One of Erik's steady routines has become a drink at eight PM, after dinner, at the closest bar to his apartment. Since Neil has re-opened his bar, he's transferred his patronage there, given his loyalty to the man (or perhaps it's merely a sense of shared commiseration given their last shared home). Tonight is no different. At eight, he's found his way to the bar and has ordered himself a beer, choosing to drink light tonight. It's become a respite for his thoughts and with Charles taking his serum, those thoughts have free reign in a way they rarely have since the island.

There, he had no worry of Charles diving into his mind to search and find the secrets he's been shielding (from what he had done when sent back to that camp, how he had nearly jumped off a building, his feelings for Rogue and much deeper than that, much deeper than all of it, his feelings when it comes to Charles). It's been frustrating to keep those thoughts locked up, knowing that only shielding can keep Charles out, but with the serum at play, he needs not worry about that.

It's why he feels capable of having a second, then a third beer, scoffing wryly as he thinks of the ones they'd shared on the road during their recruitments.

Time's passed a great deal for him and doubly so for Charles.

The world is no longer what it used to be.

Though Erik is still wary about this, after weeks of settling into a freer version of a life he's somewhat lived before, he thinks that he ought to reach out to Charles again. He's tried to give him space, but there's really no reasoning with him. He seems petty and childish, stubborn and wrong and it only infuriates Erik to be around him, but he has to remember that they're from different times.

Besides which, even with their differences, Erik still counts Charles' friendship as the most important one. Like Raven, he understands what it means to be a mutant, but they are in pursuit of a common goal -- or so he thinks, he can't be sure and that has been weighing on him recently, along with getting used to this modern city.

More than that, there is his powers to think of. With them returned, he cherishes and holds them close, practices them as often as he can, and never takes them for granted. Even now, after summoning Charles by phone to this middle neutral ground at a coffeeshop, he practices with the small filaments of metal all around him, none receiving as much attention as the metal base in the chess pieces before him.

He sips at his coffee and absently folds his napkin as he waits, not using his hands to help with his powers -- not needing to as his concentration grows more focused with every passing day.

Please leave any correspondences for Erik Lehnsherr here.

The gun is tucked safely in the back waistband of Erik's trousers. The safety is on, but he cannot feel it beyond the physical press to his skin and no matter how much he tries to shake the dismal feeling, it pervades. The emptiness that returned with his memories has not diminished and he has begun seeking out distraction to help him turn his mind away from such things.

It's why he's at Julie and Maddie's house, now. There aren't many things, but there's enough that he needs to fetch them in order to make his way back to the home he belongs in -- especially now, with Hank gone and support needed more than ever.

He tosses the gun to the bed, beginning to pack up his things swiftly and with great efficient care. He does not want to linger long, especially given how he acted over the past month, and he wants to simply move past it without thinking too hard on how horrifyingly immature he had been over the duration.

Erik is having trouble sleeping again.

He hates this. He hates it because it is a weakness of character that he swears he would not permit himself, but he also hates it because he knows there is a solution for this and it's one that he absolutely despises, given what happened the last time he allowed Charles inside his head to help him. Erik could laugh at the dismal nature of the situation. The man puts him completely off pace and makes Erik feel things that would get him beaten and bruised and bled to death in the camps, then acts as stubbornly naive as he does when Erik pushes him towards someone more suitable.

Emotions are only going to get in the way. Erik is going to kill Shaw and then he's going to make sure his childhood never repeats. The trouble is that he cannot sleep, thoughts of Cerebro and its metal and the wiring buzzing through his mind as he lies on the too-firm bed in the CIA establishment, sleep a foreign concept.

Perhaps if he leaves. He told Charles that he would stay, but he could leave for a few days to put some space between them and it wouldn't matter, would it?

Four days in jail. It's not a hardship to Erik. In fact, the room is much better than his current one at Charles' home given the current state of the walls. He's whiled the time away by sitting against the wall and scratching lightly at the bandages on his arm, nudging an old coin along his knuckles before he does it again. He carves his thoughts into a singular minded path and the days pass with ease.

He has been in so many cages before. This is simply one more.

When the gates of this particular hell open on the fourth day, Erik gathers his things and steps past the bars, not expecting anyone to have come to greet him. Charles has visited, but Erik had requested that he be permitted to be released on his own. Clad in the simple white t-shirt and sweatpants he's been permitted, he feels like a lab rat who has now had all his tests completed. It's why, when he is standing outside of the prison, that he feels utter disappointment ravage him when he sees who has come to collect him.

"Billy," he greets evenly.

