Chapter 2. Wyoming

Charles has got to go. Somewhere, anywhere, not far, perhaps, but he can feel the pop-pop-pop of liquid-state iron bubbling through Erik far too keenly. He aches with the effort of holding back and this warm truce between them can't survive the total collapse of control that he should have known was immanent. It's been a heady two days, a constant stretch of throwing himself far wider, far further than he's used to, open to anyone and everyone but the nearest, loudest mind. His head aches with use and restraint and this feeling bubbling through Erik as he stands in front of a burbling geyser, hands clenched too tightly on the guardrail, itching to pull and shape and test, is the very last straw.

"Bathroom," he manages with a tight, almost certainly unconvincing smile if Erik's alarmed look is anything to go by. There's no more time to dawdle, not if he hopes to stave off whatever is about to happen here, so he races down the wooden boards toward the foul-smelling little shack tucked near the entrance to the visitor's trail. He's not the only human being who's experienced a relief this total here, he's certain, but lord knows he's likely the only one who has greeted the stomach-turning odor of excrement and chemicals with frank gratitude. They ground him in his own body, keep him where he is supposed to be, and the push-push-push of harried tourist thoughts shoves his mind back to its normal center of gravity. He's panting, his head hurts, but he's in control of himself.

Well. Until Erik's hand closes around his elbow. The effort required to push Erik back before Charles sees more than he's supposed to scrapes like fingernails against barked-up flesh. "My friend," and oh, he's a bit winded, "perhaps it would be best if you continued up the trail. I'll meet you back at the car." Erik's mouth pinches like he wants to press, but he's too aware that he can't voice his real question. "It's fine," Charles says, steady, hoping to convey that there's no threat to stand ready against. "I just need a few moments." He quirks his mouth up at the corner. "Too much sun, perhaps."

A frazzled-looking woman to their left nods sympathetically. "And you with no hat on." She clucks her tongue at him. "Put my boy Johnny flat on his back today. But of course I had to take the rest of them out while the hubby stays in the hotel with him." Charles makes sympathetic noises, judiciously stepping in front of Erik's incredulous stare. "I've got a pitcherful of nice cold Tang in the cooler. The rangers said it's just the thing for it, if you'd like some."

"That sounds lovely," he says with a genuine smile. "Go on, Erik," and he dares to make a shooing motion just to see the man's eyebrows climb higher. "There's no reason both of us should miss the sights."

He's not surprised that Erik goes so easily, not with metal-laced thermal features picking insistently at him from steps away. "I can't thank you enough," he says, smiling as he follows his benefactress to her car. "I suppose I wasn't expecting it to be this hot so far north."

"And you pale as anything, too, poor thing. Got a bit of Irish in you I suspect, or thereabouts."

"Thereabouts," and the smile's still tugging at his lips as she presses two Dixie cups into his hands.

"Into the shade with you, then." She shrugs, apologetic. "I've got to be keeping an eye on the kids."

"There is an awful lot of mischief to be found around here." Charles raises one paper cup in a toast. "Thanks again."

"Such a polite boy, Mr…."

"Charles. Charles Xavier."

"Well, you're welcome, Charles Xavier," and she's off with a friendly wave.

One of the picnic tables in the small copse of trees by the trailhead is, improbably, empty. The bilious smell of sulphur must be enough to put people off their picnics, and it doesn't take a person of Erik's abilities to want to stand in awe of the pyrotechnics mother earth's seen fit to strew around this place. Perhaps it's just luck. In any case, he's grateful for the seat, for the cold liquid, gritty and sweet in his mouth, a far more pleasant way to tether himself to his rather-more-mortal-than-usual coil than the rest stop, for Mrs. Cooper's kindness in seeing to a perfect stranger, her friendly, humdrum thoughts like cool water over skinned knees.

By the time Erik returns to him, burbling iron replaced with staccato bursts of excitement and a low thrum of concern, Charles feels almost himself again. "Let's stop for lunch, somewhere nice and crowded, if you don't mind. Old Faithful Lodge, perhaps." Erik nods an easy acquiescence, clearly not sure if he should speak. "And then let's get on with it, do you think?"

