The best way she'd found to keep herself grounded, and less likely to let another personality slip into control as she slept, was to push herself physically during the day. Yoga was now part of a morning and evening ritual, meditation built in to her schedule the way showering and eating was- and eating had to be, or else she would forget to. Getting the team into fighting shape was a solid endeavor after so long off the field, and carefully going over the mental doors she had spent months, now, compartmentalizing was as vital as seeing and speaking to friends. They were necessary steps and they got her through the hours.
Dr. McCoy was working on the closest thing to a cure she could get without Charles Xavier around, and she was not just grateful but determined to do her part. Even if she worried. Even if some days seemed less steady than others. At least she looked more her old self, not quite as drawn, not nearly so thin, muscle tone and tan coming back slowly but steadily.
At the end of a day that had been carefully filled, smelling of salt water and sun warmed cotton and feeling pretty good about the way things were heading, she swung by the Winchester. It wasn't her usual haunt, and it was the second time in as many weeks that she had stopped by, but it was a pretty nice facsimile of normal life. Comforting, if it held the potential to be bitter sweet. She figured she could use a cold drink, least ways, and was happily reaching across the bar for one when she was rudely jostled.
"Beggin' your pardon," she drawled, tone clearly indicating she was doing anything but, and turned to face the taller man who'd knocked her with his shoulder, "but you soften that tone 'n I might just be obliged to."
She stopped short when she saw his face, blinking. He looked strikingly familiar.
Erik takes the moment to look the woman over carefully, his gaze lingering on all the skin open to him. It reminds him of Shaw's telepath in a way, that Frost woman and the way she used her wiles as a secondary weapon, as though the mutation hadn't been enough. Here, though, he supposes it's not like that. Perhaps this woman dresses like this for the attention or maybe she's like Angel and it's all she's known and come to expect.
"And do you plan on giving me cause to soften my tone? You were in my way. Now you're out of it," he remarks, his smile tight. His posture straightens as he lifts himself to his full height. "Everything is working out for the best, you see."
She felt herself go pale, felt the bottom drop of out her stomach and her heart slam against her throat. He was younger than she'd ever seen him, even as a girl, but his voice, his face, there was no mistaking it. Her lips moved a little, the name Magneto all but spoken. No costumes, no panic, and he didn't... There was no recognition in his eyes. She couldn't be wrong, though, she knew she couldn't.
Unless she was heading right back for crazy square one.
He darkens at his name being spoken by a stranger and now he abandons what little restraint he's been holding in this public place as he grips at her wrist and bears in closer so that their words won't be overheard by those nearby. "How do you know my name?" he demands. "I've never seen you before in my life."
"Oh mah God," she murmured, almost whispered, pulse hammering in her ears, confusion and a little fear and a sudden spark of anger making her breath difficult to steady, "you've got three seconds to let go of me, Magneto, before I put your head through the nearest wall, so help me."
There is a disdainful attachment to the name, having heard it spoken by Raven in a fit of youthful idiocy, but there is something that he's yet to abandon about it -- some like of the way it sounds to his ears. Still, he is not Magneto, he is no one but Erik, and this woman knows him. It is a fight, but he does relinquish his grip of her wrist by weakening it and allowing his fingers to slide up her palm and away.
He does not reply that she could try, but he would put up a good fight. There's no cause to reveal what he can do just yet. "Erik," he says, stringently. "My name is Erik Lehnsherr. Not whatever nicknames the children decided in their fit of pique."
"Not-" Her voice came out strangled and she pulled away from him, stepping back into the person standing behind her.
"-Sorry-" She said, glancing over her shoulder, then back up to Erik's face.
"Not here." Rogue pushed past him and started for the door, head down, pointedly not looking at any of the Winchester's other patrons. She didn't trust herself to get through whatever conversation was about to happen without drawing a lot of attention, so if that conversation could be had away from any other sets of eyes, it would be preferable.
Even if going off alone with Erik Lehnsherr was the opposite of smart.
He attempts to remain impassive, whatever emotion he is actually feeling sinking down beneath his awareness that this is dangerous if she does, in fact, know him. What had Billy said? That people are from his future. What will his future bring, then, if this is how he is reacted to? He follows her, knowing that this may be an error, but he has calculated the risk. If necessary, he will fight.
He forces his body to remain calm and settled as he follows her, chin held high. "Are you going to tell me, anytime, how you know me?"
"When I'm good 'n ready," she shot back, taking them off the path and through the trees, hopefully out of ear shot of anyone coming or going. She stopped in a small clearing and turned to face him. It wasn't easy. She was tense, fight or flight instinct kicked into high gear. Sheer muscle memory.
How did she know him? Not at all, was one answer. She'd thought she had. For years. There was so much, so much between them- from her time with the Brotherhood to his time as the leader of the X-Men. Everything that had happened in the Savage Land, and then on Asteroid M... Where was she supposed to start?
"...I'm a mutant," she said. It seemed as good a place as any.
That's all it takes for him to soften. She is a mutant and she is not allied (as far as he knows) to the Hellfire Club. Thus, she is not enemy and is instead an ally. Three simple words and he is immediately far more sympathetic to her. Perhaps that will be an issue, but he will consider the ramifications of such trust later. "Then I presume you're aware that I am, as well.'
She almost laughed. The breath started out of her throat and got caught. She almost threw her hands up. Instead, she wrapped them around herself.
