but that's how we like it, and that's all we want

[atthemercyof]

[ He wakes up, and he's not where he should be. Gone is Charles Xavier's bedroom, the warm press of a body beside him, and in it's place is - well, Erik thinks it's a library. He pushes himself up off the mattress on the floor, black wood shelves looming into view. He doesn't know what's happening, only that he feels a little outside it all. Nobody could have moved him in his sleep, and if they wanted to, they wouldn't leave him somewhere like this.

He turns around to glance at the room twice, moves a little closer to the shelves to draw his fingers across the spines, not plucking them free just yet. There's a sound, somewhere outside the room, and he abandons the examination in favour of opening the door, taking the hall at a quick, but not frantic pace. He's curious, which is bizzare in and of itself.

Though he doesn't look into any of the rooms he's passing, it does feel like there's life in here, wherever here is. He hears the noise again, traces it through. ]

Comments

[oldcardigans]

It's good, isn't it? [ Not that Charles had consciously focused on pulling Erik into it, but the telepath looks pleased as punch to have an exceptional guest such as Erik running the mazes, kicking up dust. He has to return to his initial theory, however, to speculate how it happened without his knowledge.

Erik's eyes are lighter here, losing some of their coolness for a warmer, slightly green tint that distracts him for a moment. ] Actually, this has never happened in this way before - if ever I had another's thoughts inside mine, it would be the result of a conscious action on my part. But, this prompts fresh examination. [ Cocking his head. ] Sleep, perhaps? Unusually deep relaxation stemming from a physical and psychic lowering of defenses. It's interesting, isn't it?

[atthemercyof]

Fascinating.

[ And it is, there's open curiosity written right across Erik's face. He can't stop looking, gaze flickering from Charles to the bookshelves and back. Even the fact that Charles is standing doesn't surprise him, not if this is his mind, a more honest projection than before, and he smiles, wide and amused for a second. ]

So am I to believe your mind is - a library? I don't know why I'm surprised. [ For some reason, being the first to arrive unbidden pleases Erik, but he should ask: ] Do you wish me out? I could try and wake up, I suppose.

[oldcardigans]

Yes, a library, save your clever digs about being held together by binding paste. Apologies for the mess, I've only just gotten started.

[ Shifting on his feet, Charles seems to decide something and shuffles closer, hands settling lightly on either side of Erik's waist, absolutely elated that he can do this here, stand toe to toe once more. ] I have no objections to you staying if that's what you want. I've nothing to hide from you if you should feel inclined to meander the halls. [ Then, smile widening. ] I'll be able to pull you back if you find yourself trapped underneath a bookcase somewhere.

[atthemercyof]

It's your mind. [ But he doesn't find himself wanting to go, because this is amazing, this is unlike anything Erik has ever experienced before, and he wants to stay, to find out more. He's inside somebody else's mind, and it's the strangest thing, but the most wonderful.

Because he can't contain it any longer, because Charles' mutation keeps him endlessly guessing. ] This is amazing, Charles.

[oldcardigans]

Well, I suppose I am.

[ Despite his flippant words, Charles flushes with pleasure at the compliment, unused to anyone praising him for his mutation because the layman would normally panic and attempt to put distance between him and Charles. He's not completely desensitized to that sort of cavalier treatment, having only revealed it to a select few people, but Erik seems the only person to actively encourage its use and remain brave in the face of Charles' frankly immense, frightening amount of power.

Meeting his gaze again, albeit with a touch of bashfulness. ] You can stay as long as you like; time works a bit differently here, slower, I've found. If there's anything you'd like to see, you already have the best guide.

[atthemercyof]

Yes. [ He doesn't specify, he wants to see everything, he wants to understand this and cherish it. Smiling at him, reaching out to touch his wrist because he can. ]

Will you show me?

[oldcardigans]

[ Bowing slightly. ] I'm at your disposal.

[ Sliding his hand into Erik's, he gives a little tug, starting to guide him around the pile. ] Arranging these will have to wait a wee bit longer, but I'm overdue anyway.

[ Waving his hand at the packed cases, each groaning with the weight of book upon book. ] I should explain: all of these are memories. Save for one very specific area cordoned off at - well, just elsewhere, all of them belong to me, typically arranged chronologically, since if I tried to type it by emotion there's too much ambiguity. Some are a bit messier, the ones I haven't gotten around to putting together by hand, and when they're unbothered like that, they like to clump together depending on who's in the memory.

[atthemercyof]

The books are your memories? [ Studying his face for a moment. ] You store them? Can you access them? [ It's like a discovery, Erik bursting with questions. Then he chuckles. ] I apologise, it's just - this is impressive, I didn't know you could do this.

[oldcardigans]

No, no, ask your questions. I don't get to answer these ones all that often. [ Flashing a grin, he swings their joined hands a little. ] In short, yes, under normal circumstances anything I can remember can be found here. Older books, the ones falling apart and ink fading, are all harder to decipher and go a bit squiffy if you try peering into them, but it can't be helped. I've tried for years to figure out how to keep the old ones from disappearing, but the only bits that have any permanence are the formative memories.

[ Amiably nudging Erik's shoulder. ] Bit better than looking at photo books, hmm?

[atthemercyof]

[ Leaning into him for the moment. ] Mm. It suits you, your mind being a library.

[ He's still looking around himself with open interest, dragging his gaze along the shelves and back. ]

[oldcardigans]

Because I'm a dusty old fart? [ Better his mind's structure take after that than other, less repressed parts of his personality. He shudders to think of what the appearance of a young sexual savant's would take.

