety. He found a kindred-ship\ in the man he could only describe as a demon, as it was obvious the creature's age was far beyond his own. Azazel was far more powerful an asset than anyone could've imagined for a warlord, but on a personal level, this once, he found it alright to abuse his power. . . .just a little, anyway.
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Somewhere in a lone, empty wing a particular mansion in Rochester, New York there was a quiet thud as well-kept leather shoes suddenly clicked against the wood floor, echoing a quiet 'Wumpf!' of air as two figured suddenly aspirated in it's hall. It took a moment for Erik's eyes to adjust to the dim light and the sudden smell of paint that enveloped his nostrils, striking him with a bitter face from the fumes mixing with the overpowering aroma of brimstone from the black smoke that swirled from Azazel's arrival. A quiet plan of rendezvous was mumbled sidelong to his red-skinned comrade who only with an obedient nod as the two glanced at each other, Magneto's gaze cold beneath the brim of his helmet to shield him from retaliation by Xavier. He was no fool, was he?
Another sound sucked the air from the room as Azazel warped from existence once more, leaving him standing solo in the silence of unnervingly familiar rooms he once shared with the people residing still within it.
As Erik gathered himself, brushing residue of the smell of smoke from his ribbed turtleneck indignantly, he began to realize around him sat sheets of plastic tossed over various dressers and fixtures around him. A bit of rennovation was an undestatement as the mutant ventured into the ancient hallways of his old home, cocking his head at the desks that lined the hallways waiting to be pushed inside. A few rooms were nearly completed now, glorious, tasteful classrooms each one of them. He couldn't help but smile beneath the brim of his helmet with a quiet ' Well done, Charles' inwardly tossed about in his head.
Surely, he'd come here expecting to shield himself from Charles' wrath, but as the man breathed quietly and began to descend the stairs toward Charles' study, feet making not a single sound as he slunk down each step, he found his fingers lifting to slowly pull the metal helm from around his face. If Charles wanted to destroy him, shouldn't he yeild himself to the punishment he was due? Would his friend really even be capable of hurting him? When he felt something immediatly comb past his thoughts, he knew that Charles was there. The subtle invitation forced a smirk to his lips despite how void of joy his heart had been for the long month since the accident.
The greyhound of a man strode to stand outside the doors to his study, not glancing behind him or over his shoulder in any manner of nervousnes as he tucked his helmet beneath an arm and let his fingers linger over the old tarnished gold handles of the heavy, ornate oak doors that lay before him in thought.
Why did he stay that night after he'd been asked to join Charles's operations with the CIA? Why had they they developed this sudden loyal, emotional bond with one another beyond reason and logic? Well, whatever the reason it seemed to come into focus with Xavier's injury that day on the beach. Whatever it was had obviously shaken Lensherr, something he found an all together rare occurrence. . . yet there he was, unable to even control then doors of his mind as they flung open to new possibilities.
It was a natural impulse, to want to hide these thoughts that flittered past our minds; these quiet secrets and questions that we'd never dare speak allowed, but what was the point? Charles had seen everything. He'd been there in the room with him when they'd dragged him and his family from their beds in the night, felt the barrel of the gun strike silent the cries of twisting metal mixed with his own, felt his own lips smile when metal met flesh of those responsible. He'd seen every horror all at once, and yet still took Erik under his roof as if he were no more than a bird with a broken wing.
He'd let him make his own choices every step of the way, and he'd even so far, let him make this one. The step that brought him face to face with his dear, old friend, Charles Xavier.
The doors flung open gentle with a subtle gesture of his fingertips and Erik strode into the middle of the room, a sad smile placed crooked on his sharp features.
" Charles. ", he dared to breath, feeling the hair on the back of his neck tingle at daring to speak his name again after so much time had passed. " It's been too long, old friend. ", Erik's voice cracked.
Anyone on either side of the mutant conflict that walked in right that moment would've been completely baffled at the site of the two proclaimed enemies in such a vulnerable, domestic situation. Erik obliviously still held that there was that quiet surrender to something greater than themselves, beyond reason still. How was he ever to know what he had really taken away from Charles that day? How could he have known what his actions had really done in the way of damage? He couldn't.
"Longer than I've known you, but hardly any cause for heartbreak when you do the math." Charles did not move from his desk, nor look up from his book. When Erik emerged from the void, it was not difficult to quickly assess the threat level of the situation. His safety apparent by his continued pulse, the professor did not strain himself to understand Erik's presence, rather he accepted it.
Books were a different matter. Charles wished that these great thinkers of yesteryear were still around so that he could pry through their minds. A book required patience, and Charles was expanding his disciplines from genetics into philosophy and politics to better understand the minds of his homo-sapien brethen. Mutant salvation lied in the hands of the creatively maladjusted. With humans already at each other's throats for less, the academic poured over past writings for an answer.
Still, Charles hadn't attempted to dive too deep. Several "deep thinkers" as of late had shown him the limits of his abilities as they stood. Those who were prepared for mental onslaught fabricated ideas as distractions. There just wasn't time given the proximity of Erik's form, willingly growing larger in the view of Charles' mind's eye. Even with the reader's concentration broken, the book remained open. Even when the pages blurred into a sea of mindless text, Charles was steadfast in his cold and distant manner.
" Touchè ", Erik responded simply, rolling his shoulders as he paced slowly forward in the low-lit room, seeing splashes of color burst alive in the distance of the skyline between the old oak shutters. Ah; he'd picked a rather poetic time to come. Of course the kids had wandered of. Of course he'd find Charles up here with his nose in a book. The two of them were uncannily alike sometimes. "It's felt like a long time, none the less. ".