"-yes," she said, "yeah, I'm... aware." She paced a little before she caught herself doing it, and stilled. The look on his face- Rogue couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so uncomfortable, for so many reasons.
"I'm Rogue," she told him, and then, to test the waters by more or less plunging into them, "I'm one of Charles Xavier's X-Men."
He inhales sharply the moment she says his name. Everyone seems to know him, here. Everyone continues to speak of him and Erik is beginning to wonder when the man behind the legacy is going to arrive and help him to understand -- the man who knows everything about him, the one person who's seen the darkness and still thinks there is hope. "Charles," he exhales, his brow furrowing as sheer desperate need for answers and full acceptance overwhelms him. "Is he here?"
Not that she was about to, but Rogue had the sudden knowledge that she could easily burst into tears. She'd missed Charles Xavier fiercely, more than once, since her arrival on the island. This moment was ranking high among them.
"...No," she said.
"There are a few mutants, and we all knew him, I think, but. No, he's not here. So you know him," she said, eyes narrowing a little, watching him hard.
It's difficult to explain the complex situation he shares with Charles. He would call it friendship, above all else, but then there are moments when Erik worries that they aren't aligned in their plans to make mutants accepted and he thinks that a day is going to come when that will draw the line between them. Still, there's much to be said for a man who can look into your darkest days and still want you by his side.
Charles Xavier is that man, to him.
"I know him," Erik concurs, something like grieving fondness entering his tone as he remembers the last time he saw Charles before arriving here and the moment they shared over a long-buried happy memory. "We were working together to train other mutants against a dangerous man," he says, visage growing darker at even the thought of Shaw.
Erik follows, watching her to carefully gauge his next move in this scenario. There are safe ways to progress and risky ones, ones that will leave him exposed and threatened. He opts somewhere down the middle. "I don't remember," he admits, "but it was very early days when I suddenly found myself here. I'd only just realised how to best use my abilities before they were stolen from me," he says with disdain. "Are yours gone, as well?"
Dr. McCoy was working on the closest thing to a cure she could get without Charles Xavier around, and she was not just grateful but determined to do her part. Even if she worried. Even if some days seemed less steady than others. At least she looked more her old self, not quite as drawn, not nearly so thin, muscle tone and tan coming back slowly but steadily.
At the end of a day that had been carefully filled, smelling of salt water and sun warmed cotton and feeling pretty good about the way things were heading, she swung by the Winchester. It wasn't her usual haunt, and it was the second time in as many weeks that she had stopped by, but it was a pretty nice facsimile of normal life. Comforting, if it held the potential to be bitter sweet. She figured she could use a cold drink, least ways, and was happily reaching across the bar for one when she was rudely jostled.
"Beggin' your pardon," she drawled, tone clearly indicating she was doing anything but, and turned to face the taller man who'd knocked her with his shoulder, "but you soften that tone 'n I might just be obliged to."
She stopped short when she saw his face, blinking. He looked strikingly familiar.
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"And do you plan on giving me cause to soften my tone? You were in my way. Now you're out of it," he remarks, his smile tight. His posture straightens as he lifts himself to his full height. "Everything is working out for the best, you see."
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Unless she was heading right back for crazy square one.
"...Erik?"
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"Oh mah God," she murmured, almost whispered, pulse hammering in her ears, confusion and a little fear and a sudden spark of anger making her breath difficult to steady, "you've got three seconds to let go of me, Magneto, before I put your head through the nearest wall, so help me."
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He does not reply that she could try, but he would put up a good fight. There's no cause to reveal what he can do just yet. "Erik," he says, stringently. "My name is Erik Lehnsherr. Not whatever nicknames the children decided in their fit of pique."
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"Not-" Her voice came out strangled and she pulled away from him, stepping back into the person standing behind her.
"-Sorry-" She said, glancing over her shoulder, then back up to Erik's face.
"Not here." Rogue pushed past him and started for the door, head down, pointedly not looking at any of the Winchester's other patrons. She didn't trust herself to get through whatever conversation was about to happen without drawing a lot of attention, so if that conversation could be had away from any other sets of eyes, it would be preferable.
Even if going off alone with Erik Lehnsherr was the opposite of smart.
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He forces his body to remain calm and settled as he follows her, chin held high. "Are you going to tell me, anytime, how you know me?"
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How did she know him? Not at all, was one answer. She'd thought she had. For years. There was so much, so much between them- from her time with the Brotherhood to his time as the leader of the X-Men. Everything that had happened in the Savage Land, and then on Asteroid M... Where was she supposed to start?
"...I'm a mutant," she said. It seemed as good a place as any.
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"-yes," she said, "yeah, I'm... aware." She paced a little before she caught herself doing it, and stilled. The look on his face- Rogue couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so uncomfortable, for so many reasons.
"I'm Rogue," she told him, and then, to test the waters by more or less plunging into them, "I'm one of Charles Xavier's X-Men."
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"...No," she said.
"There are a few mutants, and we all knew him, I think, but. No, he's not here. So you know him," she said, eyes narrowing a little, watching him hard.
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Charles Xavier is that man, to him.
"I know him," Erik concurs, something like grieving fondness entering his tone as he remembers the last time he saw Charles before arriving here and the moment they shared over a long-buried happy memory. "We were working together to train other mutants against a dangerous man," he says, visage growing darker at even the thought of Shaw.
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"You trained me, when I was still a teenager. So did he."
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