He sat in the booth after his visit to France and the bank. He had managed to find something which he never thought he would. He was still in shock, if he had to be honest with himself. Never did he think Schmidt would be the kind of man to have this kind of secret. He had found the location of his spawn. He had managed to track down the location of his child.
That was how he found himself sat in the booth of the diner. He took a few moments to look around, noticing the type of men who were there. There were those on the way to work that morning, quickly grabbing coffee and filling up. There were men who demanded a big breakfast to keep them going through the day. He had settled for his coffee in a white mug, looking at the girl who moved over the ghastly checker black and white floor.
It had taken him a few moments to notice the resemblance between her and her father. She had his eyes, he could tell that much. Her hair was a dirty brown colour, hanging down in limp waves to her back. She continuously ran her hand through them, boredom clearly getting the better of her.
He wondered when he would make his move. He needed to talk to her, that much was apparent. He just needed to be careful. As he sipped his coffee, he wondered what kind of girl she was. She was working in a diner; clearly Schmidt hadn't put her through college. Did she even speak with her father? He had to assume so.
"Are you okay, sweetie?"
Snapping him out of his daze, he looked up to the woman who had spoken to him. He nodded at her quickly, forcing himself to be polite and smile.
"Perfect," he promised her.
"Can I get you a refill at all?" she wondered.
Looking down into his coffee cup, he shook his head.
"I'm fine, thank you," he nodded.
He took a moment to pull at the tie which he wore, loosening it slightly due to the Californian heat. She smiled and moved on to the next red quilted booth. He allowed the smile to drop from his face before he looked back to the girl. She had begun to joke with the man she was serving, laughing heartedly as she pulled out a slice of apple pie.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and nodded at the customer, checking the clock on the wall before she took a moment to go in the back. He drained off the remains of his coffee and grabbed the briefcase which sat by his side. He attempted to look professional in an attempt to blend in. He saw her duck under the gap in the counter and wave to everyone before heading for the door.
He stood up and followed her, leaving a few dollars on the counter for his drink. Swinging his briefcase by his side, he followed her as she ran her hands through her hair and pulled it from the elastic band it had been held in. She walked straight by the car park and to the empty sidewalk. He knew he had to make a move before anyone saw him.
"Excuse me."
The girl stopped and turned around, looking over to the man who had called her. He walked briskly up to her, his eyes wide as he drank in every last detail of her. She had begun to chew gum, swirling it around her mouth as she chewed and looked to him.
"What can I do for you?" she wondered quickly.
"You're Grace, are you not?" he asked her. "Grace Shaw?"
She looked at him and folded her arms over the pink uniform she wore. She stood tall, looking at the man who had spoken to her.
"And you are?"
"An old friend of your fathers." He replied to her.
She shook her head, holding her hands up in surrender as she did so. She began to back away from him, moving with haste as she did so.
"I don't know you," she assured him. "And I haven't seen my dad in the past five months."
He kept walking towards her as she turned around and her pace increased. He moved with effort then, grabbing her by the elbow and hauling her back to his side as he did so. She struggled in his hold, trying to snatch her arm back to herself.
"What is your issue?" she spat at him. "I told you, I don't know who you are."
"And do you know who your father is?" he wondered from her. "Do you know who he truly is?"
"Get the hell off me," she snapped out. "You know that all I have to do is scream and someone will see this."
"I'll get my answers," he replied. "I wouldn't bother crying for help. It is not you who I want."
"I gathered that," she drawled. "You want my dad. I want to know what you want with him. He's just some businessman...besides, I barely see him, like I said."
He looked at her for a moment, disregard apparent on his features. Grace stood still as he did the same, looking at her with interest. She said nothing for a few moments, doing her best to study the man in front of her. She'd never seen him before in her life. She knew her father's friends. They were close to him. This man certainly wasn't.
"Look, buddy," she spoke, folding her arms and jutting her stubborn chin out. "I don't know what you want with my dad, but find him and sort it out."
"That's what I'm trying to do," he promised her. "I can't seem to find him. You're going to be my ticket to him."
Grace's eyes seemed to widen in shock as she took in what he had just said. She shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. He could see she was shaking visibly. There was a part of him that felt sickened by being so close to his daughter.
"No," she shook her head. "Look, my dad's probably gone travelling. Whatever he has done cannot be that bad, can it?"
His brow furrowed and he took his turn to allow his eyes to widen at hearing the young woman. He shook his head, wondering if she had any idea who her dad was. He took a few moments to look around, one hand moving into his pocket as he did so.
"How old are you?" he asked her.
"Twenty two," she muttered. "I don't know what that is to you."
He ignored her blatant rudeness, deciding to look past that for a moment.
"How long have you known your father?"
"Look," she drawled, "just tell me who you are."
"Answer my question first," he demanded.
She groaned and shook her head, her eyes meeting his again.
"SinceI was five," she said. "I didn't know him before. Listen, I don't know what you want with him, but we're not that close. He tolerates me, okay? He manages to remember Christmas and my birthday, that's about all. Whatever your issue is, go and take it up with him."