The official mandate of the police states that Erik must serve his time, find some method to quell his anger, and offer disclaimer to any minors that might come into contact with him. He is violent. Erik is well-aware that he can be violent, but he'd like to believe that he is not violent on a constant basis. It was simply the circumstances of his situation. Charles' house was under attack for the second time in a short basis. He wouldn't tolerate that.

Still, he finds that there is a ray of light in these 'punishments'. Today, he had lingered at the outskirts of the speeches and listened to each candidate make their promises and try and charm a small country. And then, there was Charles. Erik has never been so fond of the man as he was the moment Charles swiftly declared that this rock would never be his home. Erik is well-aware there had been more to his speech, but he didn't care that much about that.

He waits outside the mansion with a stolen bottle of wine from the now-closed Catscratch, as if tempting the police to name him a thief as well. It is nearly time for his court-appointed meditation session, but he feels as if with enough wine and conversation, he can steer the hour away from such inanity.

The marks on his wrists are still proving to be a distraction. Erik pulls the turtleneck’s sleeve lower in order to cover it; sight unseen, he will still feel it, but perhaps it will not remind him of what he awoke to days back. He goes about what business he has on the island now that the club is closed and puts his mind devotedly towards his tasks. It proves to be more difficult than he might have imagined. Everyone is louder than he recalls, the tasks more demeaning than ever, and he finds that the thrum of traffic around him makes him grit his jaw tightly until he is sure that it is going to break. He does not belong here. He should be back where he’s meant to be forging a new world for mutants so they can be proud of their gifts.

This is an insult to him. After everything he’s been through, his presence here is a waste. He finishes his drink and decides to head back home, taking a moment in the darkest corner of the Winchester in order to compose his thoughts. He wants to believe that there can be more for him, but each time he comes perilously close to believing that, he is the undeserving recipient of further reminders that there are reasons why he is the way he is. Erik takes a steady breath and steps to his feet, surveying the area before him as he debates whether he will be able to face The Room tonight to dismantle it further.

He is not sure tonight will be the night.

Erik allows his mind to drift as he walks back to the house, catching sight of the window (broken from the inside) and the way the moon captures the glass in an ethereal way. It is not the only thing that it illuminates. From here, he can only barely make out the figure, but he thinks that there is someone lurking near the house. His pace picks up, now, mind focusing on this and only this.

As he wakes, Erik's alertness is pressed to several items. The environment around them has not changed, which means that he is still confined to the ridiculous clothing that makes do for the time and place. He takes note of several other facts -- the home around him is still changed, the metre and tone of conversation in the house -- and then remembers the date. It is the first day of Passover, Ta'anit B'khorim, and he is the firstborn to a family that is not here to celebrate with him.

As quickly as he can, he dresses in fabrics light enough to get him to the main area of the populace, far enough away from the house and its people to be able to walk and think on what he will do next. Were he a child, the answer is clear. He would fast until Seder and be grateful for his mother's warm touch to his cheek, for Jakob's attempt at making do with the meagre amount of food they could put together. Fasting for atonement, for gratitude, for mourning all took a different toll on him when they brought him to the camps. Starvation no longer became an option and it was as though the choice of his religion was robbed from him alongside so many other simple human dignities and that was before Schmidt's games even came into being. It made his stomach turn to even think of those days, but with the memories so clear and sharp thanks to whatever this island does to them, it is the camps that he thinks about on this first day of Passover.

By the time he has reached the main building -- the heart of the island -- he has come no closer to a conclusion. The sun reaches higher in the sky and he thinks, simply, of what his mother would wish for him to do. Unbidden, he imagines Charles would suggest that she would like nothing more for him to find peace, but he had dismissed that notion so long ago when he realized that no matter how many Nazi lives he took, it would never give him his family back. There is so much more to you...

No. He is not allowing himself to edge closer to those happy memories, so lost to him -- so foreign to him. Now, he stands here and must make his choice. Perhaps if he delays it long enough, it will be made for him.

With Charles' current rate of progress on the house, Erik begins to realize that he will be living in a new home within a matter of weeks. It will be a strange return to the status quo -- sharing rooms amidst those that he trusts the most, but without the addition of their abilities or the need to train. When all is stripped away, Erik finds that all he wishes for is to be surrounded by those he loves and cherishes.

This, of course, brings him to a difficult situation. He knows that Billy and Teddy know little of him -- perhaps they know of Magneto, but not of Erik Lehnsherr -- but he will not forgive himself if he does not at least offer a new living scenario. He's going to build up to it, however, and has made sure to linger where Teddy will be. Perhaps this will soften the disappointment of a rejection, if it does not come directly from Billy.