Pausing at the base of a frumpy staircase, half its steps creaky and most of the boards fractured in some way, Charles turns his face up to him, expression clear and honest and the slightest bit amused. ] I suppose our destination would depend on what you'd like to see. What part of the curtain would you most like to be drawn back? Childhood, family, college? Oh please stay away from puberty, it's truly embarrassing.

[atthemercyof]

Oh, now that's just unfair. If you're telling me it's embarrassing, I want to see it. [ He's teasing, the corner of his mouth twitching even though his expression is impassive. ]

[oldcardigans]

Well, yes, if you want to watch me falling over myself to shield thoughts regarding the prettier girls at my private school, by all means, make me hate you. [ A smile tugs at his lips, attempting to match Erik's poker face even though it's in a whole other league than Charles'. ]

[atthemercyof]

[ Laughing, he dips forward to press his lips to Charles' cheek. ] I'll be kind then, I want to see your childhood. Is that acceptable?

[oldcardigans]

[ Melting on the spot would be out of the question, so Charles' hand strokes Erik's cheek before he's pulling back, the sunlight fluttering down from the tiny windows showing more and more golden. ] You aren't going to just back me into a bookshelf and fog up my glasses? [ He blinks and in the next moment there are a pair of librarian's glasses balanced on his freckled nose, thick framed and very much resembling ones he had to wear in college when the eye strain got too much. ]

[atthemercyof]

[ Well.

His gaze turns a little more earnest, a little dark. It's attractive, sparks a feeling Erik hasn't had much. Charles is certainly attractive in them. ] You're trying to distract me.

[oldcardigans]

[ Who, Charles? Never has there been a more innocent, positively angelic guide. Genuinely surprised, but he sounds intrigued. ] Why Erik, I didn't know you had an affinity for glasses. Uni memories are looking better and better.

[ Tucking them away, he's crowding into Erik's space, gesturing at the stairs languidly. ] Up you go. Keep your thoughts pure in the reading room, would you? Those memories will be all of ten year old me or so and things would get a trifle awkward.

[atthemercyof]

[ In a fit of immaturity, Erik sticks his tongue out at Charles. Then he smiles, takes the steps when commanding. ]

I do know how to behave myself.

[oldcardigans]

[ Grinning back is second nature, Charles laughing softly at this lighthearted side of Erik. Bracketing Erik in with hands on both railings, the steps protesting both their weights, they make their way easily out of the unsorted storerooms, air close and cramped and musty in the tiny stairwell. ] A little too well, I'd normally complain.

SORRY MY LOVE, I AM HERE NOW.

[atthemercyof]

[ Moving up carefully, cautious with the creak but still fascinated. ] Only normally, my my, you've changed.

OH GOOD, IT WAS SO DARK AND NOW, THE LIGHT

[oldcardigans]

Hmm. I didn't think you'd appreciate the constant harassment, but if you're sure...

[ Grinning behind him, he gives Erik a light tap to the small of his back, ushering him up toward the top of the landing. The path gives way to an unusually curvaceously shaped reading room, small but evenly spaced shelves lining the oak walls, broken only by a moderately sized mantle, a roaring fire underscoring several gleaming silver-gilded photos resting atop it. The most ornate the four bears a worn picture of a middle aged man with tidy brown hair, cut to be easily combed away from kind blue eyes - a familiar sight to Erik, he hopes. Charles inherited much of his appearance from his father, the telepath sending up a warm hullo, Dad when he passes the picture; he only regrets that there wasn't enough time for them to spend together.

Gesturing to the overstuffed, horrifically ugly couches, Charles turns, hooking a hand on the ladder's grip. ] Be respectful to the man of the house, now. He was a good man, never held any of the bigoted beliefs many of his peers did around the time the war broke out. He would have liked you very much, Erik.

/SWOONS

[atthemercyof]

[ His gaze drifts to the photo frames, falls on the one of Charles' father. ] He sounds like a wonderful man.

[ There's something intimate and sweet about this, Erik held in Charles' mind and kept there, seeing into him. Everything seems so much softer. ]

N'AWW

[oldcardigans]

He tolerated my antics - if that isn't enough for sainthood, then the book needs to be rewritten. [ It's fond, enough to speak volumes about his admiration for his father, what's left that he'd like to share with another soul. Yes, this seems like a good starting line to let Erik in at.

Leaping aloft the ladder like he weighs barely a feather, Charles climbs toward one of the oldest books, its cover desaturated of colour and steadily frayed at its corners, but he focuses on the memory he wants, the spine's lettering now shining in gold leaf. ] Mum tried sometimes, but father was always the one closer to me. The distance from having to travel for work must have done it, made him want to try harder to give me a normal life, but she never knew what to do with me, not like he did.

[ Climbing back down, an understanding smile on his face while he holds the tome between his hands. ] Not her fault. In the end, we never did do right by each other. But Father was kind in many ways.

[atthemercyof]

[ Erik's still stood, taking in everything with a level of interest, keen gaze flickering from thing to thing. He turns on his heel, watches Charles for a second. ]

Are you like him?

[oldcardigans]

I hope. [ Turning the book over, his palm runs along the gleaming lettering. ] I hadn't unlocked my gift until he died, so. I had no insight into anything but the kind of hero worship a son has for his father.

[ Judgement impaired or not, Charles has no doubt there was an innate goodness to his father and that this memory contains some of it. He offers the book to Erik. ] See and judge for yourself.