and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

[cerebral]

Who: Charles Xavier & Remy LeBeau, later Erik Lehnsherr.

What: ...someone isn't handling integration well.

Where: Near the fog.
When: Newdi early afternoon.

Notes: Mind horrors.
Warnings: None.

It had started out with good intentions. No, that's a lie. It had started out with Charles telling himself that this was a walk like any other, while he kept the real reason why he took that particular route at the back of his mind.

The fog bothered him. He could accept the gods as extraordinarily powerful beings, although he questioned their self-proclaimed divine status. He could accept magic and had already began to read various introductory books on thaumoturgy. But there were few solid facts about the fog --it was there, it gated them in and it contained monsters, but the rest was up to speculation.

And in the meantime, every part of him was railing against the idea of being trapped in this city. Perhaps if Raven, or Hank, or any of the other younger mutants were here, he would have put on a brave face and tried to handle things better for them. When it was himself--

But it wasn't only himself, there was Erik. And Erik was going out into the wilds while telling him not to, which only gave him more reason to worry.

At least, Charles thought, he had no intention of entering the gloom in front of him (although it only assuaged his guilt a little.) All he needed was to be near enough to let his mind wander into the great vastness before him.

After a long time staring at it, he closed his eyes, put two fingers to his temple and searched.

What he found was in some ways much, much worse than the rumours or his own imagination.

Comments

[cerebral]

At least there's movement coming from the other side. After a few moments of shuffling, the door is slowly unlocked and opened to reveal Charles in all his haggard glory.

He stares at Erik for a beat, before grabbing him into a hug. For a small man, he is surprisingly strong when he wants to be. And, for a moment, things feel right because Erik is there, in every familiar, tangible sense of him. And even though he is so very mentally exhausted, Charles can feel out the familiar edges of his friend's mind. And he is relieved.

Although he does manage not to collapse against him. Perhaps any lengthened contact can be excused by his current state before anything else.

[magnetic]

Finally. He begins speaking before the door is fully open, "I've been trying to reach you. You should have seen—" but stops short the instant Charles is revealed. He looks... a lot worse than Erik had anticipated. He was prepared for a stern look, perhaps, and maybe folded arms, but not this. And definitely not this, wow, okay.

"Char—"

It's not that he's rejecting this gesture, exactly, but he's startled as hell by it, and moreover isn't even sure why it's happening at all, so he more or less waits it out rather than reciprocating properly. His arms do relax out of their inelegant stiffness before their bodies separate, at least, so that's...something.

"What? What's happened?"

[cerebral]

"I think," he says, separating and speaking in a weary, clipped tone as he meets the other man's gaze, "you had better come in first."

His hand is shaking as he closes the door after Erik, before turning towards him again. "I went to investigate the fog." It's said quietly. But not quiet scared, or quiet sad, but quiet livid, and he holds that still shaking hand up before Erik can mount his own protest.

"Do you have any idea what's in there? Because I do. And it's much, much worse than what most people believe it to be. And you lied to me by omission and—and the sheer danger. Erik, how could you?"

There's a weird creak in his voice that is threatening to spill into something else, but he presses his lips together until he's sure of himself once more. Instead he simply looks at him in fury —and fear. There is a lot of fear there right now, although it's not fear of him. It's the other sort.

[magnetic]

At first, if only fleetingly, Erik is relieved to realise the problem is that Charles is furious. His mind being what it is, it had turned to thoughts of losing more of his kin—those he's found here—and braced for the worst news, for agony and immediately retaliation. And all of that in mere seconds. A mere moment of dreadful anticipation.

Instead, he follows Charles into the room, passes him after the threshold, turns to watch him close the door. Stands there lean in his flight suit. Physically he is tired, but he is also keyed up to hyper-vigilance by the tragedy that never was, at once bright-eyed and weary—and apparently staggered by this very fine strip Charles happens to have torn from him just now.

He stares. Jaw loose, lips parted just slightly.

Oh.

Gradually, his eyebrows lower, that familiar knot growing between them, but as yet he seems to have nothing to say.

[cerebral]

Finally, he manages to continue on in a slightly more reasonable tone. "I admit that what I did was borne out of frustration and —well, concern. It was stupid, it was reckless, I was extremely lucky to break free and believe me, I am suffering for it now. I have never felt so bloody awful in my entire life. And I am sorry that I let that, and my arrogance, cloud my judgment. I am truly sorry." It's all said so purposefully and deliberate, despite the emotion that threatens to overwhelm him.

"But can you tell me the same thing? Can you? There are people in this city who care about your well-being, Erik. I do, and right now I am too—too, well this—" a hand gesture, and he turns away from him for a moment, exclaiming, "—oh, for God's sake."

Although that last part is more to himself than anything. His shoulders sag and he braces himself against the nearest piece of furniture, as if to get a grip of himself.

But in spite of his efforts, the next part sounds very close to despair. "Erik, it was horrible. It wasn't just the monsters, it was unlike anything, anything— And you were out there."

[magnetic]

Hell. Charles is always so collected, and projects such self-assurance, and seeing him now in such state of distress is... well, it's distressing. It's wrong, fundamentally, and so when he finally responds Erik does so in a careful tone—treading lightly, not only in a metaphorical sense, but in the one and a half steps he takes from where he stood (the most he'll dare).

"I'm sorry that you're upset, Charles, but... it's all right now." Excellent, that came out even lamer than anticipated. In an effort to sound less like he's comforting a child, he adds, "I have no plans to go out there again. It's over with, just like I said it would be."

Not... that this is much better, but hey, he's trying.

