Mr. Lensherr was a striking man.
No, not striking, for he had a way of blending into a crowd. He was tall, but not unusually so. He was also rather thin, but then again, these were difficult times and so many families had had to cutback on daily comforts. His hair was brown with ginger tints, combed neatly back from his high forehead and grey eyes set in a sharp, clean-shaven face.
All in all an attractive enough man of about thirty. His hair was not yet greying, and only a few lines marred the skin around his eyes. Some perhaps, would consider his mouth ugly. All thin lips and too prominent teeth. But if he'd been pretty like a movie star, he would have stood out more.
And yet, something about him was appealing. And okay, maybe Isabelle had been feeling particularly lonely this winter; it had always been her husband's favourite season. When he was alive he would take her out skating on the canal, and then for tea at the little French bakery down the road.
But he'd been dead two years now, and Isabelle wasn't getting any younger. Mr. Lensherr was just around her age and handsome enough, and he'd been living in the rooms above her for a month now, long enough for her to notice that he never brought home any lady friends.
For aside from being handsome in a plain, utilitarian sort of way, Mr. Lensherr was an exemplary neighbour. He didn't come or go at unreasonable hours, leaving at seven to go to his job at the steel mill across town and returning at six to take dinner in his rooms and listening to classical music before retiring at ten o'clock each night. He could be depended upon to join the household for Sunday dinner each week, and to graciously accept the occasional offer for tea. He never brought unsavory company to the building, in fact, he never had anyone over at all, not even his coworkers from the mill.
That was another thing that drew Isabelle; the man was obviously intelligent beyond his station. It was evident in the quiet, gruff comments that were characteristic of their brief exchanges in the hallways. His remarks were always just a bit more clever and insightful than anyone else's. She was sure that he could get a better job if he tried.
She was embarrassed to admit that she may have pursued him a bit. She'd take to wandering out into the hall between their quarters in nothing but her nightgown when she knew he'd be going out. Of course, she didn't expect him to pounce and ravish her immediately, although a little ravishing would not be unwelcome, but she had hoped to see a visible reaction to her state of undress. But he'd barely glanced at her breasts, outlined as they were by the flattering drape of the cream silk, nipples jutting indecently because the halls were unheated and she was perhaps lonelier than she'd ever admit and wandering around in her nightclothes was so very uncharacteristic and so a little bit exciting.
She didn't normally dare such scandalous behaviour, it was not how she'd been raised. She'd always done right by her parents, went to college for a while and then dropped out to marry respectable banker Danny. They'd been talking about trying to have a baby before the accident.
But Isabelle was a woman, and she was certain that you'd be hard pressed to find a woman who wouldn't be excited by this tall, mysterious man. It made so much sense, he was handsome, she knew that she was pretty enough, lonely neighbours finding solace in each others' arms.
The only problem was that he just didn't seem interested in what she offered. The late night, scantly clad encounters, a hint of thigh waved tantalizingly during tea, he greeted each blankly and apathetically. So Isabelle decided that it was time to be more direct.
She donned her sheerest nightgown and as an extra measure undid the top two buttons at the collar. She brushed out her hair over her shoulder so that it fell in tumbling waves nearly to her waist. She didn't often wear it down, but she was actually quite proud of her chestnut locks. Then she left her rooms, closing the door quietly behind her and set off up the stairs, her heart pounding with anticipation.
She had this fantasy, that he'd open the door, preferably half way through undressing. He wouldn't had cared enough to put his shirt back on, thinking that it was perhaps their landlord come to call and when he saw it was her he'd apologize profusely, worried that he'd insulted her. She'd silence him with the press of a single finger to his thin lips and step into the room, up against his slender body. He'd then realize all of a sudden that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, that the months of stifling his lust had been pointless because this conclusion, falling into bed with her, was inevitable.
Isabelle had had a spot of scotch, for courage, and that may have been affecting her sense of reality a bit.
It was impossible to be silent on the stairs, for they were quite old and had a few squeaky boards, but the tinkle of piano music coming from upstairs would mask her approach somewhat. She hurried up and rapped softly on the door at the top.
"I'm not dressed!" came the immediate, barked response.
Isabelle's heart skipped and she set her face into what she hoped was a seductive smile. She had procured the spare key to Mr. Lensherr's rooms from the landlord earlier, so she unlocked the door and as it swung forward said, "Neither am I."
Mr. Lensherr was in front of her at once, in more clothes than she would have liked. He still had his undershirt on, though she got a nice view of his well-formed arms and the top of his chest. He actually looked rather pale and nervous, so she opened her mouth to try and dispel his fears, but she was interrupted when he swooped down and kissed her.
She tried the savor the victory, but she was rather shocked so it took her a long moment to begin to appreciate the feel of his mouth on her own. That had been quite a lot easier than she'd thought it would be.
Oh but she hadn't touched a man like this in so long! She felt suddenly lightheaded, and so sagged against Mr. Lensherr's lean frame for support. She didn't think he'd mind.
But as she leaned, she felt a sharp pain in her side, and then warmth spreading. She drew away slightly, mouth leaving the man's with a wet sound to feel at her ribs and oh! She appeared to have been stabbed!