Erik's figure bent to place his helmet in an empty chair before Charles' desk, his eyes not dare unlocking from their place on Xavier, as if he were slowly approaching some wild animal. He just wasn't at all sure what to make of his friend's complacency at his arrival, trying to read him like some ancient sphinx.
Magneto, of course, was just thankful to see his friend upright and at least at first appearance, healthy. He'd ended up going over the events of the beach so many times, he'd second guessed how hard he'd it him a million times over, how bad the swelling was of the bullet in his spine. As he could at least make out the pensive knit of brows at his voice out of Charles, he knew that he was still functioning. Even anger out of Charles at this point would've given him comfort by nostalgia alone.
The mutant would pace a small half circle around the other chair, gently folding his hands behind his back as he took a moment to take the figure of Charles in, smiling inwardly for a moment before he found again, the nerve to speak.
" I've worried about you, despite whatever happened ". Choice words, Erik, he thought to himself as he let his gaze duck in mute embarrassment. They both knew he was far less flippant about his actions than that, to a nearly unhealthy degree due to his protectiveness over Xavier. Especially for how short, they had indeed, known each other, no matter how it might have felt like a life time. " I rather like what you're doing with the place. ".
The idle chatter had Erik all but wanting to crawl out of his skin, watching the telepath all but ignore him in favor of the faded text before him. His gray-blue gaze grew desperate on Charles's downwardly canted head, feeling his jaw tense as his teeth grit together in the slightest as he found the end of his path before his friend, letting each of his hands place themselves on the edge of Charles' desk to look at him expectantly. At least look at me, Charles
"We do what we can with the hand we're dealt." Charles closed his book, setting the text on the desk before him, but refraining to look up immediately. There was no protocol for a situation like this, and instinct was being overridden by emotion.
"I spent my life training to be a professor of genetics. Reading books... treatises... minds... " Charles leaned back, avoiding eye contact still as if he were some daft afraid of public speaking. He cradled the back of his head with cupped hands, staring at the quaint wrought-iron chandelier, one of the few remnants left in tact during all of these renovations.
Other than his step-father's study, only one other room of the Xavier estate's mansion was left in its original condition. A welcoming library down the hall, lit by a fireplace and surrounded with other books, and lined with couches. The family library had played host to countless evening conversations between Charles and his seemingly estranged companion, and yet for some reason the professor had left it unchanged. Like this antiquated office, it was a shrine to someone who had turned out to be less than what Charles had hoped for.
"And instead of teaching in a distinguished university, I'm turning my family home into an academy. An institution." Charles finally gathered the courage to look down from the ceiling, at first training his eyes on the floor and tracing his eyes slowly upward. Functional footwear, adequate attire... Charles tried to deviate his eyes from that wretched piece of communist superstition. That helmet was easy to recognize despite its garish redecoration.
"We're not even accredited." Charles smiled at his own dry sense of humor, eye to eye with Erik for the first time in quite a while, namely since the time of the incident. While the polite discourse was feigned, he had nothing to worry about. After all, he was the mind reader in the room. No "Professor M" was going to pry into his mind and find his insecurity, his doubt, and worse off his guilty sense of relief that Erik was alive and seemingly well despite having fallen in with the wrong crowd.
Magneto actually found himself silent in the over-whelming quake of emotions when Charles finally looked up at him, taking a pause to respond that stretched on just long enough to be described as awkward. Just as magnetic force was the only thing holding atoms together, the only thing holding him back right then was this awful sense of propriety, of acting his role that came with the newly formed chasm-like rift that had formed between them. Such an odd thing, to have such a vast need to see someone again despite the full knowledge that the experience was sure to be a painful one. It didn't matter, just the site of him seemed sustenance enough.
Erik didn't at all envy Charles for his ability to read thought right then, for surely the panicked scramble of mixed emotions was none too pleasant to read. In fact, it was downright inappropriate, how focused he'd become on the telepath and all the words that had helped Magneto become the creature that stood before him. It was all Charles' doing, a fact they both knew. The broken, half drowned man that Charles had plucked up from the water wasn't half as capable as the man that stood before them now. Poised as ever, he seemed to catch himself and quickly push back off the polished surface of Xavier's desk, standing straight and settling weight back on his heels. A faux smirk and cooth arch of his brow was offered, looking at Charles side-long as he turned his head to watch a burst of light outside the window pain green and red over the sky, small explosions muffled by the thick walls of the old house. It was odd to think people beyond them were drunk, smiling, laughing. . .celebrating; such a stark contrast to the storm of anger and guilt that raged in his veins.
" Heaven forbid you miss out on the exciting life of a run-of-the-mill university professor, Charles. You're really missing out on a life of adventure. ", Erik joked lightly, the smile twisted on his lips fading as he tucked his hands into his pockets. It was strange to feel so god damned human around the other mutant.
" Honestly, it's quite noble, what you're doing. ", he continued quietly letting his eyes dip to the side. " Giving your fellow mutants a place to calm home is admirable. . . I always have respected you, you know. ". Erik was admittedly, lost. He'd just been lonely. That was the truth of the matter. Despite having a literal thrumming hive of activity on the base, he'd longed for real conversation, real connection; the entire time the two were apart. Seeking refuge in the company of your enemy, however, bordered on the downright bizarre. It was the act of a guilty conscience, both for what Magneto had done to his friend and what he most likely intended to do to mankind.
