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[markedformore]

Erik wakes to a world reborn and to a fate set in stone. He is unable to escape the memories of what has happened and whether real or not, they haunt him and will continue to do so. He lies in bed for some time, lets Charles have his turn, and then dresses in whatever strange clothes the island has set aside for him, walking until he realizes he is

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[inch_high_pi]

The walls of the flat are dense, heavy stone, as is the leaded glass of the windows, but somehow, she hears him. Hears her voice being called down on the street.

Levering herself up out of her chair, she threw on a coat, wrapped in layers of knitted shawls and stepping into her heavy boots before walking out into the cold. She'd been awake for hours, already had her initial spike of panic, her reunion with Annie and George, and since, she'd kept herself indoors. Exploring a new place, covered in snow, would have been much more enjoyable had she not been ready to pop.

On the steps of the brownstone building, she called out to him, her voice pinched with worry. "Erik? Erik, what are you doing?"

[markedformore]

Erik stalks forward, his face a tableaux of grief and distress and he wears his clothes with ill-ease, feeling them too heavy and rich for the experience that has just befallen him. He presses a hand to the stone of her curb and leans forward, a pained expression on his face mingling with one of sheer desperation. He knows what he wants to ask of her, but cannot bring himself to say it out loud. "Please," is all he manages, heavily accented.

[inch_high_pi]

"Bloody hell, Erik. What's happened?" she asked, going toward him, reaching out with one hand, her other arm held protectively across her middle.

His voice sounded different, the accent nearly unrecognizable. His expression one she'd never seen before. So much so that, for a moment, she wondered if he wasn't the person she knew.

[markedformore]

Erik steps forward to try and get himself out of the street of prying eyes. Though each person doesn't seem to care about him, Erik cannot bring himself to stop worrying that each of them judges him for each move he makes. He stops in front of her, unaware if he is permitted to ask for something as demanding as comfort. Does he not deserve it? Perhaps not. Monsters are not to be given kindness. Schmidt taught him that much. They serve their purpose and they meet -- they meet their end.

"Nina, es tut mir leid," comes rushing from him before he remembers that she won't understand. "I don't know what to do," he says haltingly, overwhelmed by too many things he cannot name.