Charles Xavier | X-Men First Class | Post MoviebutwedonotJuly 24 2011, 06:18:04 UTC
[ It's the early morning hours and he can see the snowfall from his window; he could remember, in his younger days, that the fluttering powder was cause for both jubilation and distress. He delighted in trudging through every bit of snow he could, much to his mothers disdain, and then regretting it in the late evening while she chided him and he shivered like a mouse next to the fireplace. There's a small part of him that would give, so much, to be able to do that again-- even the trembling aftermath while his body struggled to warm itself; but he was too far past that, this evening
( ... )
The same things I always think about. [ He says, and manages to look mildly abashed about it; Charles had a one track mind, some days. He takes a sip from his cup, letting the warm liquid keep a heat in his chest and his fingertips. ] The school, the students, plans for the future. [ Things of his past; things he didn't care to talk about. ]
I find sometimes it's soothing, at least in part, to have the same lull of familiar thoughts-- easier to sleep.
Nothing that can be helped, [ He offers a small, sad smile because it's true. There was nothing Emma could do to help him, even if she wanted-- he couldn't even help himself in this respect. He tips his head toward her as he takes a sip. ]
Like an aid? [ The thought makes him chuckle, mostly because Charles has always tasked himself with taking the brunt of the work-- he liked it that way, it not only kept him busy but allowed him to make sure everything was functioning properly and that the students were making decent progress. Sometimes he would get worn out but usually he functioned quite well under pressure and found himself contentedly buried in his work. ]
[ The weather is freezing, snow flurries around his feet and cloak when he pads across the dark front lawn, the familiar pathway up the the house that he used to tread back and forth to the lake, or to the field-- his boots crunch in the snow. The house is the same as it always was-- tall against the navy blue of the cloudy early morning sky, and lit from within, only a few lights on-- the hall light, seen glowing through the outer library window, Raven's old bedroom light-- and Charles'. He can see from where he stands that the front door has opened, emitting a host of children-- none that he knows except for Alex and Sean, who bound just as enthusiastically over the threshold and onto the now white front terrace garden
( ... )
[ He could sit here and read for the evening, or so he told himself, the chill of the evening almost making him feel more alive in the confines of his house. He could feel it numbing his fingertips, drawing the blood to his cheeks, nose and ears. A little puff of breath, visible and spiraling into nothingness. He could spend the evening caught in the cold and his texts and allow himself to be lost in the moment; not thinking of the future... or the past.
Or so he had thought.
The moment he felt the familiar weight at the back of his mind, the additional hum amongst the dozens of thoughts that teased his brain, he dropped his book. He leaned forward in the chair, arms strengthened from use, pulling him out of it just slightly when he gripped the windows edge. ] Erik!
Charles. [ The quiet acknowledgment meets that mental exclamation from Charles-- spoken in a breath of warm air, and Erik looks up, visible now in the light from the open window; the warm lamplight shining on his face for a moment when his eyes meet the other man's; something like weariness in them-- but also that same old tenderness; absolutely clear across his features. ] Is this a bad time?
[ He focuses on the familiar blue-- not that he can quite pick out the color in the pale light; but the memory of it is enough for him to know that it's there-- reflecting a similar scattering of emotions as are in his own. It had become impossible to avoid returning; even if he's Magneto, now-- the helmet and the cause may be a part of him now; but there's a deeper hook in him-- far more potent and profoundly magnetic. Charles has always, and will always draw him back. His next projection is almost a whisper-- more a confession than anything else. ] I had to see you.
No, no of course not. [ He stared down for a few seconds, eyes squinting a bit to accommodate for the sudden lack of light, letting his eyes focus in on him. Erik. Magneto. He's finally breathing again, the sudden awareness of that long missed mind. He leans out of view for a moment, mostly so he could lock the breaks on his chair to keep it from rolling backwards with the way he was leaning out of the window. ]
I'm glad you did. [ And he means it, he really does. The small smile on his lips a surprise to even him-- he supposes he should be angry; to tell him to leave, but he can't. Not now anyway, he's too delighted to be seeing him again-- later would be the time for whatever other emotions that decided to come up. ] You can... come up if you want. [ It's almost hesitant, unsure of how long he even desired to remain. ]
[ It takes a single smooth movement for Erik to suddenly be standing on the ledge below the window, a hand against the outside of the frame; and his hair is flecked with the snow-- warm light on his face. ]
Charles. [ He breathes the name out, and climbs into the window to stand next to the other man-- posture coiled tensely-- it's exactly two years since the beach; and while he may not have been entirely able to return to the telepath as often as he'd have liked-- he's done the best he can, with the circumstances they've been landed with. ] It's good to see you. [ The tension abruptly slackens, and Erik sinks down to curl in Charles' sweater. ]
[ As Erik moves Charles leans back, resting into his chair again to allow him some space. He's as handsome as Charles could ever remember; and Charles is a bit abashed at himself for even thinking it. Still, at any moment he was able he liked to memorize the lines of his face, recall the differences-- if there were any. He wishes he had expected a visit, he would have adorned something other than an well worn blue sweater that, while very soft, was a tad old looking. Of course this is forgotten, for the most part, when Erik lowers against him and he can feel his heart skip a beat.