"All well wishes, but I'm a professor. Not a guidance counselor." Charles' words were hollow, as his mind drifted to the youngsters he had managed to train in such a short time. Having free reign access to the minds of others gave him a fundamental understanding of psychological behavior.
Small goals, occasional recognition, and cognizable progress were the basic building blocks for teaching. While he may not have trusted Alex Summers to have true aim, he at least put up a reasonable enough facade to motivate the boy into focus. Now "Havok" was on the precipice of being a controlled force to be reckoned with, a gunman with Charles at the aim.
Unfortunately, with the handful of pupils Charles had left, the academy was better suited to producing mercenaries than emissaries. It would take effort to find non-violent purposes for the ability to shoot beams out of one's chest, more still to train the youth who bore such power into a respectable figure that prospective students could relate to.
"A calm home... If you can keep it." Charles echoed scholarly words as he let his eyes focus from his split second daze. While his thoughts seem to stretch on for aeons, having taken the time to ensure the safety of the young male students throughout the academy by way of his powers, it had only been a few seconds. Mental access in multiplicity was becoming more and more a reality to Charles, and the feeling of guilt was tangible in the air.
"What do you have to be sorry for... Standing up for what you believe in?" Charles responded to unsaid words. He grimaced and sighed audibly, shaking his head. "If you are going to do what you are going to do, at least have the common courtesy to believe in it. You've got your own set of kids." The commonality of Raven hung between the men, but there was so much potential in each of the mutants that Erik had swept away in the blink of an eye. So much pain, but so much potential.
Weighing the world on his shoulders, and without much of a form to support it on, Charles slumped a bit in his chair as he continued to display disappointment. It was becoming more and more a tool to use against others. It was one thing to force someone to feel an emotion, another game entirely to trick them into it by virtue of their predisposition towards facial recognition and tonalit
Erik might have cracked some dry joke in return to the effect of 'For not being a guidance counselor, your sure act like one', but as the professor finished his sentence he already felt that anger stirring alive in his heart, his fingers slipping out of his pockets, already in fists held temperately at his sides. He had no children amongst his ranks, and he'd certainly not be doing any share of coddling to his Brotherhood, though he knew he had a responsibility to him. That wasn't what got to the young Magneto, it was the prospect of Charles being able to even joke about his integrity.
"You know damned good and well that I believe in my cause, Charles. There's that arrogance again. You know me well enough to know I'll protect them. ", he snorted out roughly, turning himself to stare the seated man down for a moment, articulating his words carefully, whilst trying his best not to think of just why exactly he had to do so.
With slow breath Erik found his voice growing a bit dark, if by his own consciousness or by the pure tragedy of their situation, there was no joy in the words that followed.
" I wounded you. I'd wondered for weeks if I'd killed you, in fact. ". He rolled his eyes a little at his own inward memories of those first few nights, rattling them clear of his thoughts with a shake of his head before his gaze snapped back to his friend. " . . . I believed in my cause enough to leave you, and or that, I am sorry. . .".
He tried his best to shake the seriousness after a bit of an unfamiliar feeling of self-consciousness overtook him, clearing his throat. " At least you're alive. It haunted me to think I'd done something irreparable. ".
body.
"Well, that's for modern medicine to decide." Charles placed his hands on the arms of the chair and adjusted himself a bit, readying for take off. But instead of standing to meet the man eye to eye, he reached on either side of the arms of the chair and gripped onto smooth, metal curves.
Charles drew his hands closer to himself to go backwards, and then worked one arm alone to rotate himself. He was surprised that the master of magnetism hadn't thought to parse the area for metals to better understand the situation. The shape of the structure was easy to recognize with the eye, and Charles assumed it would be all too apparent to one whom could sense and control the atomic energies of metalloids.
The chariot gleaned in the ambient lighting of the room, a distinguished throne for a master of the mind; silver and simple. Charles wheeled himself before Erik's position, having to look up from his lowered position in the chair and furthermore from his stature. Looking into Erik's eyes with a somber expression, he proudly professed two words, trying to carve deep into the other man's sensibility with guilt and indignation.
"I'm alive."
The unveiling of his friend's new-found disability would mark the second time tonight that Charles had rendered him completely and utterly speechless. Sure, he'd detected metal in the room, but his senses seemed more tuned in on other things right then; like the electromagnetism produced by the explosions outside, the ghost traces of what he could only make out was the beginnings of new metal structures beneath their feet wrapped in the bowels of the tunnels beneath the mansion; hangar doors carved out beneath the basketball courts; and of course there was the distraction of Xavier himself. He should've known.. should have thought to look before he was so presumptuous to assume Charles had made it through the conflict unscathed.
Everything cocky and sarcastic drew from his face all at once, as if he wasn't capable of any other emotion but absolute anguish. Any extreme outward reaction was covered by the mask of a tight jaw, gitting teeth; despite the instant redness he felt sting alive at the corner o his eyes he fought it with everything in him. Exasperated, Erik's fists had immediately gone slack and come up to do a pass over his face, as if he could somehow just adjust his eyes and see that this was some manner of cruel, cruel joke. And in a way, it sort of was.
'What have I done?', ' I didn't mean to.', ' How can you ever forgive me?'; these are all responses that came to mind as the proud figure of Magneto all but crumbled beneath the weight of his guilt, casting his sorrow-filled, icy eyes down upon his friend with an unnervingly blank stare despite the obvious sadness found there. None of the things he could say could have possibly made up for paralyzing someone. Charles had been a young hot-shot in his prime; he'd had places he could ha've gone in life, things he could have done. Erik hadn't just wounded him on that beach or betrayed a friend; he'd taken away the entire life of one of the few people world even worth the air they took up on this miserable spinning wet hunk of dirt and iron.
