driftfleet | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Erik, Charles, and those aboard the Heron
Broadcast: No
Action: The Heron
When: Now

[Erik feels groggy when he wakes. How long had he slept for? Time didn’t hold the same structure that it used to for him, not when he was off alone, but he was certain he had slept before midnight… Shifting in the bed, he automatically casts his arm over the person sleeping next to him, a habit that usually leaves him bereft when it comes up empty. He cracks open his eyes, something nagging at the back of his mind even before he sees--

Charles. He jerks his hand back, confusion taking over. Charles shouldn’t be here, not in Poland. He’d left the mansion weeks ago. A rapid glance around the room (metal walls, a locker, that odd-looking hovering chair they’d spent so long building--) only serves to disorient him further. Where was he? Erik sits up, pressing a hand to his eyes as he tries to think. He had been in Poland. Somewhere remote, an abandoned house in the woods somewhere (not his house, he had already gone there and left again) on his road east, and… information rises out his whirling thoughts. A ship. This was that spaceship. He could feel it now, extending out through his senses. But that had been years ago. This wasn’t right. Something was terribly wrong.

He pulls his hand away from his face and stares at it, jaw tight. On his pointer finger was a slightly irregular silver ring. On his ring finger was his wedding band.

He remembers that his heart is broken. He remembers why he went back to Poland to begin with, why this is the wrong place. He remembers.

Something shakes apart inside him, and the Heron does the same.]

[Days ago, the two mutants on the Heron fell asleep and didn’t wake up. A few days later, their appearance started to change, Erik’s hair growing scruffier and the odd few silver threads starting to creep in, while Charles’s simply disappeared altogether. Anyone paying attention would notice they had grown noticeably older in just a few days. Now, it seems like they’re waking up. And Erik’s return to consciousness stands to shake everyone else to attention whether they like it or not.

It starts as a vibration, humming through the metal surfaces of the ship. It increases rapidly, getting noisier and more violent, until everything is rattling. Loose metal items begin to lift off from wherever they lie, floating jerkily into the air. Those closer to the walls around the edges of the ship will find less of a disturbance, though the floor still does its best to mimic an earthquake.

And then, just as abruptly, it stops. Most of it. Those vibrations are still shivering through everything, screws and spoons spinning drunkenly on the floor. Strange... should anyone investigate that closed bedroom, the culprit is easy to find.]

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[Erik watches Charles's face, listens to his explanation. They were here ten years ago, he knows. A long time by any stretch of the imagination. But in thinking about it it's coming back to him easily, through the jumble, and things begin to straighten themselves out in his mind.

Then, he gives the only response he can.]

Fuck.

[ Charles laughs, soft as he brushes his thumb against his face. ]

Eloquently put.

[Pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead, Erik mutters some choice other words in German. This was absurd.]

If you have better words for it, I'm all ears.

[ He shakes his head. ]

I wouldn't do that. And you know that.

[He lets out a ragged sigh, dropping his hand. His fingers pinch at the silver ring, then the wedding band. The rest of the Heron would surely crash in here at any minute, with the damage he'd just caused, and then there would be explanations-- they must have been asleep. (Together.)

Looking over at Charles, the lines in his face, it's nothing but familiar to him. It had only been two weeks since Erik left the mansion, lighter of mood and purpose, though the mutants had never been far from his thoughts. He's about to say something to Charles about it, when memory freezes him.]

Raven and Hank.

[ There's a sudden whiplash of panic, Raven, choking, he couldn't move, he couldn't go before it winks out as abruptly as it came. Charles remains inscrutable, for the most part. ]

I'm sure they're in the same boat as we are. They'll be fine.

[The jolt of panic unsettles Erik, a perspective he knows isn't quite his. Despite his alarm over Raven and what they could be waking up to, it didn't have this kind of texture to it. He watches Charles like a hawk for a moment, before replying with some measure of bleak humour.]

I wouldn't call being in our situation 'fine'.

[ Charles smiles despite himself. He feel tense, like they're walking on a tightrope. He would have already asked Erik how he was, would have done more. Now there's space between them. ]

For a certain definition of fine, then.

[Erik expects nothing. It's a sad thing to realise, and yet anything more would be an overreach. The weight of it is already settling in his stomach, all the memories of their time here, their brightness and hope for a future. He knows that weight. It's loss. It drags him down every day. One more chain around his neck will hardly change anything now.

None of this is voiced, or even considered at the front of his mind. It sinks into his deeper self, a ruined ship finally hitting the seabed.]

Given I've always hated that word, you can stop using it now.

I'm sorry.

[ And his voice holds a genuine inflection of sorrow, even as Charles folds his arms on his lap. ]

[Erik shoves it all to the side, locks it deep inside. He shakes his head.]

You don't have anything to apologise for.

I can still be sorry, Erik.

