atthemercyof | who is the man I see where I'm supposed to be?

[Charles is beaming, clapping his shoulder with the pride of a teacher watching his prized student rise up to his potential in every beautiful capacity, but underneath it shines the confirmation of Charles' convictions. Not just that the raw power of rage and pain wasn't enough to sustain Erik's ability, that it burnt itself out without the counterbalance of the peace Charles could pull from within him, but that his belief in Erik was a large part of what he needed. His true power is unlocked with faith; it isn't metal at all that is his conduit, though it runs through his veins like Erik were made from it. It's Charles.

It hasn't gone unnoticed by Charles that he's become more curious about pushing himself, seeing where his powers extend, due in large part to his dearest friend, how he thinks Charles shouldn't hide his telepathy. As a result, he's become Charles' rock; the satellite was Charles finally being able to give back to him, offer the strength Erik needed to overcome his doubts. Erik is as reliant on Charles as he is on Erik, both of them feeding each other's abilities in a feedback loop.

Turning to Erik, still grinning with pride.] Confident? Better than trying to shoot yourself, I wager.

Mm. [ He smiles without needing to confirm, because the confidence is shining from him, sits on his shoulders know. In such a short time, he's come such a long way from the drowning boy trying to lift a submarine. Right now, it's almost like his balance is shifting, evening out until Erik is steady in the centre of it.

He spares the gun a passing glance, held so loosely in his hand that it doesn't even look like he's holding it at all, magnetising it to the stretch of his palm. He should have known Charles would take exception to that particular test, despite Erik's insistent assurances and promises.

With a tip of his chin. ] Your way did have better results.

[Laughing lightly.] I keep telling you, and you keep not believing me. I think the world would be better off if you simply did as I say.

[A little bit of the happiness pouring off him dims when he catches sight of it, mind racing to explore just why. Why did Erik think it an acceptable test of his abilities? Charles invited him to take it along, but he didn't actually think Erik would come to him and expect to shoot him. Not a practise target, not the sky, but Erik, point blank.

Gesturing at the horrible thing.] Have you done it? Often? [There's no point in lying--he carelessly admitted he knew he could stop the bullet from the second the hammer fell to just before it pierced his skull. That is very specific knowledge, not something someone bluffs about.]

You revel on the challenge, don't even pretend otherwise.

[ His gaze falls to the weapon in question, Charles' distaste rolling off him so that even Erik can feel it. He's almost tempted to raise his hand, thinks better of it. Shrugging his shoulders in one even roll of movement. ]

Does it matter? [ He doesn't sound defencive, merely curious. He can levitate the gun, aim it at himself, pull the trigger. Everything is irrelevant, because the bullet stops each time. ] Nothing would have happened, Charles.

If you'd stop resisting, we'd have more time for activities I enjoy more than proving I'm right.

[Perturbed at how casual Erik could be about shooting himself, a line creases his brow. Why did he think Charles would be okay with this, mutant or not? Shooting him a disbelieving look, he schools his expression to one of concern, taking on a paternal tone.] Of course it matters, Erik. If you go around shooting yourself, it's not exactly what I'd call stable. Heavens know we all get self destructive from time to time, but this is a little more serious, don't you think? [A pause. Then, trying to keep his voice neutral.] Have you tried it here at the mansion?

It's not, and I don't. [ His voice remains level, almost calm. ] I'm not shooting myself, if I were I think you'd know about it. [ He's being pedantic really, sticking to small details. It's not shooting himself if he doesn't get hit, shooting at himself is another thing entirely.

Still, a note of argument creeps in, avoiding the latter question. ] I have to test myself, don't I?

Would I? [A soft challenge.] When I'm with the children, you're not out here somewhere, aiming a gun at your head. Are you sure about that?

[An unhappy shadow crosses his mind at Erik dodging the question.] This way? [Slowing his pace and coming to a stop, squaring his shoulders.] You have to test yourself like this?