There was a feeling then around the two of them as Erik bowed his head to cast his eyes hidden from Charles' gaze with a feint sound in his throat as his thoughts wound themselves into a tradgic cats-cradle of guilt. For a moment the stern, silent figure of Magneto was at the pure mercy of his own thoughts, like a mountain climber in a free fall, desperately, franticly scrambling to find footing. In that moment of desperation, there was a sudden uneasy feeling beneath their feet, where those receptive enough could swear they felt the building shift slightly at it's foundation, the same way one could feel a skyscraper sway in high wind; a pit in the stomach and slight, soft jostle to one's equilibrium; radiating out from where he stood in most muted, subtle of waves with the sheer force of his own pain.
Erik breathed out slowly when he cast his blood-shot gaze back to the telepath, wishing mutely he'd worn his helmet if only to hide the onslaught of his innermost thoughts right then. All bets were off now. He'd have to leave. There'd be no chance for them now. . . No turning back. Any hope Erik had for the two of them patching things up, hopes, dreams of what might have been? All destroyed in one, fell swoop. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears when he finally cracked a response, hoarse and weary; far too soft to be his own, " Charles. ", Erik mumbled desperately. " I . . .am so ...sorry. ".
"You are sorry." Charles narrowed his eyes as he turned the pages of his former comrade-in-arms' mind. Where others could only be suspicious of trust, Charles could decipher crocodile tears quite easily. At present, there were none. But present emotion was such a fickle thing. Mutants, like human beings, were capable of changing their minds quite quickly. Today's sadness could be tomorrow's justification, or yesterday's best guess.
Still, despite his earnest attempts to scowl, he instead grimaced. Charles, partly through sympathy and partly through telepathy, had experienced the tragedy of Magneto, Erik, Max... and this was but another page of sadness strewn across the epic tale of one man's journey through life. What more could he do? Admonishment could not stand where true regret lay.
Honestly, Charles'd been waiting for the day longer than he'd dare let on, save for in a budding moment of absolute grief. He would have taken Erik however he'd come.
(Show some love if you are interested in seeing more! We have not given up on our other projects!)
Title: Better Men.
Author: Kenandbarbie
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: PG
Summary: A first delve into first class! Show love for more of this Post-First Class fic'! This will not interfere with our other projects ~ ! <3
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. better men .
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It had been a month since the incident at the embargo line. Nearly time for a new year already, it was almost now a feint memory in the back of the mind of 'Erik Lensherr', or ' Magneto' as his comrades so affectionately had coined him these days. It was as if it had all happened to someone else here, tucked away on some arctic base in the middle of nowhere by Azazel. While it was all together convenient that the former Sebastian Shaw had a slew of hideaways and resources that remained untapped upon his death, it was unusual for any creature to be so vastly tossed such a distance from what they had come to understand was 'home'.
While Erik would've loved to pretend that he was the proud, unshakable leader; the suave predator with unfathomable strength at his fingertips it was really quite the opposite when the man was left alone with his thoughts in the cool halls of the military complex, away from the onlooking eyes of the mutants that he had pulled under his wing in a fit of what he could only describe as tactical panic. He'd become quite good at presenting himself the way he wanted to be seen, steeling himself against the onslaught of emotions that constantly berated the underbelly of his thoughts as the days passed, and weeks turned into two, then three. He couldn't wonder every time he motioned for coffee, helped Raven train, or opened some new blueprint for his coming schemes; how his dear Charles was back in New York. Distance and time had done nothing more than open the still fresh wounds of his heart, and even a warrior could not help but succumb to such overwhelming abandonment when alone.
Alone with himself, sleep seemed an imaginary thing brought on only by exhaustion, days on end spent pressed against the curved, metal walls of the installment, his fingers pressed to the walls to find some comfort in the vortex of metal and energy pulsating at his fingertips. Magneto's quarters at the complex has served to be little more than a library, no personal affects kept as was his usual style. If ever he had a home to speak of in this life, Erik had long burned any path back to it in the torrent of his sins. What had he expected? All out war immediately? Some trumpet to sound in the sky to heed others to his cause? No. Just a quiet complex, and a sea of abused, broken strangers around him. None of it mattered, it seemed, in the face of what he'd done to his friend.
While Mystique was of good company, there was really no way for Erik to make a real connection with the others at the complex. He admired her for her courage, at least. It was rather hard for anyone to gain the master of metal's respect in the first place, but the girl was willing to break her own heart to follow his cause,all the way out to a place like this; and not once had she cracked. He had to respect that, didn't he?
After breaking out the recently incarcerated Emma Frost, he'd made a ghost of himself to the others, only seeming to confided in Azazel from time to time while in midst the throws of contemplation of his next move. While he'd have loved to claim he was off being some mad genius, in truth Ms.Frost set his teeth on edge a bit, the way she looked at him. He'd been all together aware of just how powerful a telepath could be thanks to Xavier and he hadn't exactly had the best of history with her. A women scorned, and all that, Erik found it best to steer clear of any conflict that might have arisen, choosing rather to be an accommodating host to the lady. She, at least seemed to enjoy not having to be told to fetch him drinks or be host to other cat-call grade advances from the Brotherhood.
Piled high about Erik's room, science and physics literature stacked about in a tiny city of paper skyscrapers. His quarters had become wall-papered in maps and strange graphs that only seemed to grow thicker as the winter solidified glaciers outside of their rooms, sheets of ice grew thick over the metal encasing around them, choking light from the halls. Deep winter, and Erik felt numb to it all. Surely the plans of a mind that was eroding in guilt wouldn't bode well for the members of humanity; not when they came from Erik Lensherr.