He nodded at her, seeming to come to grips with her lack of knowledge.
"Erik," he drawled out. "Erik Lensherr."
She nodded at him then, simply appeased she had managed to get a name from him.
"Right," she said, trying to diffuse the situation. "What do you want with my dad?"
"That's between him and me," Erik hastily replied. "Where is he?"
"He could be anywhere," Grace shrugged. "He sometimes goes to Argentina for a holiday. He owns a tavern there."
"Have you ever been to it?"
"Once," she said. "I went when I was little. He set it up with some colleagues who come from Germany. Like I said, my dad has a lot of businesses."
"Good," Erik declared. "You're taking me there."
She seemed to take in his words one by one, not too sure whether she had heard him right.
"What?" she snapped. "I don't think I am."
"I think you are," Erik retorted, daring to grab hold of her elbow again and haul her down the sidewalk. She did her best to get out of his grip, but failed terribly. He was too strong for her and she had no choice but to amble alongside him. People passed by, giving them strange stares, but none of them did anything.
"Just let me go," she urged him. "I'm serious. I will scream for help."
"And I will find you again," he told her. "And then you can take me to Schmidt. Make no mistake."
"Schmidt?" she repeated. "My dad is Shaw. He is Sebastian Shaw. I don't think you've got the right girl."
"I think I've got the right girl," he promised her. Erik slowly moved his hand out in front of him, making sure no one was watching apart from the girl as he turned his fingers and the lamppost in front of them fell to the ground. People shrieked as they watched it fall, doing their best to step out the way.
"What...what are you?" Grace asked, her voice an octave higher than normal. The chewing gum fell from her mouth as she watched the scene.
Erik continued to glare at her. "I'm not one of you. If you dare shout anything then I have no query about doing something rash. Do you understand me?"
Grace allowed a gulp to move down her throat before she nodded in agreement with his request. He regarded her with curiosity before allowing his grip on her elbow to slacken. She walked by his side, constantly looking back over her shoulder to see the mess which he had just made in front of her. She took a moment to look up at his square jaw and harsh face, knowing that he wasn't messing around.
...
"This is completely uncalled for."
Erik ignored her protests as he finished tying her ankles together along with her wrists. She sat on the bed in the motel room, completely frustrated with what had just happened to her. Erik said nothing back to her, deciding it would be for the best to keep quiet. He'd already had to listen to her argue with herself for half an hour.
He shed himself of his suit jacket and checked that the curtains were firmly shut. He undid the cuffs to the white shirt, rolling the sleeves up and pulling the coin from his pocket. She continued to stare at him, her eyes noticing the numbers on his arm. She didn't mention them, deciding that it would be for the best not to. There was something about him which told her not to mess with him.
"Do you know how crazy this is?" she wondered aloud. "Look, I could just call my dad and tell him-"
"-I'd prefer for it to be a surprise," Erik interrupted with a mutter.
"Why?" she wondered. "Do you intend to hurt him? What has he done to you?"
"What hasn't he done to me?" Erik wondered back, the question rhetoric. He turned back to look at the girl, noticing that she would be in need of some normal clothes if he was to take her to Argentina without anyone questioning it. "Where were you born?"
"Born and bred in California," she told him. "My mom was a teacher."
"And where is she now?"
"She died when I was seven," Grace replied.
"And your dad took you into his care then?" Erik checked.
"If you mean he sent me to boarding school, then yes, he did," she said, a bitter tone held in her voice. She let out an exasperated sigh before looking around the motel room. "Do you have to keep me tied up like a prisoner?"
"You'd know nothing about being a prisoner," Erik snarled.
"But you do," replied Grace.
Erik arched his brow, noting her nod to the numbers which sat on his arm. He turned his elbow so that he could look at the permanent reminder of what he had been. The permanent reminder of those tortured years he had spent alone.
"Victims of concentration camps used to be numbered," she whispered to him.
"They did," he agreed. "Your father had no issue with that."
Grace's puzzled look seemed to grow as she shook her head and tried to fight her way from the ropes binding her.
"My dad fought for America. He went to war to fight."
"And you believe that?"
"Why shouldn't I?" she quickly replied. "He's my dad. He may be cold and not act like a father, but he is my dad."
"You know nothing about him," Erik snarled.
"And you do?" she replied. "He's my dad."
"He's the man who ruined my childhood. He's the man who shot my own mother in front of me. He's the German Doctor who experimented on me because of the gift which I have. He killed people, yes, but he did it inside the concentration camps. I can assure you of that."
Grace continuously shook her head the entire time Erik spoke. She refused to believe anything which came from his mouth.
"You're deluded," she assured him, her faith in her father unquestionable. Erik should have known that. He didn't need to persuade her of anything. He just needed her to lure Schmidt out, and then he would dispose of her. In the scheme of things, she was nothing. Erik knew that.
"You'll soon see," was all that he said to her. "You'll soon see."
...
A/N: So, my first X-Men First Class story. Hope it wasn't too bad for the first chapter. I do hope you'll review and let me know what you think, pretty please!