[ Erik stops when Charles does, a small frown working it's way across his brow. ] It's working, I'm learning. [ Accentuating his speech with his free hand. ] You know I'm progressing.

[Glancing back at the satellite.] That is progression. That's learning, not, not [Nodding at the gun.] whatever that is. Understand me, Erik, I don't care that you're using it, I really don't. Just be careful where you point it.

Edited 2011-08-16 01:22 (UTC)

[ He doesn't agree, it's very clear he doesn't agree, written all over his posture, he's got control. And maybe if he used to wish he didn't, then it's none of Charles' business.

Fingers closing around butt of it, Erik feels for each bullet in the chamber, not being he wants to do anything drastic, but to ground himself. ] I'm not going to hurt anyone. But fine.

Clearly you're not fine with it. [His temper is getting away from him, he knows, but Erik's being so obtuse about this that it's difficult for Charles to remain even keeled. Flicking his eyes to how Erik clings to it, he grows sadder, lines forming along his normally youthful face.] Do you really not care that you're risking your life every time you do it? Or did it, if you're telling the truth. Relying on something so unsustainable as anger to save you?

Anger works. [ Dependant on pain and fear and panic. They may not be the most desired of feelings but they're what Erik knows, what he can rely on when it comes to his power. If he lost all of this tomorrow, he would have a history of destruction to warp for him.

Fiercely. ] I haven't killed myself yet, so I think I know what I'm doing. I don't need serenity to stop a bullet.

Edited 2011-08-16 01:46 (UTC)

[Stinging a little at the remark, the vehemence of Erik's voice, he tries bringing a degree of reason back into his words.] Anger burns itself out, Erik. You don't need only one or the other, but a balance. That's how you were able to move the satellite, and that's how you're going to be able to raise the submarine. We tried it your way, now it's time to try it mine.

[ Jaw clenching to stop the tirade, to stop himself from snapping and shredding this to pieces with his own thoughts, it doesn't matter to Erik, not any of the little spheres of metal, because he couldn't stop the one that did. He'll play fast and lose with everything, building feeling upon feeling until he can stop Shaw, until he knows what it feels like.

Shifting his gaze from Charles, away to the grass in silent aqueiscence. ]

[Charles blinks at his sudden silence where before Erik would cut deep, lash out at Charles for want of an outlet. Wondering what he's playing at, or maybe more because he's obviously concerned, Charles slips his hands into his pockets, ducking his head.] ...You're angry with me. [Because it's easiest to go with the obvious and work around from there.] Why. What's so horrible about what turned the satellite that you wouldn't trust it over what's hurting you?

I'm not. I just don't think you really understand. [ His voice is calm, does nothing to betray him in the moment. Waving a hand back to the satellite. ] Yes, your way works, and it works beautifully. But will it be enough? I need to stop him, Charles. You keep helping me in the hopes that I will get better, find a steadier foothold, but we don't have enough time.

[ Slowly. ] Knowing that every step I take brings me closer to destroying him has been the only thing that's kept me alive this entire time. I need to know that when the time comes I'll be able to finish it, and this - [ Jerking the hand with the gun back to the satellite. ] Doesn't rely wholly on my merit.

[ It relies on Charles helping him. Erik wants to kill a man. He's not sure the telepath can reconcile with that. ] I can't afford to spread what I know so thin on the ground. I can't afford to fail.

[Charles listens carefully with his hands fisted in the cloth of his pockets, trying and failing to grasp on to the victory he had scored not minutes earlier. It's replaced by a cold, sick feeling in his stomach, that maybe that moment didn't mean everything he thought it did, that possibly it was the biggest empty gesture he's ever been a part of. Keeping his head bowed and nodding intermittently, he tries to lock it down, tries to stop touching Erik's mind so the blooming disheartenment doesn't spread, instead using it to maybe talk some sense into him.