There was no grandstanding for some grand "call to arms" in the name of "protection" when Erik was alone, and the rage distilled seemed only to give way to a torrent of pure, raw, awe-inspiring regret. One could have undoubtedly timed a watch to the anxiety-ridden, angry pacing around his quarters, the way the city of books seemed to change daily; marker ink spilled itself over pages carpeting his floor like abstract art. There were not many in this world that managed to main integrity and act with honor behind their words, he reminded himself. There were not many who could see the world for what it was, and dare to stay fast to a moral compass against the might of all that dared to turn one from the path of justice.. . . And he'd let one of those precious few slip right through his fingers, he' remind himself at the height of any sort of comfort he reached, before it all came crashing back down.
There'd be no turning back now. Charles was right. He was right about everything.
He couldn't help but recall a mix of sand and tears, of the feeling of his knuckles colliding with the bone of Xavier's cheek, and as he'd dragged his wrist up to stare rather aimlessly at the faded numbers placed there, he couldn't help but think of the feeling of Xavier rifling through his thoughts and gently pulled them forward in him. He'd managed to wound, so deeply, the only person he'd even managed to feel something real for. Erik had, after all, spent his entire life believing he'd been alone until he'd been plucked from the water that night by the professor. Charles had saved his life, and he'd given him only pain in return. He knew that.
No one understood the pains of humanity, the darkness hiding beneath it's skin, but Charles? He knew. No matter how kind his eyes or gentle his smile, the two of them seemed to simply see each other. Some part of him, the part that now had began the process of spiraling plot in the stillness of the night, figured the only real way to end the conflict between the two of them? Was to simply beat him. To prove himself right once and forall despite whatever Charles might have believed. It was the worst way to go about it, he knew it, but as a full month passed, his compass was left spinning out of control. The killing machine of a man had shoudl've never left the beach that day. Not alone.
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Erik's watched beeped him out of a trance when he realized he'd fallen asleep face down in some astrophysics text from the 1920's, it's spine torn and ratted around the edges where the cover could be seen on the small, simple desk he'd been granted where he'd obviously folded his arms to nod off. Ten o'clock pm? Ah right. He'd never reset it past his location shift from New York, which,he had to admit, boded such nicer tidings than this place that he now equated to a fucking tomb. Time didn't even matter, as they were so far north then that the sun seemed to stretch on it's show over them for a god damned eternity.... However it was easy to remind himself that the grandest things in life all required careful, thoughtful planning and considerable strife. It'd prove worth it, once he gathered his force.. . And if not, well, Magneto had a great many grand back-up ideas, if only he could manage not to drool on the pages that would help sow them.
Thoughts of war seemed pushed aside as the mutant began to wake himself up and stared at his watch for a long moment, zoning out as he watched it's neon face flick dark to spite him. Nearly a new year, and he'd not even seen Charles's face again. While he knew, distantly, it was peculiar to find himself so utterly distracted, obsessed by the thoughts of another man, it was beyond words, what he'd felt for his younger friend. He'd just. . . blown it. Friendship, respect, love; all words so small in comparison of what he felt for the man oceans away to the south.
After a punch of knuckles against metal ringing out loud through the hollow expanse of the complex, Magneto had to stifle what could only be described as a frustrated roar before he'd torn off through the bowels of their headquarters to corner his teleporter for a favor of oddest and most discreet variety. He found a kindred-ship\ in the man he could only describe as a demon, as it was obvious the creature's age was far beyond his own. Azazel was far more powerful an asset than anyone could've imagined for a warlord, but on a personal level, this once, he found it alright to abuse his power. . . .just a little, anyway.
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Somewhere in a lone, empty wing a particular mansion in Rochester, New York there was a quiet thud as well-kept leather shoes suddenly clicked against the wood floor, echoing a quiet 'Wumpf!' of air as two figured suddenly aspirated in it's hall. It took a moment for Erik's eyes to adjust to the dim light and the sudden smell of paint that enveloped his nostrils, striking him with a bitter face from the fumes mixing with the overpowering aroma of brimstone from the black smoke that swirled from Azazel's arrival. A quiet plan of rendezvous was mumbled sidelong to his red-skinned comrade who only with an obedient nod as the two glanced at each other, Magneto's gaze cold beneath the brim of his helmet to shield him from retaliation by Xavier. He was no fool, was he?
Another sound sucked the air from the room as Azazel warped from existence once more, leaving him standing solo in the silence of unnervingly familiar rooms he once shared with the people residing still within it.
As Erik gathered himself, brushing residue of the smell of smoke from his ribbed turtleneck indignantly, he began to realize around him sat sheets of plastic tossed over various dressers and fixtures around him. A bit of rennovation was an undestatement as the mutant ventured into the ancient hallways of his old home, cocking his head at the desks that lined the hallways waiting to be pushed inside. A few rooms were nearly completed now, glorious, tasteful classrooms each one of them. He couldn't help but smile beneath the brim of his helmet with a quiet ' Well done, Charles' inwardly tossed about in his head.
Surely, he'd come here expecting to shield himself from Charles' wrath, but as the man breathed quietly and began to descend the stairs toward Charles' study, feet making not a single sound as he slunk down each step, he found his fingers lifting to slowly pull the metal helm from around his face. If Charles wanted to destroy him, shouldn't he yeild himself to the punishment he was due? Would his friend really even be capable of hurting him? When he felt something immediatly comb past his thoughts, he knew that Charles was there. The subtle invitation forced a smirk to his lips despite how void of joy his heart had been for the long month since the accident.