[He shouldn't be. The list of Erik's crimes stretches on endlessly, an ongoing tally of acts he should apologise for. Failing to save his family. Letting En Sabah Nur drag him down and refashion him. Destroying cities, buildings, people. Kidnapping Charles. The destruction of the school. Standing by as a madman attempted to end the world.

Charles is blameless, and casts none Erik's way despite all reason. If anything, Erik should apologise for being here, reopening old wounds (they aren't so old) with his presence.]

I know you can. [After a beat, he sighs, quiet.] I'm sorry too.

[ His expression finally flickers a little and he glances away, his fingers pressing into his lap tightly. It's been ten years. Ten years that feel less real. But this is nothing, he tells himself. Perspective is key. ]

I know you are.

[ Charles turns his gaze back at Erik, steady. ]

What do you need?

[Of course you're not fine, is what Erik thinks when Charles looks away. Erik has long since learned the language of his old friend's expressions, what is and isn't said. This is what he needs to do to get through this, though. It's not Erik's place to shatter that illusion, not today. Not when they're both raw with a decade's worth of memories imperfectly mixed with months of time on the Fleet. He hardly knows himself where his feelings want to run. Something is knotted tight within him, and he knows he can't loosen it. It was ten years ago (it wasn't, but so was Magda, you can't).

Practicalities should come first. Who knows how long they would be here. When he speaks again, his tone is even.]

We need to speak with Raven and Hank. [A beat.] And... MacTaggert is still here, isn't she.

[ Moira. The old guilt burns briefly in his mind and he winces. It had been good - really good to see her again and settle his past mistakes. Even though he has, once again, dragged into another perilous situation. He rubs at his forehead. His shields were paper-thin after En-Sabah-Nur. They held up decently once the rest of them had returned to the school, but he hadn't had time to devote proper time to regaining his fine control.

And control was essential for Charles. He curls his fingers around his arm-rests and nods. ]

We do need to do that . . . but I was talking about you, Erik.

[ And, a little selfishly, he wanted to know about . . . them. ]

[He knew what Charles meant. He had side-stepped it, because what Erik needs in this life are things he can no longer have. Magda, Nina. Dreams. A purpose. Erik watches Charles, his calm face, his fingers tight around his chair, and he knows what the answer is. It came in the ruins of Cairo when Raven made her plea to him. It came on the trip home, all of them battered and bruised and somehow together.

It came in front of a mysterious tree, years ago, echoing through cobwebs and splinters of his heart. So he raises his head and looks Charles in the eye.]

I need to know my family is all right. That's all.

[ His breath hitches. Family. Charles got his family back. Twenty years later, but it happened, against all odds. The dream is over. He knew that, can feel it in his bones. In the revival of the X-Men.

It should have been beautiful. It should have been perfect. All the things he wanted to say, all the hurts and wrongs and aches, smoothed over by closeness, by solidarity. It was a victory that still rings a little hollow and yet.

And yet.

He smiles. ]

You came home. I am satisfied.

[It still rattles him to hear it, to think it. To feel it. That a home exists for him, even amidst the ashes of the one he'd built in Poland. It's like looking directly into the sun. He can't always do it, but feeling the warmth of it in the distance is enough for him. And it eases some of the muted distress lurking under his skin, at the volcanic changes between their time here, and their lives lived at home. It helps him breathe a bit easier.]

And now we're... here. Again.

And we'll get by again.

[ His voice is assured. Nothing shakes and he still looks completely in place. ]

They won't take anything away from us.

[Erik doesn't want to be here. It brings back ugly feelings of entrapment, frustration. And yet he knows he doesn't particularly want to be anywhere else, either. There were places he had intended to go - steps along a solitary journey. None of it is of paramount importance, anymore. It was for himself alone.

Besides. Erik has little left to lose.]

I know.

If - If you need anything . . .

[ He stumbles, pulling back. Erik doesn't know. Charles doesn't know. It's why Erik needed to step away from the school and he understood that. He understood it then too. ]

Then I'll tell you.

[He finishes the sentence softly, unconcerned. This was a hurdle neither of them could manage. Old habits warred with new realities. It's the gesture that matters, not the fulfillment of it. Erik can appreciate that much; if Charles kept pressing, it would be a different matter. He doesn't think they'll have the time to get there yet, though.]

[ He nods quietly. Erik isn't helpless or hopeless for that matter. They've both come a long way, setbacks aside. This will have to be enough for now. The rest . . . and he grimaces to himself, already picturing it, will come later. ]

[It hasn't escaped his notice that Charles was refusing to speak to how he felt in the moment. The flickers of expression on his face, the twists of discontent, are enough to disprove his platitudes to Erik's mind. Who wouldn't be disquieted, though? This was jarring enough, without the clamour of memories bubbling around in their heads. Cairo. Westchester. Everywhere in between. Erik turns his head for a moment and looks at the door. Soon enough there would be questions. Hard ones.

He looks back to Charles with a somber expression, and extends his hand to him.]