Newton's First Law of Motion: the velocity of a body remains constant unless the body is acted upon by an external force.

Erik was unstoppable. As he carried on along the same path he had for years, ever since that bastard Schmidt stole his life from him, he never once faltered. He never once slowed his pursuit of the vengeance he yearned for within his very soul.

Because he couldn't. He couldn't slow down, and he certainly couldn't stop, because no matter how long he went, nothing seemed to change. There was always the same anger, always the same hatred. The faces changed, but the people were all the same. They were all murderers, from the very first pig farmer to the very last tailor. No matter how many he ushered out of this world, there always seemed to be more to rise in his path.

Even when he felt his goal slipping from him before his very eyes, he refused to lose his momentum. No, he clung to his path, holding firm until he could feel his very mind bending to the strain. Nothing else mattered, not the water in his ears or the burning in his lungs. This was his path – this was the direction he was meant to take, and nothing could stop him.

Or so he thought.

Just as the world began to darken around him, and the icy cold of the water started to deaden his senses, something came to him. No, not something.

Someone.

Hands reached around him from behind, pulling him back. Stopping him in a way he'd never allowed himself to be stopped before. But he would not yield to this force of change so easily. He twisted, trying to throw the intruder away. For all he knew, it was another enemy. Just another pawn to destroy.

The more he fought, though, the more the stranger held on, until Erik could feel the other flush against his back. Still, he fought against him. Schmidt was getting away! He was so close, he couldn't stop now! Who was this man to hold him back? To keep him from the path he'd followed all his life?

Youcan't…you'lldrown.

The words were striking, but not unpleasantly so. He hadn't heard them; he couldn't have, over the water rushing in his ears. They'd been there, though, in his head, warm and calming like coming in from a winter storm to a blanket and a fiery hearth. A mixture of shock and strange curiosity slowed Erik's struggles as the voice sounded again.

You have to let go. I know what this means to you, but you're going to die. Please, Erik—

The sound of his name. The strain of his hold Schmidt's submarine. His mind was failing him, trying to follow so many different inputs. This stranger holding him, speaking to him (but not really speaking to him), made it hard to concentrate. There was just something about him.

-calmyourmind.

Erik felt himself being pulled away. Schmidt was going one way, and for once, he wasn't following. Somehow, his momentum had been slowed; his path had been stopped. It was too late, though; Schmidt was gone, and he was out of air.

Using his long legs for all they were worth, he kicked to the surface. The stranger was doing the same, though his heavy clothes were clearly not made for swimming, especially in such torrid waters. He'd been strong enough a swimmer to get the upper hand on Erik, though, and as far as he was concerned, that made this newcomer just as much a threat as anyone else he'd met (and most of the time, subsequently dispatched).

"Get off me!" he shouted as they broke the surface of the water. A harsh shove sent him splashing back under the water for a moment.

"Calm down!" the stranger insisted. "Just breathe." Even though his voice had to be loud to project over the noise of the water, it somehow still sounded so serene. So reserved. Flicking his head back, the meddlesome stranger – a fair-faced man, probably a handful of years younger than himself with a decidedly proper English accent, though the dark and the rush of everything kept him from discerning any other details – raised his voice higher. "We're here!"

Which meant he had friends.

"Who are you?" Erik demanded, doing his best to keep some difference between himself and the Englishman. He was so tired, his limbs felt like lead. Only, if they had been lead, things would have been considerably easier. As it were, he was out of breath, fighting to keep his head above water while the stranger seemed to somehow stay gracefully afloat.

A quick wave rushed across the stranger's face as he replied, "I'm Charles Xavier." And for the first time, Erik could place the voice. It was the same one he had heard when he was under the water. There was that same reservation, that same innate calm that seemed to try to project itself onto the listener.

Erik felt his chest give a lurch. "Are you in my head?" he shouted. "How'd you do that?"

Charles shook his head quickly, flicking his dark wet hair back away from his pale face. For the first time, Erik was able to get a good view of his visage, and he found himself looking even harder for it. Even in the dark of the night, the blue of Charles's eyes seemed almost inhuman, and his face had a graceful set to match.

"You have your tricks, I have mine," Charles told him. "I'm like you. Just calm your mind!"

The words took a moment to sink in, as Erik panted for the breath the cool water seemed intent on forcing from his lungs. When he spoke, it was far more subdued. "I thought I was alone," he said. He always had been.

