Erik sat in the midst of a crowded Oxford coffee house, his back to the window. By a quick calculation with his eyes, he made certain that his face could not be discerned through the pane of glass by anyone outside. Relatively satisfied, he picked up his mug and gulped down some of his coffee- in an effort to appear as if he belonged there.
In a café full of young university students, brilliant minds, it was clear that he was out of place. He only hoped that he could remain unnoticed while he watched. He was waiting for someone. He allowed his eyes flick from person to person; knowing that he wasn't sure who to look for. He was told only that the young man was an Oxford undergraduate student, that he was an asset to the Company, and that Erik would know when he found the target. "Know how?" He muttered to himself, spinning a spoon in his blackened drink. "How am I supposed to know when I've found him?"
He had been so focused on his cup- and his brooding- that he had not noticed the young man who wandered into the place, a discreet finger on his temple as he meandered up to the counter. Had he been watching, Erik could have easily discerned why the boy was such an asset- he was, to the trained eye, clearly a telepath. It could be seen in his face when he ordered his drink, the appearance of preoccupation concurrent with being surrounding by deafening thought. It was obvious, to the knowing observer, in the way he furrowed his brow- trying to lay claim to his own feelings amidst a sea of others. However, to those around him, he was any other student. He blended well.
Erik didn't pick up on this young man, but Charles Xavier certainly noticed him. He couldn't fight that veracious curiosity that would soon become an intimate ally of Erik Lensherr's and found himself bringing his drink to the observer's table. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but notice-"
Erik glanced up and said nothing; He watched the student- very much a boy, still- with a raised eyebrow. Finally, he sighed, thinking that this person was just an innate distraction. "Yes?"
"-That you are looking for me. Unless, I'm mistaken? Charles Xavier," he extended his hand to shake. "And you're Erik Lensherr- with something called the Company."
Erik had been taken aback by Charles- as one often was when not prepared for his knowing mind. But, he managed to collect himself, shake the boy's hand, and politely lead him out into the street. "How did you know I was searching for you? You should not have been already contacted, I was told-"
"That I would know when you were there- and I did. But I have never before been contacted by this Company that you're thinking of, and I've never seen you before. I am a telepath, however, so my best guess would conclude that they placed you here in order to allow your thoughts to draw me in- you were quite focused on finding me." They walked side-by-side down the street for a while, the young man with his hands pressed into the pockets of his pea coat against the February frost. Erik was genuinely surprised by the quelling calmness of his companion, thinking to himself that he would be suspicious of anyone who just showed up searching for him. "You have no intention of hurting me, Mr., Lensherr. I can sense that. And, you are wondering how I knew it was me you were searching for, though you didn't know my name. To that, I can only say that I could feel it. Often, the mind knows more than it lets on."
Erik swallowed, feeling nervous in the presence of this person; someone who could read every thought Erik ever had with a fraction of effort. He balled his fists and tried to control his emotions before the telepath recognized them- but it was a futile effort. "There's no need to worry. Telepathy doesn't work the way you think it does."
"Funny, it sure seems to work exactly how I think it does. I think something- you read my mind." He muttered ironically. The boy let out an approving chuckle and Erik looked up in time to catch the tail end of a relaxed smile. "Sorry, I- I've never actually met one- of you." He admitted.
Charles took him off guard by patting his arm over the army jacket he was wearing. "I understand completely, my friend. But I sense that you have an ability of your own? I daresay magnetism is quite a useful talent. It would come extremely in handy when I misplace my keys." They both shared another grin, before Charles moved to take a step ahead of him. "There's a payphone this way- I know you are supposed to make a call."
Erik did need to make a call- to his boss at the Company, to alert them that he found the asset they were looking for.
##
It took only the short walk to the phone booth and back to his hotel by the coffeehouse for Erik to realize that telepaths were not his favorite kind of people. While they traveled, Charles' finger remained permanently set on his temple, as if he was disrobing Erik's private thoughts. "I'm doing no such thing." Charles replied when he picked up the notion. "I'm merely trying to find out more about this Company, though it seems as if you know about as much as I do."
"That's because I do. I'm a hire-on, Charles. A mercenary, of sorts. That's all I do, basic bidding."
"And you're okay with that? With not knowing what- or even who- you're working for."
