Sorry for the late update. I am still recovering from a massive migraine. Currently, I am suffering from the aftereffects of the migraine with a residual headache - not as bad as the migraine, but still unable to perform at a 100%.
Time and point of view are played with. This may or may not be a good thing but luckily for you readers, this chapter does not shift characters or time.
Anyway, I own nothing. Marvel and all its wonderful characters do not belong to me.
It was several days later, a Sunday morning and Moira was sitting in her living room, coffee cup in one hand and the newspaper sitting on her lap. She knew that Lehnsherr would be coming back at any moment. She knew this. She had done nothing to prepare herself. Moira knew absolutely that today would bring about her death. She just sighed in defeat and let the newspaper slip to the floor.
What Moira also knew was that she vowed to kill Lehnsherr when he found out the truth, but in reality, Moira was not a murderer - it just was not in her heart. She knew that Lehnsherr would be angry, angry with himself and angry with her. And in his anger, Lehnsherr would probably go ahead and kill her. But Moira knew…knew that she was not like him. She hoped to hurt him, to maim him, to at least make him think twice about humans. But she knew, oh, how she knew, that ultimately, Moira MacTaggert will pay the ultimate price – one way or the another.
So, it was no surprise to her that Lehnsherr let himself into her apartment later that night. No, he burst into her apartment. Her glasses, perched on her nose, had told her that he was coming when the screws popped out releasing the lenses and rendering them useless. Moira took off the frames and laid them off to the side. She sighed and made no attempt to clean up.
Or more precisely to sober up; Moira was on her fourth glass of wine.
Her door was flung open and Lehnsherr had that murderous look on his face again. He spotted her sitting on the couch, quite drunk but before he can say anything, Moira offered him a glass.
"Glass of wine, Erik," she slurred at him, all thoughts of self-preservation went out the window earlier that morning. Moira knew that if had been tracking, (No, stalking.) the people who had taken his childhood away from him, what made her think that Erik Lehnsherr wouldn't do the same with her?
Moira would never be safe anywhere.
Erik's eyebrows went up in amazement. "No, thank you," he said. He took in her pink face, her slurred speech, her sloppy dress. Far, far from the put together woman he met not so long ago. "Why are you drunk? Aren't you prepared to kill me?" He sneered the last sentence hoping to provoke her.
Erik knew that he didn't deserve Charles. Not after what he saw, not after what was confirmed in front of his eyes. Love had never crossed Erik Lehnsherr's mind, not after Shaw had killed his mother in front of him. Not after all that he had been through at the hands of that monster. So, when confronted with the knowledge that he had hurt Charles, perhaps the only other person that Erik Lehnsherr had ever loved…well, his guilt was all consuming.
Moira did not rise to the bait. "Oh, come now. We both knew that I was right. And we both knew that I could never kill you out right. I am no match for you power," Moira said leveling him with a searing gaze.
Erik blinked, not knowing what to say to Moira's statement. He felt so emotionally hollowed out after confirming what Moira said to him that he did not know how to respond to a drunk, depressed, downtrodden Moira MacTaggert. He almost wanted to hit her to have her respond in any other way than in this sad and depressing state. But Erik was at a loss. He ran a hand through his hair and sat down not too far from her.
Now it was Moira's turn to blink. She had not expected this. Honestly, Moira had expected Erik to just murder her without a second thought in a fit of rage once he saw what the bullet had done to him. To see him this...distraught was new to her. She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if it were some sort of trick.
"No tricks," Erik said stiffly. "I would expect you to know me at least well enough to know that I would play no tricks." (But honestly, how could she? All my time was spent in Charles' company.)
Moira nodded slowly. This was not right. She wasn't supposed to be mourning the loss of her best friend (really, her only friend) in Charles Xavier - especially not when he had wiped the location of his mansion from her mind; she wasn't supposed to be drunk while Erik Lehnsherr was in the room with her and she certainly wasn't supposed to be chatting (almost) amiably with him. Her whole world view had shifted and she found herself almost feeling sorry for the bastard. Moira frowned at him and shook her head, trying to clear it of the gathering cobwebs. Abruptly, she stood and went to her bathroom to splash water on her face.
Moira stared at herself in the mirror. She could feel the cold water dripping from her face as she stared hard into her eyes. (This is not how its supposed to work. I made a vow to kill him. And yet, here I am, wallowing in self-pity waiting for that fucking bastard to kill me. What's wrong with you MacTaggert?)
Erik was just as confused as Moira was. He almost felt sorry for her. It was obvious to him that she carried a torch for their mutual telepath and it was not by her design that she was back here in Virginia while Charles was in Westchester. (Did they have words? Did he push her out of his life? What did she do?) Now, it was Erik's turn to frown. He shouldn't have been sympathizing with this woman, with this (mundane, human) woman. She had no special talent - except for being incredibly intelligent - and therefore did not deserve someone as special as Charles Xavier.
(But then again neither do I.)
During this mental monologue with himself, Moira came back to the room and stood staring at the man sitting on her couch. He caught her looking at him and stood up giving her back that same steely eyed stare that she was giving him.
She was unreadable.
Erik felt his back stiffen.
The air in the room suddenly became electrified as they mentally dared each other to say something – anything.
"Now what," Moria asked tersely. She had finally sobered up enough and was itching for some sort of battle. (Completely out of character, she thought bitterly, but if I'm going to fucking die, then I might as well.) Moira wanted badly to hit him.
"The last time we...talked, you said that you would kill me if you were right," Erik gritted out. He saw the change come over Moira and wondered what she told herself while in the bathroom. She looked sober enough now and Erik wanted, no needed to take his frustrations out on somebody.
Moria was just the perfect person to take out said frustrations.
Moira decided to shoot the first volley. "Did killing Shaw finally bring you some sort of resolution?"
Erik stared her down. "Are you really this stupid all the time?" (Oh, this was going to be fun.)
"Why did you leave him on the beach?" Moira sighed, feeling the frustration begin to swell.
Erik smiled his shark-like smile. "I was planning on taking him with me. He didn't want to go."
"He's smarter than you," Moira retorted.
"Apparently, he's smarter than the both of us," Erik shot back. "Why were you stupid enough to shoot at me?"
Moira's forehead wrinkled and said the only thing that came to mind. "If you loved Charles at all, you'd answer my questions."
Erik stopped smiling. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Moira was itching to strike, but she had nothing on her except for her fists and her wits. Erik felt his anger begin to rise. The metal in the room began to vibrate ever so slightly.
"You should never speak of my love for Charles Xavier again," Erik finally said. (How stupid can she be?) "You have no right."
"No right? Are you fucking kidding me? I have no right?" Moira began to yell and in her anger stepped closer to the German. "You," Moira said emphasizing with a finger to his chest, "have no right to tell me that I have no right, you fucking lunatic." Moira knew she had stepped into dangerous territory, but she did not care anymore.
"Don't touch me," Erik said dangerously low, eyes narrowing and focusing on Moira. Erik had taken a step closer to Moira. They are a breath away from each other, seething, emotionally hurting and needing to take it out on something.
Unfortunately, for them, they were the only two in the room and before they could think clearly enough to stop it, they grabbed each other in a rough and searing kiss.
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