Charles recoils as the press of an especially tormented mind, invitingly different and brimming with untold memories, struck him with all the force of an oncoming train. He is sudden, harsh in his intrusion, and immediately unwelcome as he batters past every safeguard Charles has built against such violations. And yet, he cannot help himself, letting this new mind swirl into his own and tease his appetite for the uniqueness of individuality.
Moira and the voices of concern become distant blurs around him as he returns to standing beneath the midnight sky, looking out over the black water, staring out into oblivion for the mind of the assailant he so greedily seeks after.
At last he finds the form of which the troubled, darkened mind belongs to; a small figure gliding out across the waters, being towed along and thrumming with an energy Charles cannot comprehend from where he stands, so far out of reach. One thing is certain, however: the stranger is bound and determined to continue holding onto the submarine submerged deep beneath the inky blackness, even if it means his death. The procession of his thoughts sends shards of ice into Charles' heart and, in a matter of heartbeats, he's made a decision he already knows there is no turning back from.
And yet, he is absolutely and undeniably willing to make that choice.
Stripping off his coat, eyes following the man as he is pulled under, Charles flings himself over the side of the boat and plunges into the bone-numbing darkness. He's thrust backwards at the force in which he falls and the immediate need to surface clenches into his instincts, but he pushes past them, straining every inch of his mind past human nature to find…
Erik.
Every memory, every thought, every lost battle and every decision bursts one by one into Charles' mind and he shudders in terror and wonderment at the lost, tragic soul clutched in his arms. He knows him completely, from infancy to adulthood; he aches for him, his pity overwhelming, and his need to protect and defend brimming to the swollen surface.
It becomes very suddenly a battle against the odds – to save a life already forfeit. Charles refuses to give in, to let go. It will mean everything, if he loses. Unbeknownst to him, salvation is clutched in his fingers, awaiting release, diminishing years of torment and suffering and lost hope yet to embrace him in barbed wire and merciless thorns. But the future is bleak and gray, out of focus – out of sight. Charles lunges for the here and now, the present in a clouded future, and he breaks through the thousand layers of ice shielding him – Erik.
Charles decides his future and opens his mind, opens Erik's mind, and makes the definitive choice of a lifetime. Of their intertwined lifetimes, and blindly surges forward, the past set with a flourish of water and a gasp for breath. The decision is made, a life is saved, and for the first time, Charles looks into the eyes of the man he knows with his whole being he is willing to give every chance in the world.
"Only one blanket," Charles says apologetically, hoping his smile will ease the thick tension between himself and Erik. "I hope you won't mind sharing." Erik simply mutters something in German and leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and heaving an impatient sigh. He rolls the paper cup between his palms; Charles can hear the annoyed idle thoughts drifting on low frequency, but he cannot make out the words: generally, he can understand the thoughts of any person of any nationality, as the voice of the mind is universal in its wordlessness, but Erik seems to be fully voicing his thoughts in his native tongue. It would take a lot of concentration to do that, and Charles can feel the unease ebbing from the metal-bender.
Contemplating the blanket clutched in his hands, reluctant to move too close to Erik, he holds it out. The German looks up, the lines in his forehead deepening significantly. "You were in the water longer. You need it more than I do." Erik hesitates before reaching out, his movements slow and controlled, taking the blanket and looking at it as though he's never seen one before. Or perhaps he's never been given anything in earnest kindness before. Charles suspects the latter with a faint pierce of pitying sadness.
"Nein," Erik suddenly speaks, the sensation of cold vehemence throbbing from his mind bringing the telepath to a standstill. "Bedauere mich nicht." Charles doesn't understand the words but the urgent feeling that carries on the beats of each syllable is plain and clear, bitter in their allegation: Do not pity me.
"Anyone with compassion would pity a man with the weight you bear," Charles answers stiffly.
"Nein." Erik rises fluidly, setting both blanket and cup aside, and closes the distance between himself and Charles until he is less than a foot's distance away. Charles tries not to feel intimidated but he finds his efforts to be in vain, especially when he hears the low creak of metal ringing sharply off his eardrums. Erik leans closer until Charles can see the pulse point at his neck, beating with fury.
"It is not compassion but ignorance," Erik snarls. "You may think you know me, telepath, but if anyone is the book to be read, it is you."
Charles is positively flabbergasted. Speechless, he stares at Erik in disbelief at the metal-bender's assailing words. How can he compare him to the all the rest of the men he's met in all his years? Charles holds Erik's gaze, too shocked to form words; he is a little bit afraid that if he does find his tongue, their situation will become something else entirely.
Exhausted at the idea of escalating things and continuing to aggravate Erik, but too riled up, Charles takes a careful step backwards. "Well, forgive me for my ignorance," he says; he cannot help but include the dash of venom that poisons his tone. "I'll be more careful to be less a man than I am in the future, since that is what you're asking. Or… perhaps I could save us all the trouble right now and use my powers to return you back to your watery grave?"
Nostrils flaring, Erik grinds his teeth in annoyance. Charles is pleased to see his shoulders droop slightly as he backs down, clearly regarding Charles as more of an equal and not an ordinary man he could squander with half-heated threats. The prickling at the base of his neck softens as Erik takes a step back, the hostility dying in his eyes and being replaced by vague disinterest. With a subtle wave of his hand, the door slams shut in Charles face, but not before he glimpses the slight upturn to the corner of the metal-bender's mouth.
Heaving a relieved sigh and muttering, "Glad that's straightened out," Charles tucks his hands into his still-damp pockets and wanders off down the hall, ignoring the temptation to dive into Erik's mind and beat his head off the wall – just for good measure.
A sense of affliction clutches his stomach then, and Charles cannot help but gather the first ends of the feeling that the path he's set himself on will become the longest road he'll ever walk. And Erik will be there with him, bringing nothing but even more grief. Shaking his head to clear the troubling thoughts, he glances down the hall and lets his powers gently feel outward, but finds a void mind in indolent lull. That mind stirs, attentive and questioning, guarded but… rousing with interest.
Charles lets the connection fade, and with it, his doubts that he won't face the future, standing firmly on both feet.