"Yes. I'm getting paid." Erik said it with such bluntness, Charles could only sigh and continue to stride beside him. He would be following, only that his mind was one step ahead- due to nerves, though he kept them artificially calmed with silent, deep breathing- and he already knew the hotel's location. He ended up a few steps ahead, standing in front of the room door when Erik finally caught up. "Can you pretend to be normal?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Stay out of my mind- it's weird that you always know where we're headed." Erik was defensive, which his company waved off with a casual flip of his hand.
"You know what you're problem is, Mr. Lensherr?"
Erik sighed. "No, but you're going to tell me, so I need not guess."
"You hate what you don't understand." Charles didn't wait for him to respond, mainly because he knew Erik wouldn't. He abandoned his stance in the front of the room. Erik picked up pacing as he tried to avoid thinking on that sentiment further. He didn't want to give Charles the satisfaction.
"Are you certain we cannot go out and eat?" Charles asked lazily. They had been stuck in that room or the better part of two hours together, so the question was clearly directed at Erik, who was seated in an armchair in the corner. The boy was still sprawled across the double bed, lying on his back, with his bare feet dangling over the edge of the mattress. "I haven't eaten all day- and I'm right starving. I imagine you are as well."
The older man sighed. It annoyed him endlessly- the way Charles played dumb as if it were a sport. He would add casual phrases like "I imagine" or "I suppose" or, better yet, "If I were you" followed by the exact words that Erik had been thinking to himself. He was quickly learning that keeping company with a telepath could be a pain in the ass. "I was given explicit direction: that we are to stay here. Someone will arrive to meet your shortly."
"Yes, of course," Charles had pulled himself up and was giving Erik a surly grimace- one most unsuitable on his boyish features. "But I believe you are forgetting: I do not work for this Company nor am I under direction of its management- unless I'm now being held unwillingly. So, I'm going to go eat. I'll see you in an hour, Mate." He slid into his shoes and coat, heading for the door. Erik had half the mind to lock the exit- it would take merely a flick of his wrist- but he hadn't the discretion or the time. "Don't waste your effort, Mr. Lensherr." The telepath chided as he went to leave.
Erik took his advice and instead prepared to leave, himself. "Fine. We'll eat, but I'll need to make another call."
"There's a payphone outside of this pub down the street. We can go there." The young man was already out of the door and down the hall, calling his lasting remark over his shoulders.
It was becoming increasingly clear to Erik that Charles Xavier was nothing more than a petulant child. He sent the undergrad inside, planning to make the call in semi-private (as, when he rejoined Charles, the entire conversation would be within his grasp) and grabbed the receiver, dialing his manager's number. It was answered after one ring and he explained the situation after a gruff greeting. "I don't know what they could possibly want with him," he admitted, "He's not Company material."
His manager, a middle-aged man with no mutations to speak of (most managers were as human as they come. Even Erik knew that) but a friendly demeanor that made him sufferable, replied wearily, "I know, I know. I figured he'd be difficult. Just- don't let the pompous little shit out of your sight and get him back as soon as possible. The Director himself his on his way- apparently, there's something to this kid." The man in Oxford hissed in surprise. He had never once seen the Director- and no one he worked with or under had either. It made no sense- the Company had documents proving the existence of at least fifteen other telepaths- what was so special about this one?
He hung up and headed for the table where he had deposited this precious commodity- the look on his face changing from confused frustration to full blown aggravation upon discover a half-eaten plate with no Charles in sight. "You've got to be shitting me." He cursed under his breath as he began to scan the dark restaurant with his eyes. He quickly abandoned that for a foot search. Ducking in and out of both restrooms, glancing in every booth, and weaving through the populated bar, he found himself standing alone, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
Before he saw Charles coming, he could feel him. A strange warmth invaded his person, sending a much unwanted wave of calmness that seemed to have no origin as it assaulted his prior frustration with the boy. " 's good, isn't it?" The voice came not from Charles' mouth, he was still clambering through the crowd at the other end of the bar, but from somewhere within Erik's own mind. "I don't only read minds, Mr. Lensherr. I can project onto them, as well." By the time Charles was at his side, two beers in his hand, clearly already on the road to being intoxicated, Erik came into the realization that he had no control over Charles Xavier in the slightest. In fact, he was at the boy's mercy- everyone was. A chill went down his spine.
"Oh, calm down. I've given you the right to your own feelings thus far- I just can't stand someone so on edge. You really must relax more. I can help you with that." Charles' smile seemed to hold background knowledge- some sinister meaning. But Erik could no longer feel worried, the boy wouldn't allow it. He handed him the extra beer with a grin. "Drink up. Then we'll go back." Erik did as he was told.