Quietly.] You don't understand. You have no idea what it does to you, do you? Using it for your powers is one thing, being blinded by it is another entirely. Is it the same way it didn't fail you the last time the two of you met? [ He does his best not to make the comment cutting, but feels like he fails somewhat, internally wincing.] Let's put aside for a moment that Miss Frost interfered with your assassination attempt; was it enough to stop the submarine from getting away? No. Were you prepared to drown for it? [A slight edge of bitterness that he can't fight.] Why don't you tell me.

[Charles knows full well that he's going to be ignored, that the bloodlust is too deeply ingrained for him to be able to deter it, but he can't stand for the notion that Erik is choosing his anger, his vengeance over balance, over what would make him frighteningly powerful, over hi--his patchwork family. Yes, them.] I know you don't want me involved. And I agree, if I can avoid it, I want no part in this. I'm here to stop Shaw, not kill him, and that gets in the way of things. But merit doesn't count for much when his powers cancel yours out. Will it be enough, Erik? [Throwing his words back at him, but softer, full of a kind of hurt that Charles can't examine just now.] Will it have been worth it to let your pain and suffering consume you when it can do nothing for you? What good it is if it gets you killed?

It's not blinding me. [ Expression tight, bar for a certain flair of emotion under his eyes, Erik twists a little. His feet crunch on the gravel, flicking his gaze to the satellite. What he can do by Charles' side is stunning, only hints at the kind of power he could unlock within himself. He knows Charles isn't wrong, that Erik is very capable, could be something brilliant. But it wouldn't be enough. Choosing Charles' path would mean letting go of so much, of the years of hunting, the blood soaked into his hands. It would mean letting go of Shaw. There would always be the whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif circling around his head, no matter how many happy memories Charles pulls from him. Avenging his mother is about as written into his DNA as being a mutant is.

Erik has cared for very little things in his life. But to choose this over his revenge would feel too much like betraying his mother. He had asked for her, and gotten what he wanted and it's Erik's fault. If the last thing he ever does is destroy the hand that took her, then he's willing to risk everything, even himself.

With a half step forward, voice low, because he needs Charles to see, needs to get passed all of his beautiful, foolish idealism. ] What if I were to do it your way? What if you help me and we succeed and find Shaw? Are you that naive to think I could be near him and not destroy him? That I could let him live? [ Voice straining. ] That any of us would be safe if we let him survive? That he won't find a way to evade justice and come looking for us? Because I know him, Charles. Would you really risk anyone else? Would you risk the children?

And you expect to come back from this, do you. [Though it's starting to creep in through Charles' head, pouring down his spine, that Erik means to throw his life away on this if he has to. Charles' pacifism counts for nothing if he has to watch people get hurt, watch the children get picked off, but Erik will either kill Shaw and look to the horizon for the next battle because that's who he is, or he'll die, even with Charles' help. Either way, Charles loses him, in mind and body. Charles needs him to see this, that it's not blind idealism that guides him, but his unwillingness to sacrifice those he loves in the name of what amounts to no victory at all.

Very calmly, Charles raises his fingertips to his temple. Erik lifts the gun, aiming at Charles' head.]

[ When his arm lifts and he can't drop it again, Erik blazes through a trail of furyangerpanicpanicpanic, his expression thunderous for a moment. And it's not because he can't move, it's more because he's got the barrel of his gun pointing directly on target. ]

Let me go, Charles. [ Gritted through his teeth. ] I don't know what you're trying to do, but stop it.

[Is this what Erik feels like when he does this? He steps in, lets the cool metal meet his forehead as he almost dispassionately notes the fury coursing through his friend. Good, he knows something of what Charles sees.]

Do you really think that Shaw is going to meet you on your terms? That he won't find a way to use your isolation against you? You would let your anger take you here. [With a thought, Erik thumbs the hammer, loading the chamber.] Stop the bullet. One.

[ It isn't his body moving against his own will that slams into him, but the word. One. Instantly Erik feels sick, imagines the earth tilting dangerously from underneath him. There's a flare of pain so raw and sharp, that if Charles weren't holding him in place he thinks he'd be paralysed from it anyway.