The greyhound of a man strode to stand outside the doors to his study, not glancing behind him or over his shoulder in any manner of nervousnes as he tucked his helmet beneath an arm and let his fingers linger over the old tarnished gold handles of the heavy, ornate oak doors that lay before him in thought.
Why did he stay that night after he'd been asked to join Charles's operations with the CIA? Why had they they developed this sudden loyal, emotional bond with one another beyond reason and logic? Well, whatever the reason it seemed to come into focus with Xavier's injury that day on the beach. Whatever it was had obviously shaken Lensherr, something he found an all together rare occurrence. . . yet there he was, unable to even control then doors of his mind as they flung open to new possibilities.
It was a natural impulse, to want to hide these thoughts that flittered past our minds; these quiet secrets and questions that we'd never dare speak allowed, but what was the point? Charles had seen everything. He'd been there in the room with him when they'd dragged him and his family from their beds in the night, felt the barrel of the gun strike silent the cries of twisting metal mixed with his own, felt his own lips smile when metal met flesh of those responsible. He'd seen every horror all at once, and yet still took Erik under his roof as if he were no more than a bird with a broken wing.
He'd let him make his own choices every step of the way, and he'd even so far, let him make this one. The step that brought him face to face with his dear, old friend, Charles Xavier.
The doors flung open gentle with a subtle gesture of his fingertips and Erik strode into the middle of the room, a sad smile placed crooked on his sharp features.
" Charles. ", he dared to breath, feeling the hair on the back of his neck tingle at daring to speak his name again after so much time had passed. " It's been too long, old friend. ", Erik's voice cracked.
Anyone on either side of the mutant conflict that walked in right that moment would've been completely baffled at the site of the two proclaimed enemies in such a vulnerable, domestic situation. Erik obliviously still held that there was that quiet surrender to something greater than themselves, beyond reason still. How was he ever to know what he had really taken away from Charles that day? How could he have known what his actions had really done in the way of damage? He couldn't.
"Longer than I've known you, but hardly any cause for heartbreak when you do the math." Charles did not move from his desk, nor look up from his book. When Erik emerged from the void, it was not difficult to quickly assess the threat level of the situation. His safety apparent by his continued pulse, the professor did not strain himself to understand Erik's presence, rather he accepted it.
Books were a different matter. Charles wished that these great thinkers of yesteryear were still around so that he could pry through their minds. A book required patience, and Charles was expanding his disciplines from genetics into philosophy and politics to better understand the minds of his homo-sapien brethen. Mutant salvation lied in the hands of the creatively maladjusted. With humans already at each other's throats for less, the academic poured over past writings for an answer.
Still, Charles hadn't attempted to dive too deep. Several "deep thinkers" as of late had shown him the limits of his abilities as they stood. Those who were prepared for mental onslaught fabricated ideas as distractions. There just wasn't time given the proximity of Erik's form, willingly growing larger in the view of Charles' mind's eye. Even with the reader's concentration broken, the book remained open. Even when the pages blurred into a sea of mindless text, Charles was steadfast in his cold and distant manner.
" Touchè ", Erik responded simply, rolling his shoulders as he paced slowly forward in the low-lit room, seeing splashes of color burst alive in the distance of the skyline between the old oak shutters. Ah; he'd picked a rather poetic time to come. Of course the kids had wandered of. Of course he'd find Charles up here with his nose in a book. The two of them were uncannily alike sometimes. "It's felt like a long time, none the less. ".
Erik's figure bent to place his helmet in an empty chair before Charles' desk, his eyes not dare unlocking from their place on Xavier, as if he were slowly approaching some wild animal. He just wasn't at all sure what to make of his friend's complacency at his arrival, trying to read him like some ancient sphinx.
Magneto, of course, was just thankful to see his friend upright and at least at first appearance, healthy. He'd ended up going over the events of the beach so many times, he'd second guessed how hard he'd it him a million times over, how bad the swelling was of the bullet in his spine. As he could at least make out the pensive knit of brows at his voice out of Charles, he knew that he was still functioning. Even anger out of Charles at this point would've given him comfort by nostalgia alone.
The mutant would pace a small half circle around the other chair, gently folding his hands behind his back as he took a moment to take the figure of Charles in, smiling inwardly for a moment before he found again, the nerve to speak.
" I've worried about you, despite whatever happened ". Choice words, Erik, he thought to himself as he let his gaze duck in mute embarrassment. They both knew he was far less flippant about his actions than that, to a nearly unhealthy degree due to his protectiveness over Xavier. Especially for how short, they had indeed, known each other, no matter how it might have felt like a life time. " I rather like what you're doing with the place. ".
The idle chatter had Erik all but wanting to crawl out of his skin, watching the telepath all but ignore him in favor of the faded text before him. His gray-blue gaze grew desperate on Charles's downwardly canted head, feeling his jaw tense as his teeth grit together in the slightest as he found the end of his path before his friend, letting each of his hands place themselves on the edge of Charles' desk to look at him expectantly. At least look at me, Charles
"We do what we can with the hand we're dealt." Charles closed his book, setting the text on the desk before him, but refraining to look up immediately. There was no protocol for a situation like this, and instinct was being overridden by emotion.
"I spent my life training to be a professor of genetics. Reading books... treatises... minds... " Charles leaned back, avoiding eye contact still as if he were some daft afraid of public speaking. He cradled the back of his head with cupped hands, staring at the quaint wrought-iron chandelier, one of the few remnants left in tact during all of these renovations.