They returned to the hotel room without a fight, Charles turning over to Erik control of his own mind. "Don't do that again," he warned. Charles smirked.
"I find that most people like to give over control every once in a while, whether they realize it or not."
"Do you do that to- normal people? If you can change my own thoughts, what else can you convince people to do?" Erik began to feel that rush of fear again- likened to discovering a real monster in the depths of the night. But, the innocent look he got from the boy assuaged him a little.
"I can do many things, Erik- may I call you Erik?- but I don't. Heavens, I'm not some masochist that wants to control things. It takes all I have in me most days to keep restraint- it's more tempting than one would imagine. Just think, if you had the power to own someone else- to get anything you want- would you not use it?" Suddenly, Charles was not a child at all. He posed a question that Erik couldn't bring himself to answer and, for the first time that evening, he looked distantly melancholy. He didn't speak again until they were within the confines of the room. "When is this Director person coming?" He asked without much enthusiasm. He seemed to feel obligated to care.
"Now, you know that I have no idea. Why do you ask?"
"You're right. I don't know. Questions are still the foundation of conversation. I just- don't know what to say."
Another realization, one that spurred a sadness Erik had not been acquainted with in ages. "No one knows about you, do they?"
"No one." Charles climbed back on top of the bed's covers and shut his eyes. Erik went to say something else- the pity wrenching his stomach for the young man was almost unbearable (and pity was not something Erik usually had for anyone)- but before he could, he heard Charles' gentle breathing and noticed that he had fallen asleep.
"It's probably for the best." Erik mumbled, thinking that being on constant watch for one's own moral code must be a draining thing- when a stray thought could be deadly. He went back to sit in the armchair and wait. Charles was not an easy person to understand- he was complex, and confusing, and everything that Erik was uncomfortable with. Charles could seize control at any given moment and Erik would be powerless- his greatest fear. But the young man was also most caring, gentle, and- he couldn't bring himself to articulate the last thought- though it was impossible not to inherently feel the beauty Charles possessed.
As Erik looked over his sleeping face, he noted the unfair nature of it all. "An attractive face makes danger most deceiving, doesn't it?" He should have known by now that Charles would be listening. "I'm truly sorry, Erik. I didn't mean to intrude- you're thinking too loudly."
"Funny, I thought I couldn't find any new ways to get into trouble." Charles sat up again and laughed.
"I really don't want to frighten you. Do you now see why I can't tell anyone about this?" They fell silent and, though Erik tried to come up with something to say, he couldn't find anything that would fit the bill.
Not that it mattered. Charles was no longer interested in conversation, Erik could sense, as the young man left the bed in place of a different spot against the cabinet running the length of the back wall. He slid his palm over the wood, pulling open a door that reveal a miniature refrigerator- clearly stocked with more alcohol ('as if he needed any more of it', Erik thought dryly. If Charles heard him, he didn't make it known). He poured himself something from one of the down-sized bottles into a cup atop the appliance. "I don't think my trip budget has a stipend for your taste in liquor, Charles." Erik reprimanded flittingly. The youth paid him no mind.
"Are you paying for this room?" He asked just as casually, if not more refined.
"No, but-"
"Then it's not your concern, is it?" Charles finished the drink and prepared another. Erik grimaced, knowing full well that the Director would not be pleased with his inability to control the telepath; who seemed to have wandered into his life for the simple purpose of causing him anguish.
"The Director-" Erik began, but a startlingly empty laugh from Charles made him stop.
"Your Director is arrogant over his money; he believes that it is the leveling quality between man and divinity. The least he could do, while I wait around for a conference I want no part in, is pick up the tab." And that was enough- there was no convincing Charles Xavier; not when he made up his mind. So, Erik resigned himself to his imminent release from the company as he watched his charge, the highest priority to the firm, get undoubtedly wasted.
It had been nearly three hours and they were still waiting- Erik wearily, Charles drunk but more or less quietly. The older of the two had made no further attempt to stop this undermining misbehavior- 'what purpose was there, really?'- and was grateful that, at least, the younger gentleman hadn't come up with any more trouble to cause. In fact, Charles seemed to have phased out of Erik's mind entirely and was lost in his own; sitting with his chin resting on his palm, staring with some concentration out of the window.