His mind is one confusion babble before his voice cuts through, hard and angry to mask the nononononono dragging itself up from the very depth of within him. ] Stop. Let go of me. [ Fury sliding into each syllable. ] Let go of me now.

[Maybe he should shut himself off from the noise, the mess of confusion and wrath and pleading that would destroy his heart if he were listening to all of it at once, but Charles lets it slide over him, needs to know that he cares about what happens to him.

Shaking his head in refusal, his eyes show the mercy that his voice doesn't.] It's not going to be fair. He's not going to agree to stop using his powers just so you can exact your revenge. You’re so eager to die for what you think you have to do that you don’t think of what it would mean if you lived. You have to choose. Die knowing that you tried your best to avenge your mother, or live and put blood on my hands. Because believe me, Erik, you'll need me before the end of it. [Grip on the trigger tightening.] Two.

You don't know what you're doing. [ His voice is raised, anger giving away to fear when it breaks. Erik very rarely shows his emotions, hooks it all down out of the way so that no-one can see. But this is different, this is terrifying and cruel and he can't find his centre. He can't move his hand, and the confusion in his mind makes trying to pull the gun out of his grip like trying to hold on to sand. It's like each word is a hair-trigger, tapping against glass and feeling it shatter, Erik desperately trying to pull anger from beneath the smothering, cloying fear invading his mind and his senses.

He needs to get Charles to stop, eyes still locked on to the weapon in his hands. ] You've proven your point.

This is where some serenity would help, no? [It's cruel, he knows, but watching Erik struggle to reach for his oldest and most reliable weapon feels a little like there's already a hole in his head. Was Erik just humouring him all this time? Did he let Charles believe that he could help him overcome his past knowing that when the time came, he'd throw it away, everything Charles tried to teach him all chaff, its only purpose to be in the way of the old rage he'd summon instead?

A tear slipping from his eye, he drops his hand, and with it, his control over Erik.] Stopping you is out of my hands, you know that. If I'm in the middle of this and it's down to choosing between you and Shaw, what did you think? That I'd abandon you in the name of symbolic victory? I just don't want you to fool yourself into thinking this will be the end of it. [Wiping his face with a steady hand, even as his calm is fraying.] Don't throw your life away so carelessly.

[ The minute there is silence, Erik does the one thing he's been waiting to do since Charles took control of him. He lets go of the gun and it hovers enough that when Erik closes his fist, the whole thing crumples with a loud sound. The wreckage holds still in the air for a moment, Erik certain that if he could, he would obliterate the entire thing from existence, before he lets it drop. He steps back, can't bear to look at the other man, radiating something terrifying and wounded, some part of him furious and ready to rail against everything in sight.

Breathing harshly through his mouth, mind a jumble of impressions, of a countdown that just never stops, and he needs away. Away from the one person he's come to care about while promising himself that he never would. Because Charles had tried to show him what he could do, and Erik only knows what he could lose.

Without saying anything, his feet propel him away, fighting the wave of nausea, of the very loose grip he has on himself. Erik could shatter to pieces and he can't risk that, drawing himself away from the house without conscious thought to where he could go, to whom he's leaving behind. ]

[There isn't anything more Charles can do just now. He's destroyed something crucial; a promise he made to himself to never use his powers to lash out at Erik, yes, but moreover he's overstepped himself again to strike at the vulnerable parts he was entrusted with. The fragile hope he'd cultivated about confronting him is crushed and laying invisibly next to the twisted metal, Charles watching him go with the oddly distant feeling of being left behind, too.

His message is received, it seems, leaving his mind open and inflicting Erik's pain onto himself for no other reason than he deserves to feel hurt compounded on hurt if he's caused it, no matter whose it is.

Staggering to the nearest shade, a mad grab for whatever small sanctuary he could, he bows inward and lets his face crumple into a mask of sorrow, hands pulling at his hair.]

who is the man I see where I'm supposed to be?

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