wecanavenge | ✘ | 017

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[All backdated to just after the flood!]

[Private to Pietro]

I know you're here, and I'm certain you're aware I am. [A beat. He's trying, but trying is hard especially when he has no idea how to broach this. It hasn't gone spectacularly with Anya or Wanda in the past.]

It's not a very big ship. And I'm obviously not the man you know. We could continue to avoid each other, if that's what you'd like. [He cracks a dry half-smile.] But I've found it's better not to assume anything, here.

[Private to Wanda]

[He took a while before turning the feed on for this, so he's perfectly composed. She doesn't need to see or deal with his issues; he wants to say this, and let it lie.]

I'm sorry. I haven't done a very good job of being easy to tolerate. You deserve better.

[Private to Alex]

I still don't expect your trust anytime soon.

[Private to Ivy]

[There is far too much kid drama here, so it's clearly time for something much less family oriented.]

'Generally regarded as sex on legs.' [Your warden, Ivy, he's very amusing to troll.]

[Private to Charles]

[Jesus Christ buddy we have got some stuff to talk about.] I spoke to Anya during the flood.

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[Well that's a miserable appearance, but it looks more like a cold than he expects anything potentially deadly would, so the first hint of alarm fades, and he slides his hands into his pockets.]

Well, that would explain it then. [He looks around for a moment, looking for some signs of sustenance, and sighs.] Have you eaten?

[Charles flops back down and doesn't move, coughing violently and tugging the blanket a little tighter around himself. He has to consider the question for a moment, even though it's a simple one, but his mind feels foggy and sluggish.]

No. I think I have a fever. [He tries clearing his throat, trying to get his voice back to something less hoarse.] What time is it?

Ten past noon. [Another look around, and Erik finds a box of tissues, grabbing it and settling it on the bed besides Charles.]

You should eat. Or go to the infirmary. [Jeez, Charles. But he won't push that; he has no love for being there.]

Thanks. [He curls a hand around the box, but doesn't move to take one or draw it closer to himself.]

I don't want to go to the infirmary. [It's very deliberate, even though he really just sounds more exhausted than persuasive. He'd never liked hospital settings even before he'd been shot, but afterward, there had been no question that he really hated them. The less time he could spend in them, the better.] But I guess I could stand to eat something.

[He still isn't moving to get up though. B(]

[Which Erik notices, of course. He sighs a little, though not particularly out of frustration, and heads for the door.]

I'll bring soup, [he says dryly. His mother used to say that soup could cure anything.]

[His control isn't great when he's sick - everything's foggy and confused and sort of muted - but instead of responding verbally, he sort of just balls up all his affection and gratitude and just sort of passes it to Erik, wanting him to know he appreciates it and that he's sorry for not just getting up to do it himself.

Although really, he was still in pajamas and hadn't showered, he wasn't really in a good state to just head down to the dining hall anyway.]

[All of which Erik knew to be true. He waved a hand at that brush of gratitude, an of course, of course, and disappeared out the door. It wasn't a quick trip - finding soup wasn't the easiest thing at a moment's notice - but eventually Erik returned with a bowl of soup on a metal tray, hovering in front of him. Waving the door closed, he floated the tray towards Charles, waiting for him to sit up.]

Here. Chicken soup is a little known panacea.

[In the time Erik was gone, Charles managed to drag himself out of bed and shower, although really it was more him just standing under the water for a few minutes before dragging himself out and throwing on a clean pair of pajamas. He wandered back to bed after he was mostly dry and had shaved, so he at least looked slightly more normal, although damp and looking a little bit like death warmed over.

He slowly sat up when Erik returned, coughing miserably, definitely wanting the soup to try and stop his throat from feeling like sandpaper.]

Let's hope it works, last night I was almost convinced I was dying.

[He took the tray, and while there was already a tendril of consciousness projecting his gratitude - he probably wasn't even that aware of how much he was broadcasting - he still managed a grateful smile.] Thank you.

[Once the tray was settled, Erik nodded, and gave a small smile. Charles was broadcasting more than enough.] You're welcome.

[And he hesitated for a moment, before the smile turned crooked, and he pointed at the soup.] My mother used to make chicken soup like that, when I was small. If anyone fell sick, it was chicken soup for as long as the coughing went on.

[Charles glanced up, startled, and almost not sure how to react, because it was fairly safe to say that Erik really didn't talk about his parents much, and Charles was actually almost even surprised he could remember that, considering he'd done a pretty good job blocking off most of his good memories of his family.

He also couldn't really help the embarrassing twinge of jealousy that came along with it, because Charles' mother's solution to a sick child was to make someone else deal with it, or just ignore it. He buried it quickly and managed a smile, because he was genuinely glad that Erik had that, and felt comfortable sharing it with him.]

Smart woman. I'm almost surprised we don't eat it here more often, I'd imagine it's simple enough to make, and it feeds a lot of people.

[Charles had given him reason - on more than one occasion, really - to remember. He felt some brush of that jealousy, and kindly ignored it. He knew what Charles' childhood had been like, almost as well as Charles knew his.]

