"Oh, there's no need for such formality," Shaw says gently. "We're all friends here, are we not?" He spreads his hands, genial, and then thumps down both hands on the table in a gesture of brisk energy. "But since you asked. I would like very much if you'd help Charles onto a table. Tie him down. You know how. And Erik? I should not like to have to redo any of it afterwards."
Shaw just folds his hands, perfectly polite.
*
Charles reaches down out of instinct, grabs Erik's hand and grips it, hard. He regrets it immediately, how better else to give them away? But he finds he cannot care.
Do as he says. Don't hesitate.
__
:C Nope he’s already hesitating. He can’t. He can’t. The table and the straps meant the scalpel, the saws, the contraptions Shaw had strapped to his head and the echoes of his screams until his voice was gone, and still he tried, feeling his throat contract.
He can’t. He won’t.
---
ERIK THAT IS NOT NOT-HESITATING. Charles' breathing picks up, just a bit. He's trying so desperately to stay in control but only being half successful. He stops, concentrates-if he can just send word to Raven-
But Emma is there, and he hits her presence like a wall.
Nice try, Charles, she says, her tone unreadable. Did you really think I'd let you get a message out?
I'm quite a bit stronger than you, Emma, please get out of my way-
I'm less moral, so matter-of-fact. And he has no reply for that. He's not even sure he can break her mind, not like this. Not worried and frightened and half-starved. But right now, he's even less sure of the fact that he wouldn't.
He steps for the table that Shaw's not currently pressing his weight against. He has to let go of Erik's hand to do it, and thusly unencumbered, he rubs his together. "Well? Shall we get this started, then?"
*
Shaw raises a hand. Just one. Three fingers. One goes down.
__
He watches Charles leave his side like it is happening to another person. Like this is a nightmare and he can’t move, that no matter what he does the worst will inevitably happen.
Shaw is going to kill them both. It doesn’t even have to be physically.
His body still refuses even the simplest commands, so all he can do is reach out mentally, asking for direction. He will do this if Charles says he should. He will do this if someone gives him the order.
Charles?
---
He almost loses his nerve right there, at that desperately haunted note to Erik's voice. The only thing that keeps him grounded - the only thing - is the knowledge that if he falls apart, he'll be no use to Erik. The breath he draws is unsteady, but his hands, by the grace of something far greater than himself, are not.
Everything will be fine. Come on.
He hops on the table, fiddles a moment with his shirt-cuffs. Rolls them up. Wonders if this is the last time he will ever see his skin unscarred, and then he shakes the thought from his mind.
He presses up against Erik mentally, injecting as much warmth and care as he can into that connection. (It's all right, we'll be okay, I always wanted to try bondage though I admit the circumstances are not ideal--) He's not trying to hide his fear any more, merely letting Erik know that he's acknowledged it and is trying (very, very hard) to move past it. His tips his head towards Shaw, watches the good doctor lower another finger, and his grip tightens on the edge of the examination table.
Now, Erik. Move.
__
His mother’s last words. How fitting, and he almost smiles.
The paralysis lifts and he moves to the table, neatly and efficiently carrying out Shaw’s request. His fingers recall the motions perfectly, though it has been decades. He doesn’t let himself look at Charles’s face, only at the limbs under his hands, and he doesn’t acknowledge the fact that his eyes are too bright.
Charles on the table. Charles strapped to the table in the Doktor’s white room, placed there by Erik’s own hands, and he thinks very calmly that he would like to die.
Shaw just folds his hands, perfectly polite.
*
Charles reaches down out of instinct, grabs Erik's hand and grips it, hard. He regrets it immediately, how better else to give them away? But he finds he cannot care.
Do as he says. Don't hesitate.
__
:C Nope he’s already hesitating. He can’t. He can’t. The table and the straps meant the scalpel, the saws, the contraptions Shaw had strapped to his head and the echoes of his screams until his voice was gone, and still he tried, feeling his throat contract.
He can’t. He won’t.
---
ERIK THAT IS NOT NOT-HESITATING. Charles' breathing picks up, just a bit. He's trying so desperately to stay in control but only being half successful. He stops, concentrates-if he can just send word to Raven-
But Emma is there, and he hits her presence like a wall.
Nice try, Charles, she says, her tone unreadable. Did you really think I'd let you get a message out?
I'm quite a bit stronger than you, Emma, please get out of my way-
I'm less moral, so matter-of-fact. And he has no reply for that. He's not even sure he can break her mind, not like this. Not worried and frightened and half-starved. But right now, he's even less sure of the fact that he wouldn't.
He steps for the table that Shaw's not currently pressing his weight against. He has to let go of Erik's hand to do it, and thusly unencumbered, he rubs his together. "Well? Shall we get this started, then?"
*
Shaw raises a hand. Just one. Three fingers. One goes down.
__
He watches Charles leave his side like it is happening to another person. Like this is a nightmare and he can’t move, that no matter what he does the worst will inevitably happen.
Shaw is going to kill them both. It doesn’t even have to be physically.
His body still refuses even the simplest commands, so all he can do is reach out mentally, asking for direction. He will do this if Charles says he should. He will do this if someone gives him the order.
Charles?
---
He almost loses his nerve right there, at that desperately haunted note to Erik's voice. The only thing that keeps him grounded - the only thing - is the knowledge that if he falls apart, he'll be no use to Erik. The breath he draws is unsteady, but his hands, by the grace of something far greater than himself, are not.
Everything will be fine. Come on.
He hops on the table, fiddles a moment with his shirt-cuffs. Rolls them up. Wonders if this is the last time he will ever see his skin unscarred, and then he shakes the thought from his mind.
He presses up against Erik mentally, injecting as much warmth and care as he can into that connection. (It's all right, we'll be okay, I always wanted to try bondage though I admit the circumstances are not ideal--) He's not trying to hide his fear any more, merely letting Erik know that he's acknowledged it and is trying (very, very hard) to move past it. His tips his head towards Shaw, watches the good doctor lower another finger, and his grip tightens on the edge of the examination table.
Now, Erik. Move.
__
His mother’s last words. How fitting, and he almost smiles.
The paralysis lifts and he moves to the table, neatly and efficiently carrying out Shaw’s request. His fingers recall the motions perfectly, though it has been decades. He doesn’t let himself look at Charles’s face, only at the limbs under his hands, and he doesn’t acknowledge the fact that his eyes are too bright.
Charles on the table. Charles strapped to the table in the Doktor’s white room, placed there by Erik’s own hands, and he thinks very calmly that he would like to die.
---
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