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m!ways

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Shaw's got friends...

It echoes in his mind, even as he debates the merit of staying versus leaving. He has the information he needs, but Erik finds himself caught in a constant loop that seems to highlight what will happen to him if he strikes off on his own. He will pursue Shaw and then what? He's a mutant like Erik (like Charles) and he has mutant friends who can cut inside his mind and tear it to shreds.

Still, what good will a pacifist telepath and his teenaged sister do?

The CIA is hapless, as well, confused by the power that Shaw wields. So it is a difficult decision and one that he cannot make so easily. He retreats to his bedroom and lies on the uncomfortable bed, seeking out Charles with his mind as if needing that constant baseline and regular weight in his mind, even if he has not yet made a choice as to whether he will stay or go.

Are you awake?

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"Keep in mind," Erik says, sipping at the scotch and tonguing a stray drop at the rim of the glass before he sips again, setting it down, "that you are merely on probation while I decide what to do. Forgive me, but I cannot trust humanity, not when I have seen what their fear leads them do."

And they should be very, very afraid of him.

"I know, you've made that quite clear. I'm thankful for any trust that you give as I know its hard won. You should also know that I don't say things I don't mean. Consider it a side effect of what I am,"

He needs Erik to know that he won't lie to him. This time he doesn't drink just turns his glass in his hands.

If Erik asks, he'll show him some of how he sees the world and why he trusts, but if this morning is anything to go by, it might be too much, too soon. Though that's always been his problem, he balances it and pulls back, constantly aware of the lines of what's accepted.

Erik gives nothing more than a thoughtful noise, relaxing back into the chair with the glass settled in his lap like a paperweight might sit -- unobtrusive and doing its part. "I'll get to the point. I want Shaw. That's it. Whatever world comes after, I will deal with later. Right now, I only want him and I want him dead."

"Then work with me to make the most use of what's here. If at any point you decide to leave, the door's open, but I'm also always listening,"

That's what he does, he listens in the hope of connecting. He takes a slow sip of his drink and sits up a little straighter.

"I'm not in the market for a therapist," Erik warns Charles, aware of the light brush against his mind. He pointedly does not open up, not this time. He is aware that he need keep some secrets. Instead, he watches Charles' lips against the glass, wondering once more at the colour of them.

That gets an eyebrow as he doesn't do that on purpose.

He shifts under Erik's gaze, looking over with a wry smile,

"I don't have a degree for that."

"No, but I'm sure you play at it well enough with your..." he trails off, wiggling his fingers in the general direction of his mind. "Just the same as I'm not truly a mechanic or an engineer, but I'm sure I could do my best, given how the metal speaks to me."

"True, but I do my best to be careful. I'd rather not be the cause of anyone speaking of voices in their head,"

There were some points as a boy when he had to learn quickly how to keep safe and not be called mad.

"Even if you thought they deserved to be thought of as mad?" Erik wonders aloud, raising a brow. "How do you draw your line, Charles? Where do you draw your ethics from when you could be more powerful than anything?" And yet, Erik does not fear him.

"I've never met anyone who should be mad. I try to ease and help, create balance where I can, but not add to the chaos of any mind. I won't make a person other than they are, simply help if I can. I draw my ethics from the minds I hear, their pains and hopes and dreams."

"Your optimism is sickening sometimes, Charles," Erik replies mildly, draining the last of his scotch dry, breathing through the fume as he regards him with a disbelieving exhalation. "Pains and hopes and dreams. You look at me and see hopes and dreams? It's only vengeance, Charles."

"Yes, I do. You hope to be free of Shaw and see the only way to do that is through vengeance. What will you hope for then, Erik?"

Charles takes another sip as he waits for an answer.

"Nothing." At some points, he has thought of dying as soon as he's rid the world of Shaw. Sometimes, he thinks of the joy of taking his creator with him. Others, he simply brings a weapon with him and lets Shaw destroy his creation before meeting his own doom.

There are so many options, but none are bright. "If there are others, though, perhaps I will need to set plans in motion before it ends."

"Yes, it would be best if you did. Consider that even if I'm not there, I'd miss you,"

He keeps his voice mild though the ease Erik says nothing worries him. His feelings for Erik are rather more complex than that as he exasperates and intrigues Charles and he doesn't want to know of a world without him. It would be duller and a loss for mutants and himself.

"You'd miss me?" Erik replies, dubious in his laugh. "Well, Charles, to prevent you from shedding tears over my body, then I shall do my very best not to leave you too soon." Still, if he should die in the face of Shaw's dying, it will be a life well-spent. "Though," he murmurs, staring at his empty glass. "I suppose I would miss you in turn."

"Yes, Raven teases me but she doesn't have quite your bite. I've found good conversation should never been taken for granted,"

He reaches for the bottle to refill Erik's glass with a light smile, his eyes are slightly more serious, but then they often are.

"I've been told I have quite the row of teeth," he agrees, getting up in order to top off both their glasses, filling his more-so. "Earlier, you were feeling restless. Is that a regular occurrence for you?" he asks in a murmur, glancing over his shoulder.

"Not quite like tonight, no. Usually I worry more about feeling overwhelmed. I have my shields and they help but I'm constantly adjusting them. This was more feeling uncertain of what's next and a desire for action that I'm unused to,"

That is all true but a great part of it is Erik's presence, he brings wants and thoughts to the surface of Charles' mind.

"I take it the CIA has interfered with your carefully constructed shields," Erik points out, holding out Charles' glass for him, eyes slipping down to his fingers for a brief and untoward moment before he rights himself. "Me, perhaps, as well?"

"No, they have no idea about my shields. You on the other hand keep providing challenges to them as you say come in but not too much and then decide to knock. I can't pin down what you want,"

His voice is teasing, but he holds Erik's gaze for a long moment. Then glances back into his glass and takes a sip.

Erik toys with the notion of telling Charles to look and see. In fact, he goes so far as to send the wave out to him. "For all I know, you've already seen all the way inside and are acting like a naive and blushing schoolgirl for my sake. I'm not ashamed, Charles, not of anything I am. So, look."

Charles laughs in surprise at that wave and invitation as he leans forward to close the distance between them, reaching his mind out to Erik at the same time.

He's been craving intimacy with Erik, but didn't see a way in and shows Erik the confusion he's created,

"There you go underestimating me again and I don't say things I don't mean. Which can be complicated."

Erik arches a brow teasingly at Charles. "I'm letting you in, Charles. I'm opening the door and letting you in, just mind your feet," he says evenly. "I don't do well with intruders tracking in mud."

"I'm always neat,"

Then he follows the invitation into Erik's mind as he allows Erik to see his own feelings; desire for touch, that above all.

Erik feels as though he's been struck in the face by the revelation. The unrest makes sense, now, and Erik wonders if it's because of the government installation. He chides Charles with a low clucking of his tongue as he leans forward and shifts his fingers over his neck, up his jaw, carding through his hair, gripping it until it hurts. "What? This?"