Other than his step-father's study, only one other room of the Xavier estate's mansion was left in its original condition. A welcoming library down the hall, lit by a fireplace and surrounded with other books, and lined with couches. The family library had played host to countless evening conversations between Charles and his seemingly estranged companion, and yet for some reason the professor had left it unchanged. Like this antiquated office, it was a shrine to someone who had turned out to be less than what Charles had hoped for.
"And instead of teaching in a distinguished university, I'm turning my family home into an academy. An institution." Charles finally gathered the courage to look down from the ceiling, at first training his eyes on the floor and tracing his eyes slowly upward. Functional footwear, adequate attire... Charles tried to deviate his eyes from that wretched piece of communist superstition. That helmet was easy to recognize despite its garish redecoration.
"We're not even accredited." Charles smiled at his own dry sense of humor, eye to eye with Erik for the first time in quite a while, namely since the time of the incident. While the polite discourse was feigned, he had nothing to worry about. After all, he was the mind reader in the room. No "Professor M" was going to pry into his mind and find his insecurity, his doubt, and worse off his guilty sense of relief that Erik was alive and seemingly well despite having fallen in with the wrong crowd.
Magneto actually found himself silent in the over-whelming quake of emotions when Charles finally looked up at him, taking a pause to respond that stretched on just long enough to be described as awkward. Just as magnetic force was the only thing holding atoms together, the only thing holding him back right then was this awful sense of propriety, of acting his role that came with the newly formed chasm-like rift that had formed between them. Such an odd thing, to have such a vast need to see someone again despite the full knowledge that the experience was sure to be a painful one. It didn't matter, just the site of him seemed sustenance enough.
Erik didn't at all envy Charles for his ability to read thought right then, for surely the panicked scramble of mixed emotions was none too pleasant to read. In fact, it was downright inappropriate, how focused he'd become on the telepath and all the words that had helped Magneto become the creature that stood before him. It was all Charles' doing, a fact they both knew. The broken, half drowned man that Charles had plucked up from the water wasn't half as capable as the man that stood before them now. Poised as ever, he seemed to catch himself and quickly push back off the polished surface of Xavier's desk, standing straight and settling weight back on his heels. A faux smirk and cooth arch of his brow was offered, looking at Charles side-long as he turned his head to watch a burst of light outside the window pain green and red over the sky, small explosions muffled by the thick walls of the old house. It was odd to think people beyond them were drunk, smiling, laughing. . .celebrating; such a stark contrast to the storm of anger and guilt that raged in his veins.
" Heaven forbid you miss out on the exciting life of a run-of-the-mill university professor, Charles. You're really missing out on a life of adventure. ", Erik joked lightly, the smile twisted on his lips fading as he tucked his hands into his pockets. It was strange to feel so god damned human around the other mutant.
" Honestly, it's quite noble, what you're doing. ", he continued quietly letting his eyes dip to the side. " Giving your fellow mutants a place to calm home is admirable. . . I always have respected you, you know. ". Erik was admittedly, lost. He'd just been lonely. That was the truth of the matter. Despite having a literal thrumming hive of activity on the base, he'd longed for real conversation, real connection; the entire time the two were apart. Seeking refuge in the company of your enemy, however, bordered on the downright bizarre. It was the act of a guilty conscience, both for what Magneto had done to his friend and what he most likely intended to do to mankind.
"All well wishes, but I'm a professor. Not a guidance counselor." Charles' words were hollow, as his mind drifted to the youngsters he had managed to train in such a short time. Having free reign access to the minds of others gave him a fundamental understanding of psychological behavior.
Small goals, occasional recognition, and cognizable progress were the basic building blocks for teaching. While he may not have trusted Alex Summers to have true aim, he at least put up a reasonable enough facade to motivate the boy into focus. Now "Havok" was on the precipice of being a controlled force to be reckoned with, a gunman with Charles at the aim.
Unfortunately, with the handful of pupils Charles had left, the academy was better suited to producing mercenaries than emissaries. It would take effort to find non-violent purposes for the ability to shoot beams out of one's chest, more still to train the youth who bore such power into a respectable figure that prospective students could relate to.
"A calm home... If you can keep it." Charles echoed scholarly words as he let his eyes focus from his split second daze. While his thoughts seem to stretch on for aeons, having taken the time to ensure the safety of the young male students throughout the academy by way of his powers, it had only been a few seconds. Mental access in multiplicity was becoming more and more a reality to Charles, and the feeling of guilt was tangible in the air.
"What do you have to be sorry for... Standing up for what you believe in?" Charles responded to unsaid words. He grimaced and sighed audibly, shaking his head. "If you are going to do what you are going to do, at least have the common courtesy to believe in it. You've got your own set of kids." The commonality of Raven hung between the men, but there was so much potential in each of the mutants that Erik had swept away in the blink of an eye. So much pain, but so much potential.
Weighing the world on his shoulders, and without much of a form to support it on, Charles slumped a bit in his chair as he continued to display disappointment. It was becoming more and more a tool to use against others. It was one thing to force someone to feel an emotion, another game entirely to trick them into it by virtue of their predisposition towards facial recognition and tonalit
Erik might have cracked some dry joke in return to the effect of 'For not being a guidance counselor, your sure act like one', but as the professor finished his sentence he already felt that anger stirring alive in his heart, his fingers slipping out of his pockets, already in fists held temperately at his sides. He had no children amongst his ranks, and he'd certainly not be doing any share of coddling to his Brotherhood, though he knew he had a responsibility to him. That wasn't what got to the young Magneto, it was the prospect of Charles being able to even joke about his integrity.