Something odd happened, then. Charles, instead of scoffing at him, or even ignoring the question, smiled a brilliant sort of smile and said, "You're not alone." His voice was such that it was hard to take it as anything but the truth; it was too sincere, too earnest to be anything but. He was almost ethereal in his influence; almost godly in his empathy "Erik, you're not alone."

And even though this man was a complete stranger, somehow Erik believed him.

Together, and not without some difficulty, the two men made it onto the life raft that a nearby ship had dropped in the water. It was the same ship Charles had been shouting to, and Erik thought it was safe to believe they were Charles's people. Not that he particularly cared. He was just pleased to get out of the water and to finally be able to breathe again.

A minute out of the water quickly dispelled Erik's thoughts of godliness for Charles. It wasn't that his powers were any less impressive, but it was rather hard to take someone seriously when they were shivering like a Floridian in a New York winter. Erik felt the strange inclination to offer him something, but as he had nothing more than a wetsuit, he could hardly be the gentleman. Besides, he wasn't sure Charles would appreciate the gesture.

A voice – spoken, this time – cut through his reverie. "I meant it, you know," Charles said. Now that he no longer had to raise his voice to be heard over the waves, his voice took on a much softer, smoother timbre. It was no less powerful for it; perhaps it was even more so now, somehow. "You are not alone. My friend, I don't subscribe to coincidence."

Erik raised his eyebrow, though even he wasn't sure at what part. It was strange for this stranger to refer to him as "my friend" – Erik had fewer friends in people he had known far longer, but then, most of them he was trying to kill, so perhaps Charles did have an advantage as of now – but the segue had also been peculiar.

Charles seemed to interpret his curious expression as regarding to the last bit, though, and explained, "I believe there is a reason you are here tonight."

Erik opened his mouth to fire of a snappy retort – of course there was a reason he was there; he didn't typically dress in a wet suit and chase submarines for sport, thanking you highly – but he was silenced by a thin, elegant hand. Somehow, even as the rest of him trembled from the cold, that hand and the set of his impossibly blue eyes never so much as faltered. Erik normally would've been angered by such a gesture, but there was nothing pompous or controlling in it: it wasn't a command, as it were, merely a request.

He decided, just this once, to allow it. He subsided, and gestured for Charles to continue his address.

"Beyond Shaw, I meant to say," he amended. Erik was bright enough to fill in that Shaw was another of Schmidt's never-ending army of aliases. "There is something important rising on the horizon, my friend. I cannot explain in full now, but I am not conceited enough to think it can be averted by only the hands we have now."

"You want my help," Erik finished for him. "With what?"

"Shaw." The one-word answer seemed particularly abrupt coming from the scholarly young gentlemen in front of him. He seemed to have a flare for language, though Erik would allow that each word did have a certain purpose to it that was uncommon in most of the verbose professorial population.

"If you wanted him stopped, you should've let me continue," Erik said. He'd been so close, he could've—

"It isn't worth your life, my friend," Charles said, and there was such earnest in his voice that Erik couldn't help feeling a pull in his chest. Charles said it as though he really were a friend, as if he were someone that would be personally aggrieved should Erik die. It wasn't simply compassion…it was something else. Something striking.

Something Erik had never seen before.

It intrigued him. Charles intrigued him, in point of fact. He seemed like his polar opposite: gentle, idealistic, and reserved as compared to Erik's harsh, cynical ardor. Idealists weren't a breed Erik tended to take a liking to, but there certainly was something different to Charles. It wasn't that he saw something impossible, but more that he seemed to see something else that no one else could. It was like he could look at Erik and instantly know him perhaps even better than Erik knew himself. To be honest, it was a disconcerting feeling, but at the same time…it was nice.

"Please, Erik…I've no doubt in your abilities, but you cannot take Shaw on your own. Let me help you."

That got a sort of ironic quirk on Erik's lips, and he cocked his head to the side a little. "Don't you mean let me help you?" There were equal parts challenge and jest in the comment, and Erik was curious to see how Charles would respond. The true test of a man, after all, was not how well he could deliver his speeches, but how well he could stand the criticism of them afterwards.

And to his surprise, a smile appeared on Charles's face. It wasn't a wide smile, but the slight dimples and the sparkles in his eye shone infinitely brighter than any other smile Erik had ever seen. It was almost intoxicating to look at – intoxicating and oddly contagious such that Erik couldn't help the growth of his own smirk in response.

"I believe we can help each other, my friend," he said. "But first…I think we could both use some help getting this bloody dingy back to shore."