With the peace and freedom to think as he wished, Erik couldn't help but recognize his ghosting emotion- a fleeting feeling of endearment for Charles. It was a feeling that held more than water. Just as Erik recognized this phantom quiver, he was already on the path to forgiving him for nearly wrecking his evening and his career. He scoffed- it would be a cold day in Hell when Erik Lensherr learned to forgive.
Charles seemed to resurface into reality, if only momentary. He let his eyes wander back to Erik and, even half closed, they seemed to keep a world of their own inside. Erik watched into them, seeing his own reflection soften in their mirror-like surface.
Ironically, but with a mere twitch of what may have just been compassion, Erik had to admit- only to himself, that he couldn't stay angry at the boy. 'It looks like Hell turned to ice.'
'My, you are generous with your affection.' The secondary voice in his head startled him. Erik snapped up to glare at Charles, only to find him wearing a lopsided smirk. 'Not that I don't appreciate it, of course.'
'You snotty little fucker.' Was all the metal-mover could manage, even in the realm of his inner thought. Charles sniggered out loud, then stumbled back to his original place across from him.
"You really must call this Director of yours- tell him I am leaving, that I have lost all patience with this." The youngster announced vocally. He fumbled for his coat, yet still managed to look graceful. Erik was half-glad he was leaving, even under the circumstances. Without trying, Charles had clouded his brain.
A voice from behind them was startling. "There's no need for that, Mr. Xavier. I'm already here." The two swung around to face the man they had been waiting for. "I do apologize for my lateness- there was an emergency."
Charles said nothing as he looked him over, an eyebrow raised. Finally, after ages, it seemed, he opened his mouth. "Yes, of course, there was. I'm certain that it was quite the emergency- I would feel very similarly, if I had an attractive woman like that go down on me in a private jet. Certainly." Erik scowled out of shock. He had hoped Charles would have rediscovered his manners by the time he was faced with the person in control of Lensherr's paycheck, but apparently he hadn't. He prepared for the worst
"I mustn't forget you are a mind-reader from now on," The man- the Director- chuckled. "I will remember not to lie to you."
"Or, simply, to lie better," Charles said- the softness in his voice an equal rival to sneering. "To lie, you must first yourself believe it. That is the art in it, isn't it?" Instead of reacting negatively, the Director just smiled again, patted Charles on the back and invited him to sit back down. Charles had a blank expression but did as he was asked.
While this was unfolding, Erik looked over this man- such a well-kept secret. As he observed, he couldn't help but be taken aback with his ordinariness. He dressed in jeans and a button down- looking, in actuality, inferior to Charles' Oxford casual- he had dirty blonde hair, an unshaven face, and mundane brown eyes. Charles seemed to also be scrutinizing. "Erik, I must first thank you for taking such good care of him in my absence." As he went to shake hands, Charles made an absurd sound.
"I believe I am extremely confused, Sir. I was told that I was an asset to this- Company. Not a toddler in need of sitting. I'm afraid that-" Charles was downright snarky. Though it was absolutely uncalled for, Erik felt a surge of admiration then- astonished that he was not intimidated by a powerful man such as the Director. He had not known him- or of him- before tonight, but he had access to all of Erik's knowledge, which held that sort of reverence that grows from uncovering the beginnings of a true myth. Charles said nothing in response but gave Erik a stray smirk.
"You have misunderstood my message, Mr. Xavier. I don't you wish to feel that way at all, in fact, I am much in need of your services." Charles was offered another drink but stiffly declined. "I understand that you're a skeptical, but you're not yet educated on my company's purpose."
"Do you not yourself know it? Because I see your aim and I don't approve."
"My aim?"
"You're using those with –gifts- to exploit those without. A conman could do no better." Charles stood to leave, casting a sideways glance at the man he had spent the afternoon with. "Do not let him misguide you, Erik. He is not helping you."
The Director stood, "I'm afraid you are again mistaken."
"I know only what you do, so thus you too must be mystified at the purpose of your own invention. I suggest you allow yourself some reflection. And some whiskey- the minibar is stocked." With that, he was gone. The young man- not looking so young, anymore- not to Erik, was out of the room and onto the street. The Director pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Naked to him, aren't we, Mr. Lensherr? Power like that is not to be toyed with. But, he did seem to trust you." The Director was, if nothing else, a quick study and went no further. "You should speak with him."
"And say what, exactly? I can't force him to do anything at all."
"If you say the right things, force won't be necessary. Please, go and find him." Though it sounded like a request, it was a demand. Erik sighed, again resigned, and headed on a second wild goose chase, thinking as he did that this man he was operating under knew not how telepathy really worked. As soon as he found Charles, he would be subject to their conversation and would know that he had been sent. But, he was getting paid.