Arms ease upward and gingerly make their way around him, as if afraid anything too much will make him leave. He's never sure of himself with Erik like he used to be; but he also used to believe that he would never leave and he had been so blindly wrong about that. A gentle squeeze as he turns his head just enough so that he could speak quietly to Erik, ] I've missed you. [ No pretense to be had, he was never sure how long he could keep him-- and he would
( ... )
[ His cheekbone digs a little into the other man's stomach, and he's been so long without this connection that they have-- the most basic of it; the physical contact that had once become such a second nature reaction to the two of them; he's found himself actively missing the quiet familiarity that they had-- Charles' hand on his arm, or shoulder. Fingers knotting in the wool of the sweater, Erik breathes in the musty, bookish smell of him-- faintly of soap and of washing powder. ] And I've missed you too. [ There's a pause-- and honestly, if they ever had time for sentimentality, it was now. ] Constantly.
[ Arms winding around the other man's waist, Erik exhales slowly. ] If I could, I'd come back more often. [ But there's never enough time, not for them-- he doesn't believe that there ever will be either. ]
[ He tenses his jaw to keep back whatever noise tried to break free at the admission, instead turning his head just a tad more to press a light kiss near his hairline. ] I understand. [ He wishes, in some respects, he didn't-- but in the end he wouldn't trade it for anything. ]
I know. [ It's soft and soothing, meant to be some sort of reassurance that he didn't doubt Erik's feelings, at least. His hand eases up from his arm to rest at the back of his neck, fingers curling and brushing against the skin soothingly. ] I'm just glad for when you do come.
You do. [ Of course-- they're both so trapped in this doomed codependent state of affairs; Erik cannot function for losing Charles permanently, and he imagines that the other is in a similar predicament; he's always welcomed back, at least-- and after all this time that does say something. The tips of his fingers draw circles against Charles' back-- carefully positioned above that swathe that the bullet cut, above the line that marks the beginning of the damage. ]
There still isn't much that I can do to change this, or to give us more time. [ His head tilts up, pulling back just barely enough to meet the other man's eyes, but not to disrupt that hand on the nape of his neck. Erik leans into it. ] How have you been? [ And the look on his face-- the line between his eyebrows-- is enough to show he's been concerned. ]
I'm not asking you to do anything, Erik. [ His words are hinged with an inner longing, he wanted so much more for the both of them but he knew that to ask that-- of either of them, would be cruel. He would never push Erik to change, perhaps in the misguided hope that Erik would come back of his own volition. However, at this point, even he knew how childish it was to think such things. It pained him to acknowledge how awry he had let his dreams go; he couldn't blame Erik because he blamed himself. ]
I've been... alright. [ He sweeps his hand through the soft, familiar strands of hair. The smell of having him so close making his heart thud a bit harder in his chest. ] The children have been keeping me as busy as they can mange. [ Lonely, longing, but busy-- busier than he had ever been because it was so much easier to throw himself into his work. ] And, how have you been?
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I find sometimes it's soothing, at least in part, to have the same lull of familiar thoughts-- easier to sleep.
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I appreciate the offer, though, truly.
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I'll think about it.
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Or so he had thought.
The moment he felt the familiar weight at the back of his mind, the additional hum amongst the dozens of thoughts that teased his brain, he dropped his book. He leaned forward in the chair, arms strengthened from use, pulling him out of it just slightly when he gripped the windows edge. ] Erik!
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[ He focuses on the familiar blue-- not that he can quite pick out the color in the pale light; but the memory of it is enough for him to know that it's there-- reflecting a similar scattering of emotions as are in his own. It had become impossible to avoid returning; even if he's Magneto, now-- the helmet and the cause may be a part of him now; but there's a deeper hook in him-- far more potent and profoundly magnetic. Charles has always, and will always draw him back. His next projection is almost a whisper-- more a confession than anything else. ] I had to see you.
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I'm glad you did. [ And he means it, he really does. The small smile on his lips a surprise to even him-- he supposes he should be angry; to tell him to leave, but he can't. Not now anyway, he's too delighted to be seeing him again-- later would be the time for whatever other emotions that decided to come up. ] You can... come up if you want. [ It's almost hesitant, unsure of how long he even desired to remain. ]
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Charles. [ He breathes the name out, and climbs into the window to stand next to the other man-- posture coiled tensely-- it's exactly two years since the beach; and while he may not have been entirely able to return to the telepath as often as he'd have liked-- he's done the best he can, with the circumstances they've been landed with. ] It's good to see you. [ The tension abruptly slackens, and Erik sinks down to curl in Charles' sweater. ]
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Arms ease upward and gingerly make their way around him, as if afraid anything too much will make him leave. He's never sure of himself with Erik like he used to be; but he also used to believe that he would never leave and he had been so blindly wrong about that. A gentle squeeze as he turns his head just enough so that he could speak quietly to Erik, ] I've missed you. [ No pretense to be had, he was never sure how long he could keep him-- and he would ( ... )
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[ Arms winding around the other man's waist, Erik exhales slowly. ] If I could, I'd come back more often. [ But there's never enough time, not for them-- he doesn't believe that there ever will be either. ]
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I know. [ It's soft and soothing, meant to be some sort of reassurance that he didn't doubt Erik's feelings, at least. His hand eases up from his arm to rest at the back of his neck, fingers curling and brushing against the skin soothingly. ] I'm just glad for when you do come.
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There still isn't much that I can do to change this, or to give us more time. [ His head tilts up, pulling back just barely enough to meet the other man's eyes, but not to disrupt that hand on the nape of his neck. Erik leans into it. ] How have you been? [ And the look on his face-- the line between his eyebrows-- is enough to show he's been concerned. ]
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I've been... alright. [ He sweeps his hand through the soft, familiar strands of hair. The smell of having him so close making his heart thud a bit harder in his chest. ] The children have been keeping me as busy as they can mange. [ Lonely, longing, but busy-- busier than he had ever been because it was so much easier to throw himself into his work. ] And, how have you been?
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