i'm not actually writing any more of this
"Look," Mary says, heels clicking against the sidewalk as she walks a bit faster to keep up with Lehnsherr's stride, "believe me when I say that I'm usually the last person to suggest forming meaningful relationships with other people, but when was the last time you left the house before today?"
"The last time you showed up in the middle of the day and forced me out for a meaningless talk about how I can make my new life fulfilling," Erik says. He stops and turns his glare on Mary, but he somehow has yet to learn that his dirtiest look is far from the worst Mary's faced. She glares right back. "I'm perfectly happy keeping to myself, Inspector. I would think you'd prefer it that way."
Of course Mary would prefer it that way. Mary would prefer if Lehnsherr locked himself away and never came out, if Lehnsherr faded into the scenery so well that even she couldn't find him. Lehnsherr is a perfect witness. He doesn't break the rules, he didn't leave anyone behind, and he has no fondness for his past. He also doesn't seem to have any fondness for his present, however, and if his psych evals don't start coming back normal, who the hell knows what's going to happen to him?
She crowds him against the wall, which is something, given he's got about six inches on her. She's got a good scowl, though, and she thinks, despite his icy demeanor, that Lehnsherr's a little scared of her.
She likes when they're scared of her.
"Listen, Erik," she says. "If it were up to me, you could spend the rest of your life holed up in your house with your freelance work and your groceries delivered. I'd be fucking thrilled if you never left the premises and never stuck your nose anywhere it didn't belong. I'd lock you in myself, secure in the knowledge that no one can identify you if no one ever gets a chance to look at you. But if you're gonna be that way, you gotta have your shit together and apparently you're even more fucked up than I am. So either go out, have a life, and adjust to being a real human being, or get better at lying to your shrink so I don't have to sit there and listen to my boss tell me you're a risk because you're unstable and unpredictable."
Lehnsherr looks at her. His expression is unreadable and blank, but she's starting to get the impression that he just defaults to that face to avoid having to admit someone else is right.
"Fine," he says. "Exactly what would you like me to do to have a life?"
"Hell if I know," Mary says. She takes a step back and rolls her shoulders. "We're meeting Marshall and he's a font of useless knowledge. I'm sure he'll have some sort of idea."
As if they'd planned it (they hadn't--Mary's learned to stop questioning how strangely in sync she and Marshall always are), Marshall strolls around the corner, shades down, coffee in hand.
"Ah, Erik," he says in greeting, and raises a hand in a half wave. Lehnsherr glares at him, but Marshall's just as immune. "I assume Mary's caught you up to speed on the quandary you've left us in."
"If I'd known forced socialization was involved, I never would have agreed to join the program," Erik says darkly.
"Mary said the same thing when she realized she'd have to work in an office with other people," Marshall says. "Now, to start with, there's a volunteer group at the library that I think you'd--"
"Marshall! Marshall!"
All three of them turn to the kid jogging down the street towards Marshall. Well, upon closer inspection, he's not exactly a kid. He looks young, but Mary pins him in his late twenties with a face that'll have him carded in bars until he's closer to forty. He's got a bag slung over one shoulder and a book clutched in one hand and a British accent, which is weird, but whatever.
"You forgot--" the kid starts to say as he gets within speaking distance, but his toe catches on the uneven pavement. His fall is spectacular--it feels like it should be in slow motion, the way his expression twists into surprise and then comic horror as his bag opens, his papers go flying, and he ends up sprawled all over the ground. Mary wishes she had filmed it. She wonders if any of the shops nearby have external surveillance cameras.
"Charles!" Marshall says, immediately kneeling to help him. "Are you okay?"
"You forgot your book," Charles mutters, his cheek against the concrete, his voice dazed. He pushes himself up and he's blushing like mad, looking up at Marshall with wide eyes that are too blue to be real. "Oh my, I'm terribly sorry, I'm normally not that clumsy--"
Mary's about to make a comment, when she notices that Lehnsherr is kneeling on the ground, helping Marshall gather together the loose papers before they blow away. Mary has a bad feeling about this.
"Are you okay?" Lehnsherr asks.
"Fine," Charles says, brushing off his shirt and thighs as he leans back onto his knees. "I'm--" He looks up at Lehnsherr and their eyes meet. There might as well be fucking music crescendoing in the background and fireworks going off. Mary can practically feel the hiss of attraction between them. "...fine..." Charles murmurs, staring at Lehnsherr. He reaches out, blindly, to take the sheaf of papers in Lehnsherr's hand. Lehnsherr doesn't let go. "I'm Charles," he says. "Charles Xavier."
"Erik Eisenhardt," Lehnsherr says. He still doesn't let go of the papers. They're literally kneeling in the middle of the sidewalk and staring at each other as pedestrians step around them.