She sucked in air to have a good scream, but suddenly Mr. Lensherr's fingers were in her mouth, choking her. She gaped up at him, moaning despairingly around the appendages. The man's face was ash pale, but his sharp jaw was set in determination and there was another searing pain right under her ribs. She looked down through fear filled eyes to see the front of her fine nightgown soaked crimson. Her vision swam and belatedly she thought to strike out with her hands. She connected with Mr. Lensherr's firm chest, but then the hand that wasn't in her mouth wrapped around both of her wrists, holding tight.
Another point of pain blossomed, in her stomach this time. Her legs gave away but she stayed upright against Mr. Lensherr. She goggled in horror at the man, rivulets of hot blood trickling down her legs to pool in her slippers.
She tasted blood bubbling around the man's fingers, rising in her throat and trickling down her chin. His hand was a solid manacle around her arms and then, when she thought she couldn't stand it anymore; here was a cool touch to her throat and then nothing.
xxx
Erik calmly stepped over the body to close the door, then headed to the bathroom and vomited his supper into the toilet.
He wiped his mouth as the sick spun down the drain, then stumbled back to brace himself against the tiled wall. He heaved a tired sigh. There went another meal, and he was trying so hard to gain weight.
He flushed again, to make sure all the vomit was gone, and then ran the tap until it was ice cold. He stuck his entire head under the stream and forced himself to stay there for a full minute before scrubbing a towel roughly over his face.
There was no real use in washing up before he dealt with the corpse in his foyer, but Erik let the water run over his blood-smeared hands anyway. He just needed a moment to collect himself, to let the panic that had set in the moment the foolish woman had stepped into his room abate. Calm down and let his training kick in, forming a list of priorities in his mind as he picked at the crimson underneath his fingernails.
He dried his hands, pushed his hair back from where it had fallen messily into his face and stepped back into the main room.
Widow Maximoff lay sprawled in the entrance, pool of blood slowly spreading over the dark oak floorboards. Erik steeled himself and knelt beside the body, turned her head to examine the gash in her neck.
She'd taken him by surprise and he'd been sloppy as a result. His grip on his knife had faltered and he'd missed her vitals the first two times, making a mess and causing the poor woman unnecessary pain before finally managing to cut her neck. Erik summoned the knife from where it had been knocked into the corner, the familiar metal responding immediately and flying to his palm.
He grasped the front of her stained gown and yanked it open along the row of pearl buttons. The material gave easily, some buttons popping off and scattering across the floor. The smooth expanse of milky skin was marred by the two slashes, the initial one on her side and then the slightly more effective blow to her stomach. The fine silk pooled around her slender arms, exposing her small pale breasts.
Poor, lonely woman, she'd only hoped to seduce him. If she'd just waited for him to open the door on his own time, just been patient, this needn't have happened. He'd only needed a minute to tuck away the transmitter and shove his papers into the special drawer he kept them in.
Erik slipped the sharp edge of his knife under the woman's lacy undergarments and ripped them open uncovering the dark curls of her pubic hair. If he really wanted to be thorough he'd hit the body to raise bruises, to more convincingly mimic a crime of passion.
But he couldn't quite bring himself to strike a corpse. He stood, leaving the dead woman on the floor and stripped his blood-splattered undershirt and trousers off, then got dressed in fresh cloths. He wrapped his thick wool scarf around his neck and shrugged into his winter jacket.
He would have to disappear. He methodically packed the transmitter into its carrying case, collected the few books and documents that he needed, and slipped out the door, leaving his key on the table.
SO I've decided to start another story with a bajillion still unfinished. Oh well, so X-men is my latest love affair, specifically XMFC. This story is an AU of sorts, but kind of more like an alternate timeline in the same universe than a totally alternate universe. Main differences is A) that Shaw was smarter and kept Edie alive as a sort of hostage to force Erik to work for him in order to keep her safe. SO Erik is Shaw's unwilling henchman. His powers are a bit weaker than they were in the movie because he doesn't have quite the same level of hatred going on since Shaw didn't murder Edie. He still hates him though.
Difference B) is that Charles and Raven never met, so as you'll see later, poor Charles didn't have the one thing that "softened his hardship". SO the poor guy had a considerably more miserable childhood dealing with all the home issues on his own.
This story was inspired initially by the novel Eye of the Needle by Ken Follett. I read the book while on Vacation in Nova Scotia and, of course, my mind was stuck in the XM fandom so I went ahead and projected the characters into the plot. The story follows a notorious German spy (who has weird un-explained guilt issues) who's running from British authorities who are determined to keep him from delivering the intelligence he's gathered to his people. While running he finds himself in the home of a beautiful British woman whose unhappy marriage spurs her into the arms of the mysterious stranger. The German spy reminded me so much of Erik, and then there's a character in a wheelchair and a bunch of angst so I just felt obligated. There was also no Wifi where I was staying so I didn't have much else to do but write.
The first few chapters in particular are inspired by the novel, but then it branches out. So kudos to Follett for the beginning of this story. I have the first eleven chapters already written so I'm half-assed editing them and will post them every couple days.
ALSO: Isabelle is one of Magda's alias' in the comics and I needed a female name for the woman. I was originally going to make it Magda herself, but I wanted to keep it as much in line with the comics and movies as I could so Magda was in Auschwitz at the same time as Erik.