You can only stomach it for so many sick days, believe me. [Pulling over a chair, he sits, knowing he doesn't need an invitation to do so.]

Should I ask someone to come by?

[Charles chuckled, because really, he barely even cared about what it tasted like as long as it was helping his throat feel less sore. As long as it was helping that, he didn't care how much of it he'd have to eat.

He shook his head at the question, swallowing another mouthful before answering.]

It's alright, it's just a cold. [He rubbed at his forehead with his free hand, almost distracted.]

My head is killing me, though.

[Although not as badly as it had when he'd effectively held Shaw down and felt Erik kill him, agonizingly slowly, almost to the point of where he hadn't known if he was dying too. Any headache was peanuts compared to that.]

[Peanuts; and that was broadcast out, with Charles' fuzzy control. Erik felt himself go still, as if he stood outside himself and watched it happen. His throat tightened, his heart beat thundered in his ears, and for a moment he though, no, he'd heard - 'heard' - wrong. He must have.]

Charles, [he started, and it came out tight, nearly a croak. Words failed him, though, and after a moment - all he could manage was a sharp stare, and a sharper,] What?

[Charles didn't realize what had happened for a moment, looking over at Erik in confusion and concern when he first tried to speak, brow furrowing in even more confusion when he asked the question.]

Honestly, it's not something to worry about. It's just a headache.

No, [he snapped, sitting very still; every muscle was bunching together like he was ready to explode, but there was nothing to explode at.]

About Shaw.

[Oh.

Shit.

Immediately, Charles' consciousness retreated entirely from Erik's, and the telepath fumbled to find words to explain or apologize without actually saying much about what had happened, because he really, really hadn't meant to project that to his friend.]

Erik, I'm sorry, you shouldn't, my control's not- I didn't mean for you to hear that.

But I did, [and it came out nearly as a snarl. Erik stood, then, pacing away, as if walking could burn off the shock, the anger, the - he didn't know what he was feeling, God damn it, he didn't know what to do with this.]

Why? I had him, you didn't - I thought you'd get out of his mind!

[Charles sighed, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing at his temples, trying to ward off the headache and resist the urge to reach out to Erik again, because, well. That had done enough damage already.

He let Erik finish before saying anything, wearily lowering his hands and picking his words carefully, voice hoarse but deliberate.]

If I had let Shaw go, [He looked up finally, watching him.] He would have killed you. And by the time he couldn't really do much about it, I couldn't let go, either.

[God. Erik turned away again after a silent moment, pacing away, pausing, and coming back. It seemed the things he could blame Shaw for never really faded: even now, he could find new things to blame on the Doctor.]

You never would have said anything.

[Charles snorted quietly, one corner of his mouth ticking up in a small, apologetic smile.] You blame yourself for enough things as is, my friend. I didn't think you needed something else to feel sorry for.

Edited 2013-02-11 22:12 (UTC)

I-- [Shoved a coin through his head, shoved a coin through your head, he didn't know what sentence to use, and it made him shake his head sharply.

It takes a moment for the rest to properly filter through: Charles suffered to save his life. And all Erik can do then is run a hand over his face. He does feel guilt. He can't help that.]

I'm sorry.

[Charles doesn't say anything for a moment, but he slowly let his mind open back up again, almost extending a quiet olive branch to Erik's, because he really didn't need to apologize. Charles had always had a difficult time being truly angry with Erik for what had happened.]

There are a lot of things I wish had gone differently about that day, [And this time, he consciously makes sure that they're just following orders isn't sent over.] But if you think there's any chance that I ever would have put Shaw's life ahead of yours, you've completely lost your mind.

I'm sorry there was no other way to stop him, and I'm sorry I had to play a part in it, but I'm never going to apologize for what I did to save you, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

[Erik gives a weak laugh, and hangs his head a little - no, he had never thought Charles would weigh Shaw's life heavier than Erik's. But it is still something to hear, that a friend would all but experience death for you.

He has to blink and draw a slow, deep breath through his nose before letting it go with a rush when he takes his seat again.]

Thank you, Charles. [What else was there to say? Charles had done what he felt he had to, and Erik knows that if their positions had been reversed, Shaw would have had to go through him to get to Charles.]

[Charles can't really help it. He chuckles quietly at the thought, because if he doesn't, then he'd have to admit to himself that the idea of having any sort of future confrontation with Shaw scared him, let alone Erik literally using himself as a human (mutant) shield between him and Shaw.] Hopefully that won't ever be necessary, my friend, but you're more than welcome.

[Again, he wasn't kidding when he said he'd do it again.]

Are you alright?

Thrown. [So very, very thrown, and this was a new thing he'd have to come to terms with and accept. But for all that it could have left things irreparable between them, it hadn't. And Erik knows he's lucky, that most people would never know a friendship this deep. Twice in one day, Erik had harmed Charles, and here they were, talking regularly, playing chess, writing a god damned book together.

So he smiled - a little wryly, maybe, but still a smile, and nodded.]

I'll be fine. [He reached out, clapping Charles gently on the shoulder.] I'll leave you to your soup.

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