For SweetHeaven.
Drift
"This whole country's a fucking wasteland." Erik blew out a foggy breath and stamped his feet, trying to warm them.
He wasn't impressed with his boots. They were the first pair of shoes he hadn't purchased from his favorite cobbler's shop on the corner of an inauspicious looking street in Prague where loafers and wingtips weren't the only thing for sale if you knew the right salesman.
And Erik had been very well-acquainted with the salesman by the time he was done with the remnants of name-stealing pig farmers and tailors. He didn't like owning guns, but he wasn't so stupid as to think that because he could sabotage everyone else's he'd never need his own.
"Erik," Charles chided, "you can hardly condemn a whole country based on its winter. Maybe Rus-er-the Soviet Union is a lovely place come spring. With friendly people going about the green countryside, the earth waking up from hibernation."
His companion snorted. "Doesn't take telepathic powers to realize you don't believe that for a second, Professor."
"All cultures are valuable," said Charles loftily, a man of knowledge and wisdom. The effect was undermined by his burrowing back into the thick woolen scarf wrapped around his neck.
"Well, there aren't going to be any cultures, let alone people left, if you two don't shut up," snapped Moira from the front of the formation.
The mutants let the conversation die. They were hidden behind a snow bank, waiting at the pick-up point for the cargo truck that was going to carry them to the rendezvous between the Soviets and Shaw.
The cold was making everyone ill tempered and Erik never would have thought that he'd actually be looking forward to loading up in the back of truck again, but he could hardly wait for it to arrive. It'd get him out of the cruel wind and closer to Shaw. Excited tension made him quiver, a bowstring drawn tight and ready to fire.
Soon, soon, soon.
Charles crunched closer to him. "You have to admit," he said, "that the snow is lovely."
Light flakes began to dust over them, coating the soldiers' gear and uniforms, turning them into green statues that looked like they'd been encrusted by the salty sea. Erik watched them fall, trying to focus on the trajectory of only one at a time, but failing as they twisted through their also-descending brethren.
As he watched unawares, one snuck up on him and landed on the bone of his cheek. His eyes blinked in stuttering surprise and Charles laughed loudly, earning him a glare from Moira.
"I'm sorry, friend," he said, reaching up to brush away the offending precipitation, "you should see your face."
His gloved hand was slippery and lingering against Erik's skin.
"You're only wetting me more," Erik said.
Charles didn't drop his hand like he had predicted the telepath would. "I suppose I am," the professor said, a strange quietness to his voice."But I've always liked the snow."
He let his hand fall slowly from Erik's face. "There's something so very emboldening about it, don't you think? It separates you from the world, walls you in and all the things that normally get in the way don't seem to matter as much."
The taller mutant was confused, but he didn't say so. It didn't seem like Charles' little speech about the weather had anything to do with their upcoming operation, so he really didn't have the time to give it his attention, no matter how intriguing.
It was probably only the pressure finally getting to the naïve professor anyway. He'd hyperventilated on the boat ride over for so much of it that Erik had hardly been able to sleep for the loudness of his breath. Being this close to a violent showdown probably wasn't helping to ease his anxiety. Maybe he needed reassuring.
Erik smiled at Charles. "Relax," he said solemnly, grabbing the shorter man firmly by his shoulders, "I'll make sure that no one dies - well, except for Shaw."
The professor looked at Erik's hands holding him and a dull red raced across his cheeks.
Concerned, the metal bender stepped closer. He looked into the professor's eyes. "Charles, I mean it. Don't do this. You'll worry yourself to death."
Another snow flake chose that moment to land on the telepath's upturned face. He blinked stupidly and it was Erik's turn to laugh as he swiped it away with his thumb, returning the favor.
"I think I rather see your point about snow," he said, grinning, wanting Charles not to be anxious, to share in the thrill of the hunt that coursed in his veins.
Charles gave him a faltering grin, like his mouth was having a hard time deciding whether to frown or smile. "I don't think you do, but I'm glad you like it anyway," he said at length.
What a strange fellow Professor Xavier was. Admittedly, Erik didn't have a lot of experience with friends, but he still didn't think that there was anyone quite like Charles. He liked that about him; mysterious and confusing was better than boring and useless any day.
The tips of the professor's ears got pinker. He cleared his throat. "I think I hear the truck coming."
And suddenly Erik's head really was filled with the mission again and he no longer noticed the snow that drifted softly down around them.
Beside him, Charles sighed. His cheeks were still flushed and his heart beat out a hopeful pattern.
Soon, soon, soon.
I have very limited experiences with snow, so you'll have to let me know in your review if it really melts and comes down softly like that.
See what I did there?