Re: Fill: True Power is the Balance between Rage and Serenity (5c/?)gestalt1June 22 2011, 21:24:17 UTC
v“But it is done, and nothing either of us can say will change that,” Charles says, trying to be gentle, to sooth with words instead of thought which comes so much more naturally. He fears another miss-step; sometimes he can be so very blind to his own words, their impact a ricochet as unintended and damaging as that bullet. He smiles, hoping to lighten the mood. “Don’t you think it’s a bit presumptuous to heap all this guilt onto yourself when I’ve told you you’re forgiven? If I’ve the right to put it there, I’ve at least the right to demand it taken away.”
Erik stares at him, long, slow, a gaze that burns inscrutable. “Sometimes I wonder how we ever got along so well,” he says, quiet enough that Charles cannot be sure he meant to voice it at all. “We are such very different people.” It is resigned; Charles thinks the sorrow it summons anew may very well drown him. It is dark and heavy, and he has come to believe he has only begun to plumb its depths.
“I suppose we shall go and have a chat with Miss Grey together?” he asks finally. He thinks the pain will be worth it merely for the company, though his enjoyment of it is much diminished by that ever-present helmet.
“Of course, old friend,” Erik replies, a smile unhappy and full of sharp shark-teeth. Charles does not let even the faintest seed of hope flower. He cannot expose himself to the risk, even if reconciliation were a possibility. He cannot face such disappointment again, and yet... He cannot promise himself he will not do so. For Erik, he is ever weak, and that is the simple truth of it.
The flag of truce is one thing, but any more than that... As he said at their parting, they have never wanted the same things. He is a naive and optimistic fool, as Erik has branded him, and even he knows better than that, but knowing and feeling are too very different things.
Erik stares at him, long, slow, a gaze that burns inscrutable. “Sometimes I wonder how we ever got along so well,” he says, quiet enough that Charles cannot be sure he meant to voice it at all. “We are such very different people.” It is resigned; Charles thinks the sorrow it summons anew may very well drown him. It is dark and heavy, and he has come to believe he has only begun to plumb its depths.
“I suppose we shall go and have a chat with Miss Grey together?” he asks finally. He thinks the pain will be worth it merely for the company, though his enjoyment of it is much diminished by that ever-present helmet.
“Of course, old friend,” Erik replies, a smile unhappy and full of sharp shark-teeth. Charles does not let even the faintest seed of hope flower. He cannot expose himself to the risk, even if reconciliation were a possibility. He cannot face such disappointment again, and yet... He cannot promise himself he will not do so. For Erik, he is ever weak, and that is the simple truth of it.
The flag of truce is one thing, but any more than that... As he said at their parting, they have never wanted the same things. He is a naive and optimistic fool, as Erik has branded him, and even he knows better than that, but knowing and feeling are too very different things.
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