When a telepath does not want to be found, it is impossible to find him. Erik reasoned, wandering the Oxford streets once again. He was a pilgrim for this boy- Charles Xavier. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he tried to keep his mind focused on calling out to the young man. But trying to connect to him was still thinking about him, and that was something Erik wasn't too sure he was comfortable with.
It wasn't that he hated Charles. Hate he could deal with. In actuality, it was quickly becoming the opposite- and that was what frightened him. He could still picture the lopsided smirk, that sort of nonchalance that accompanies his innate ability to be the first person to know everyone's deepest secrets. He could imagine the way Charles' hair was just a little too long, flopping in his eyes unless he ran his fingers through it to tame. He could see his relaxed stance, standing with one hand in the pocket of his coat, the other holding a beer as he rediscovered his keeper within the confines of that bar. It was those images that made Erik's stomach flutter- an unfamiliar feeling, too distant a memory to feel homey in his throat has he caught a breath.
He would have admitted the origins of romantic interest, had he been fluent enough in love to articulate them. Instead, he squeezed his fingers into his palm and tried to scowl.
Erik. I was wondering when you'd turn up. Charles' casual voice in his head quickly made Erik remember why he had been so annoyed with the mind reader. You're here to convince me to go back to that director, yes? The man sure knows how to put someone out.
"Where the hell are you?" Was Erik's only response, having been nearly frightened out of his skin. He heard a soft chuckle echo dually: partly in the confines of mind, partly from around the corner as Charles stepped from the alleyway between two dark buildings.
"I'm not a fan of this company of yours, I'm afraid." He had a cigarette pinched between his teeth. Erik raised an eyebrow. Smoking was most unbecoming on him; it did no justice to his eloquence.
To this, Charles laughed again. "I've been trying to quit- it is quite the nasty habit, I readily admit." Even so, he extended the open box to Erik, who took one. He was then passed a silver lighter, pure metal casing. He lit it and breathed deeply. "But, honestly, the company is not out for good, Erik. You must know that."
"What I know is that it pays my bills." Erik growled. His companion nodded.
"I know."
"They'll compensate you for your services." Charles had an empty look in his eyes as Erik said this. He spoke only silence as he let the air between them become static. Erik began to sweat; he had said the wrong thing.
"You did nothing wrong, Erik," Charles replied after a minute, still ever soft spoken, "You don't know what they want me for."
"What?" Erik's mind danced around the possibilities: murder, espionage, complete mind control. Charles could do all of those and more, without a fraction of effort on his part. It brought another shudder to Erik's blood, thinking of the unruly youngster as a monster.
"They want me to rob a bank."
"Oh, that's all?" Erik couldn't stop himself in time. The words just came tumbling out, proof of his insensitivity to the matter. It was true that Erik did worse things in his leisure time and that nearly a decade dedicated to revenge had hardened him. He gave a self-deprecating glance (something he was entirely unfamiliar with, as he was never embarrassed) at Charles, who just nodded again, knowingly.
"I understand that it is nothing to you, my friend." He spoke in a way as to not insult, with extreme caution. "And with the life you've lived, I would be a far worse man than you, I know. But, as it turns out, I'm just a university student; felonious crime is not in my repertoire."
Erik wanted to be irked by his comments but they were too sincere. So, instead, he just grumbled. "Yeah, I know."
"But you want me to do it, anyway."
"If it was up to me, you wouldn't have to. But what I need you to understand, Charles, is that it's not within my control. I was told to convince you-"
"I know."
"-I was ordered and I have to come through. I don't get a choice. If I go back without you-" Erik said no more. The distant look on Charles' face revealed he was in his mind already. When he set Erik free, he looked perturbed. It was clear he understood.
"I don't want you to get hurt, either." Charles was nothing if he wasn't sympathetic. Erik knew that, and though he didn't even pick up on it himself, he was playing to weakness. It was his skill, cultivated after years of torment- under Shaw's captivity.
"Please, Charles. I need you." Erik wasn't above groveling. It was not something he was used to- or comfortable with, for that matter- but he was willing to make the sacrifice.
Charles pursed his lips, and then assented. "Fine. I don't see the harm in speaking with the Director again, if it will keep you out of trouble. But, I'm wholeheartedly against the operation." Erik smiled, genuinely relieved. It would not have gone well if he returned to the hotel without the telepath.