[cerebral]

Several moments of careful inhalations and exhalations go by before he looks at Erik again. "I'm too tired to tell whether you're lying. So I'm choosing to trust that you mean that."

He doesn't stop leaning, doesn't want to rely on his own strength, so he simply looks away and hangs his head once more. He is so incredibly exhausted right now and, at the same time, unable to rest.

[magnetic]

"I am not lying." Although that sounds less defensive than it could, he is clearly nettled by the implication.

All the same, after another necessary break in conversation—during which he feels as though he's catching his breath, in a way, still simmering in stress-born agitation—Erik moves to his friend's side. He stands there for a time, not too close, but close enough that his presence can be felt by proximity alone, in the intuitive way one body senses another. "You shouldn't be on your feet," he says, both softly and with a faintly sullen quality.

[cerebral]

In the morning, or a few days later, it's probably something that he will apologise for, or at least in a roundabout sort of way ('I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking clearly') but for now—

"Something is there when I close my eyes. The ghost of something, something —there were monsters. But not just monsters. It was hungry. I've never felt anything like it before. It was just hunger and it wasn't coming from anything. It was there. And it was endless." He gives one visible shudder; it doesn't quite come to a stop.

[magnetic]

Well, that's. Disturbing. Not because he was in the midst of this terrible yearning, himself, but the way it, whatever it is, if anything specific at all, can so easily damage someone who wasn't even there. How can such an emptiness be contained, or fought? It's the helplessness that troubles him most... and he hates seeing his friend reduced to such a state. Hates it. The loss of control is legitimately upsetting.

Finally, one of his long hands moves to rest on Xavier's back, mindful of startling him. Careful grounding is all he can think to offer. It would be nice if he could just know, like Charles always seems to know, but he has to ask: "What do you need?"

[cerebral]

There's a brief moment where he almost tenses when he feels the hand on his back; it passes and his involuntary shaking gradually stops. He's anchored, at least for the moment.

"I don't know." The problem is that, yes, Charles is the one who always seems to know what to do. And even if he were as good at dealing with himself (which he's not, but that is for another day), this is not a scenario he had ever imagined. "I know I need to rest. It won't be easy. But I suppose I'll have to wait it out. I can't see any other way."

"If it gets too bad, Remy said I could call him. He helped me back here." ...let's not get into the state he found Charles in just yet.

[magnetic]

"Here." What Erik is doing, now, this is not so much a suggestion to move as it is straight up ushering. Both hands, even—one across Xavier's shoulders, the other coming up to his arm—and carefully, though firmly, as though dealing with something at once stubborn and fragile. "Lie down, then. I'll contact him if need be."

Which means, of course, that he plans on staying. Even though it means he gets to sit around in kevlar all night.

[cerebral]

Charles is not used to being fussed over —that's his job— and if it were anyone else he would shoo them away and tell them not to worry. Somehow. He manages to give Erik a side-look that clearly states I am unsure of this, sir but he's not feeling formidable enough to challenge his friend.

"But what will you do?" is the only protest he offers as he flops down on the bed.

[magnetic]

"Never mind that," he says, and, for lack of a convenient chair, perches his bony backside on the edge of the bed temporarily so that he may remove his footwear without staggering around like a fool. "Just relax. ...And make sure you're comfortable while you still feel like moving." Bending now to pull off the one boot, flexing his toes once it's done, setting it neatly by the foot of the bed. "I'll stay, but I'm not putting you in pyjamas." And now the other.

[cerebral]

Relaxing is easier said than done. For now, he curls up on his side and opts to watch the other man's movements instead.

The last comment gets a slightly grumpy snort. "I think the last time that happened, both my parents were alive." Neither of whom he talks about very much, for his own reasons, if anyone needed further proof that his mind was somewhat compromised.

[magnetic]

Aaand another unexpected turn. You are just full of surprises tonight, professor.

Erik takes a moment extra to align his boots, and when he finally sits up he begins removing the black harness, quiet and easy in his movements. Where his frame becomes narrower than the suit's tailoring had accounted for, the thick blue and yellow fabrics buckle. The bones of his knees press against the padded fabric there. There are fresh abrasions on the knuckles of his right hand, just scabbing over, and by the way that scar on his lip looks more pronounced than usual it seems he won't be able to get away with skipping a shave in the morning.

Charles receives a sort of sideways look, then. This may not be the ideal time to ask, but... is there ever one, really? (Also, he brought it up, so there.) "When?" When was this, when did they die—however he wants to interpret this careful inquiry, it's left open.

[cerebral]

His eyes were starting to droop there. They open again at the question, and he frowns for a moment, as if trying to remember what he'd said a moment ago.

"Father, I was five. Mother, eighteen." He says it as though someone had asked him something mundane, like what's the make and registration of his car.

Had he not told Erik that? He was sure he would have realised. People don't go inheriting large estates as birthday gifts (no Charles, you can read their minds, not the other way around).

"Lab accident and liver failure, respectively." He goes quiet for several minutes before deciding he would very much like to roll onto his other side.

[magnetic]

Over his shoulder, Erik watches his friend turn, and continues to watch for a short while after. Presently, he resumes loosing the nylon harness; the black straps slip free of his arms something like a vest. Heavy fasteners clinking softly. The quiet rustle and creak of the flight suit as he moves.

When he finally intones, "I'm sorry," it may come across as reserved, but sincere nonetheless.

A moment passes in silence, then, before the mattress retakes its usual shape in the absence of an extra body.

[cerebral]

Charles makes no reply, which means he's sleeping or pretending to sleep. Either way, his breathing becomes noticeably shallow and rhythmic, and if Erik were to check, his friend would look very much at peace (for now, at least).