driftfleet | though it hurts to breathe

Entry tags:

though it hurts to breathe

Who: Raven, Hank, Charles and Erik
Broadcast: No
Action: On the Heron
When: Now onwards!

[ It had taken her a little while to calm down with Hank at her side, long enough that she's practically itching to make her way over to the Heron as soon as she can, device in her hand - the temptation to text ahead, to make sure they're really there, that they're okay, is almost a little too daunting and there's not much Raven can do other than force herself to stop. She's stronger than this, true, but coming out of the other side of something as horrendous as Apocalypse and standing tall, waking up on the Fleet, trying to figure out if she can handle it all again - it's too much.

The only thoughts in her mind are that she needs to find Charles, she needs to find Erik, and she needs to make sure they're alive, that they're safe, that they're here. This is going to be impossibly difficult for all four of them, Hank at her side, but they could work through it. They beat an all powerful mutant 'God', they came together as a family and they worked, hard, to make sure they all came out alive the other side.

What was the Fleet after all that?

It doesn't take her long to break away from Hank into a practical run as she reaches the Heron, a flash as she makes her way down the hall to find the other two mutants. Erik is important in her mind, of course, but her first instinct is to call out for Charles, standing outside the door and pressing her fingers against it, afraid for a moment that he won't answer, that he won't be there. The fear grips her, and her hands shake, but she does it anyway, knocking and calling for her brother.

After that, later... Well, she has to take time to calm down. Once she's sure Charles is safe, that Erik is safe, she can actually move to relax herself, the weight on her shoulders fading away. It takes time, but it happens, slowly... But she doesn't leave. She doesn't feel like she can leave either of them, and she wonders how they're going to handle that. ]

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[The silence continues, for over half an hour. Once he's through talking with Raven, Erik finds himself lightheaded. He moves up the corridor, rubbing his temple with a frown. He hasn't eaten in at least a few days, if everyone's reactions to how long they'd been asleep were true. His mind turns to tea or coffee first, though. Something with a more immediate effect.

He wasn't paying much attention, tired and ragged around the edges as he is, to the telltale signs of Charles's hoverchair occupying the kitchen. So he's minorly surprised to see the man sitting there when he arrives.

There's a pause, before he huffs lightly.]

You had the same idea, I see.

[ Charles doesn't start. He had felt Erik moving. His mind feels almost hyper-alert, reaching into the very ends of the ship. All he does is smile, moving away from the counter so that Erik can get what he needs.

His cup remains untouched. He can wait until Erik leaves or do it slowly. ]

I hear great minds think alike.

['Flatterer' is on the tip of his tongue, but gets no further. After casting a look around the kitchen, his memory catches up. Erik takes up a cup and moves to the dispenser. The on-tap green stuff would do for now.]

Some of the cleaning machines are still looping in circles. I might need to take a look at them. Sometime.

[ Charles runs his finger over the rim of his cup. He doesn't look up. ]

I'm sure it'll be a quick fix either way.

I don't really care. [He's blase about it. Technically, it's his job, but he hadn't cared much about it even ten years ago. He certainly doesn't know. Taking the full cup, he eases himself onto one of the kitchen stools at the table.]

[ He hums, noncommittal. The ships seem to do fine, whether they do their jobs or not. Still, it keeps them occupied and Charles can't fault that. ]

No. It's not really important.

[Erik focuses on his tea, staying quiet. He alternates between turning information over in his mind and ignoring it, to the point where he's vaguely sick. Today isn't a bad day, not quite. He knows what his bad days look like now, and he's not that far gone. It isn't something he could call 'good', either.

Ultimately it's just another day, moving forward, whether he's ready or not.]

[ Carefully, Charles picks up his cup once more. It wobbles and he's distinctly pleased by that, taking another sip. ]

I felt something earlier.

[Erik's pulled out of his reverie, looking over at Charles.]

What do you mean?

[ He pauses, putting it casually. ]

I felt your pain. Did something happen?

[Falling silent again, Erik's gaze drifts away from Charles's face momentarily. He isn't surprised. What he had felt was too much, and flickers of it still dance on the edge of his mind like flames. Ready to burn him again.

He looks back to Charles, wondering if he would have preferred more space from Erik than this small ship allows.]

No. I just remembered something.

What was it?

[Images and sounds threaten to flash behind his eyes again; he shuts them. Takes a breath. He's been doing that a lot today. It serves no one for him to lose control again, not when he'd already knocked the ship around.]

Peter. [At least his voice didn't crack.]

Oh.

[ That would be all the confirmation they needed. He looks down at his glass. Peter chose to remain at the school and he hadn't shared much with Charles over his reasons. Of course, now, knowing more about the other universes had shed a lot of light on why Peter had come to Cairo.

His fingers rub the mug. Erik's family always felt like a landmine, one Charles had no way of navigating. Their existence . . . their demise . . . the way it crops up in other universes, other places. He's a little envious of the pattern, but not so that he's not happy for Erik.

So he says. ]

He's a credit to his father then. I think he was satisfied, knowing you changed your mind.

[He's silent for a while, to the point where it might seem he hadn't heard what Charles said.]

Fathers raise their children. I'm no father to him. [Crediting Erik with anything like that felt wrong. He had no part in Peter's life. He's not sure he should, or if he even wants to. It would be safer for Peter to be far away from him. Otherwise, he'd end up like every other blood family he'd ever had.

("Is someone going to take you away?" "No. Never.")

This is rocky terrain, one he knows they crossed in the Fleet long ago. He doesn't meet Charles's eyes, knowing there's bound to be more there than the other man wants seen.]

That might not be up to you to decide, Erik. That would have to be his choice.

[ And the fact that Peter came all the way to Cairo stands for itself. Whatever complicated feelings that lay in between, Peter chose that. ]

I'll look after him. It seems he took my advice all those years ago.

[The rebuff stings, though Erik doesn't show it. Charles doesn't realise that Peter's 'choice' doesn't affect how Erik feels about it.

This was a mistake. Explaining himself any further was just going to hurt. So he says nothing, sipping his tea.]

[ And that, Charles watches as Erik retreats within himself, was a landmine. ]

All I meant was that he might see it differently.

Everyone does. [It's a cop-out of an answer, but it's all he's willing to give up.] Have you eaten yet?

[ Charles shakes his head. He barely trusts himself with his mug, much less with cutlery. If he subjected Raven or anyone else to those lost moments of control, everything he had said earlier would be subject to scrutiny.

And he can't have that. Not yet. ]

No. Though I'm sure we have some food from the planet below.

Probably. [Instead of finding that food, though, Erik gets up and heads to the paste dispenser.]

We've been asleep for a while, so we likely need it.

I -- Yes. Most likely.

[For all his talk, Erik doesn't feel hungry himself. It's more that he knows the signs of his body needing something. He's lost weight since Cairo, side effects of being disinterested in eating half the time. There's no grimace of distaste when he plates up some chicken and cheese flavoured protein.]

I'll take stock of what food I put away before-- well, before. [At a time when his first reaction won't be, 'I put that in there ten years ago, it's going to be disgusting by now.']

[ Charles blinks as he parses that. ]

I'd be surprised if you could even remember that.

I don't remember what I made. Just that I was making things. [Something about a new refrigerator niggles at his mind, another half-formed memory he can't grasp. He'll look later. He sits back at the table, slicing the solids apart with a knife and eating a piece.]

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