"Oh, come on," Mary mutters, rubbing her forehead to stave off the sudden oncoming headache. "You have got to be kidding me."
((I lied: here's a little bit more.))
"The last time you showed up in the middle of the day and forced me out for a meaningless talk about how I can make my new life fulfilling," Erik says. He stops and turns his glare on Mary, but he somehow has yet to learn that his dirtiest look is far from the worst Mary's faced. She glares right back. "I'm perfectly happy keeping to myself, Inspector. I would think you'd prefer it that way."
Of course Mary would prefer it that way. Mary would prefer if Lehnsherr locked himself away and never came out, if Lehnsherr faded into the scenery so well that even she couldn't find him. Lehnsherr is a perfect witness. He doesn't break the rules, he didn't leave anyone behind, and he has no fondness for his past. He also doesn't seem to have any fondness for his present, however, and if his psych evals don't start coming back normal, who the hell knows what's going to happen to him?
She crowds him against the wall, which is something, given he's got about six inches on her. She's got a good scowl, though, and she thinks, despite his icy demeanor, that Lehnsherr's a little scared of her.
She likes when they're scared of her.
"Listen, Erik," she says. "If it were up to me, you could spend the rest of your life holed up in your house with your freelance work and your groceries delivered. I'd be fucking thrilled if you never left the premises and never stuck your nose anywhere it didn't belong. I'd lock you in myself, secure in the knowledge that no one can identify you if no one ever gets a chance to look at you. But if you're gonna be that way, you gotta have your shit together and apparently you're even more fucked up than I am. So either go out, have a life, and adjust to being a real human being, or get better at lying to your shrink so I don't have to sit there and listen to my boss tell me you're a risk because you're unstable and unpredictable."
Lehnsherr looks at her. His expression is unreadable and blank, but she's starting to get the impression that he just defaults to that face to avoid having to admit someone else is right.
"Fine," he says. "Exactly what would you like me to do to have a life?"
"Hell if I know," Mary says. She takes a step back and rolls her shoulders. "We're meeting Marshall and he's a font of useless knowledge. I'm sure he'll have some sort of idea."
As if they'd planned it (they hadn't--Mary's learned to stop questioning how strangely in sync she and Marshall always are), Marshall strolls around the corner, shades down, coffee in hand.
"Ah, Erik," he says in greeting, and raises a hand in a half wave. Lehnsherr glares at him, but Marshall's just as immune. "I assume Mary's caught you up to speed on the quandary you've left us in."
"If I'd known forced socialization was involved, I never would have agreed to join the program," Erik says darkly.
"Mary said the same thing when she realized she'd have to work in an office with other people," Marshall says. "Now, to start with, there's a volunteer group at the library that I think you'd--"
"Marshall! Marshall!"
All three of them turn to the kid jogging down the street towards Marshall. Well, upon closer inspection, he's not exactly a kid. He looks young, but Mary pins him in his late twenties with a face that'll have him carded in bars until he's closer to forty. He's got a bag slung over one shoulder and a book clutched in one hand and a British accent, which is weird, but whatever.
"You forgot--" the kid starts to say as he gets within speaking distance, but his toe catches on the uneven pavement. His fall is spectacular--it feels like it should be in slow motion, the way his expression twists into surprise and then comic horror as his bag opens, his papers go flying, and he ends up sprawled all over the ground. Mary wishes she had filmed it. She wonders if any of the shops nearby have external surveillance cameras.
"Charles!" Marshall says, immediately kneeling to help him. "Are you okay?"
"You forgot your book," Charles mutters, his cheek against the concrete, his voice dazed. He pushes himself up and he's blushing like mad, looking up at Marshall with wide eyes that are too blue to be real. "Oh my, I'm terribly sorry, I'm normally not that clumsy--"
Mary's about to make a comment, when she notices that Lehnsherr is kneeling on the ground, helping Marshall gather together the loose papers before they blow away. Mary has a bad feeling about this.
"Are you okay?" Lehnsherr asks.
"Fine," Charles says, brushing off his shirt and thighs as he leans back onto his knees. "I'm--" He looks up at Lehnsherr and their eyes meet. There might as well be fucking music crescendoing in the background and fireworks going off. Mary can practically feel the hiss of attraction between them. "...fine..." Charles murmurs, staring at Lehnsherr. He reaches out, blindly, to take the sheaf of papers in Lehnsherr's hand. Lehnsherr doesn't let go. "I'm Charles," he says. "Charles Xavier."
"Erik Eisenhardt," Lehnsherr says. He still doesn't let go of the papers. They're literally kneeling in the middle of the sidewalk and staring at each other as pedestrians step around them.
"Oh, come on," Mary mutters, rubbing her forehead to stave off the sudden oncoming headache. "You have got to be kidding me."
((I lied: here's a little bit more.))