"You know damned good and well that I believe in my cause, Charles. There's that arrogance again. You know me well enough to know I'll protect them. ", he snorted out roughly, turning himself to stare the seated man down for a moment, articulating his words carefully, whilst trying his best not to think of just why exactly he had to do so.
With slow breath Erik found his voice growing a bit dark, if by his own consciousness or by the pure tragedy of their situation, there was no joy in the words that followed.
" I wounded you. I'd wondered for weeks if I'd killed you, in fact. ". He rolled his eyes a little at his own inward memories of those first few nights, rattling them clear of his thoughts with a shake of his head before his gaze snapped back to his friend. " . . . I believed in my cause enough to leave you, and or that, I am sorry. . .".
He tried his best to shake the seriousness after a bit of an unfamiliar feeling of self-consciousness overtook him, clearing his throat. " At least you're alive. It haunted me to think I'd done something irreparable. ".
body.
"Well, that's for modern medicine to decide." Charles placed his hands on the arms of the chair and adjusted himself a bit, readying for take off. But instead of standing to meet the man eye to eye, he reached on either side of the arms of the chair and gripped onto smooth, metal curves.
Charles drew his hands closer to himself to go backwards, and then worked one arm alone to rotate himself. He was surprised that the master of magnetism hadn't thought to parse the area for metals to better understand the situation. The shape of the structure was easy to recognize with the eye, and Charles assumed it would be all too apparent to one whom could sense and control the atomic energies of metalloids.
The chariot gleaned in the ambient lighting of the room, a distinguished throne for a master of the mind; silver and simple. Charles wheeled himself before Erik's position, having to look up from his lowered position in the chair and furthermore from his stature. Looking into Erik's eyes with a somber expression, he proudly professed two words, trying to carve deep into the other man's sensibility with guilt and indignation.
"I'm alive."
The unveiling of his friend's new-found disability would mark the second time tonight that Charles had rendered him completely and utterly speechless. Sure, he'd detected metal in the room, but his senses seemed more tuned in on other things right then; like the electromagnetism produced by the explosions outside, the ghost traces of what he could only make out was the beginnings of new metal structures beneath their feet wrapped in the bowels of the tunnels beneath the mansion; hangar doors carved out beneath the basketball courts; and of course there was the distraction of Xavier himself. He should've known.. should have thought to look before he was so presumptuous to assume Charles had made it through the conflict unscathed.
Everything cocky and sarcastic drew from his face all at once, as if he wasn't capable of any other emotion but absolute anguish. Any extreme outward reaction was covered by the mask of a tight jaw, gitting teeth; despite the instant redness he felt sting alive at the corner o his eyes he fought it with everything in him. Exasperated, Erik's fists had immediately gone slack and come up to do a pass over his face, as if he could somehow just adjust his eyes and see that this was some manner of cruel, cruel joke. And in a way, it sort of was.
'What have I done?', ' I didn't mean to.', ' How can you ever forgive me?'; these are all responses that came to mind as the proud figure of Magneto all but crumbled beneath the weight of his guilt, casting his sorrow-filled, icy eyes down upon his friend with an unnervingly blank stare despite the obvious sadness found there. None of the things he could say could have possibly made up for paralyzing someone. Charles had been a young hot-shot in his prime; he'd had places he could ha've gone in life, things he could have done. Erik hadn't just wounded him on that beach or betrayed a friend; he'd taken away the entire life of one of the few people world even worth the air they took up on this miserable spinning wet hunk of dirt and iron.
There was a feeling then around the two of them as Erik bowed his head to cast his eyes hidden from Charles' gaze with a feint sound in his throat as his thoughts wound themselves into a tradgic cats-cradle of guilt. For a moment the stern, silent figure of Magneto was at the pure mercy of his own thoughts, like a mountain climber in a free fall, desperately, franticly scrambling to find footing. In that moment of desperation, there was a sudden uneasy feeling beneath their feet, where those receptive enough could swear they felt the building shift slightly at it's foundation, the same way one could feel a skyscraper sway in high wind; a pit in the stomach and slight, soft jostle to one's equilibrium; radiating out from where he stood in most muted, subtle of waves with the sheer force of his own pain.
Erik breathed out slowly when he cast his blood-shot gaze back to the telepath, wishing mutely he'd worn his helmet if only to hide the onslaught of his innermost thoughts right then. All bets were off now. He'd have to leave. There'd be no chance for them now. . . No turning back. Any hope Erik had for the two of them patching things up, hopes, dreams of what might have been? All destroyed in one, fell swoop. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears when he finally cracked a response, hoarse and weary; far too soft to be his own, " Charles. ", Erik mumbled desperately. " I . . .am so ...sorry. ".
"You are sorry." Charles narrowed his eyes as he turned the pages of his former comrade-in-arms' mind. Where others could only be suspicious of trust, Charles could decipher crocodile tears quite easily. At present, there were none. But present emotion was such a fickle thing. Mutants, like human beings, were capable of changing their minds quite quickly. Today's sadness could be tomorrow's justification, or yesterday's best guess.
Still, despite his earnest attempts to scowl, he instead grimaced. Charles, partly through sympathy and partly through telepathy, had experienced the tragedy of Magneto, Erik, Max... and this was but another page of sadness strewn across the epic tale of one man's journey through life. What more could he do? Admonishment could not stand where true regret lay.
Honestly, Charles'd been waiting for the day longer than he'd dare let on, save for in a budding moment of absolute grief. He would have taken Erik however he'd come.
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