"All right," and the silence between then is easy now, friendly. Just this once, Charles lets himself bask in the pleasant background glow of it, of Erik. There will be time enough for restraint.

XXXXXXXX

A decent meal – "Buffalo, Charles? Really?" but of course Erik had tried it, too, stealing from the edge of the plate when he thought Charles wasn't looking – the comfortable crowding of average minds, a few hours of quiet driving and Charles is quite comfortable again, or would be if a creeping aura of curiosityworry weren't suddenly wending its way through the car. Erik is frowning at him thoughtfully. Watch the road, he wants to say. There's nobody coming and I know you could probably freeze us in midair if we tumble into a ditch, but.

There's an itchy, uncertain quality to this look that Charles can't say he much likes. It's matched by the unfamiliar tenor Erik's voice when he asks, face carefully nonchalant, "Have I been tiring you out?"

Charles smiles, shrugs, unwilling to lie directly even when the truth is so likely to be poorly received. Vagueness is his best defense.

Erik's frown sharpens, aimed now at the highway ahead of them. Charles does his best to focus his attention on the scenery – harsh but not monotonous, green plants clinging tenaciously to the curious red dirt that's already worked its way into the car somehow.

Several miles slip by in itchy silence. He's slipping, just a bit, enough to feel Erik's hands clench around the steering wheel without turning to see them. "What would it be like if I weren't?" A pause. "Tiring you out," he adds, as though Charles might have forgotten.

"It's rather hard to explain." This does nothing to smooth that sharp frown, so Charles tries a sheepish smile on for size. "I can show you, if you like." A pause. There's nothing for it, now. "Easier for you to catch me lying, that way."

And of course it's this unpleasant acknowledgement that smoothes the sharp edges of Erik's scowl. "I'd rather you told me first, if you don't mind."

Charles can feel his own smile sharpen. "A double blind?"

"Something like that," and Erik's open smile releases part of the knot of tension hovering between them.

"Well," and he's stalling, trying to put words to it – it's rather like trying to explain smell or sight. English, with all of its imprecisions, is poorly suited to the task. "When I'm not trying to hear," he inclines his head, "or not trying not to hear," and there's a real smile from Erik and his too many teeth, "there's something of a… background swirl of whatever is currently preoccupying the people I'm near. It's not always specific – moods, from some of them, colors, sentences…" He can't help but smile at the infinite mysteries of the human brain, the incredible variety even in the mundane. "Whatever is flickering at the front of their heads. It's just… to me it processes as background noise. I only get something more specific if I deliberately focus."

"And it tires you to… to tune me out." His voice isn't as harsh as Charles had expected. Well, then.

Charles shrugs, careful to keep his gaze focused on Erik. "That's part of it, yes. It's hardest when I'm… When I'm casting my mind wide, to try and hear our new friends." Erik snorts at the wording. "It's rather like trying to throw a net with a hole in it, only you've got to keep the hole in a very specific place while you do the throwing and… whatever you're trying to keep the hole over is calling to the net. Loudly." He thrusts a hand into his hair. "Oh dear. That analogy rather came apart, didn't it."

"I understood," Erik says shortly, still frowning at the road.

Honestly compels him to add, "I can always feel the fact of people's presence – even yours, my friend, I'm sorry to say. And I can hear you if you're… Let's call it shouting." Erik's eyebrows shoot upwards and Charles hastens to continue, "Which you have only done twice in my presence, when we first met and when you were lifting that file back at the compound."

Erik continues to stare fiercely at the highway ahead of them. After a while, Charles lets his eyes drift back to the passenger-side window, the soothing swirl of passing hills and fences.

The car swerves, flinging Charles into the door despite his lap belt. "I'm beginning to suspect you're doing that deliberately," Charles grouses and Erik grins at him, ratcheting the gears into park.

"Can't have you getting too comfortable." Erik takes a deep breath, smile wavering around the edges. "All right, then. Show me."

This is going to be tricky, precise… To show but not hear – he's never tried to go one way in this particular direction. He slowly extends one hand, slow enough for Erik to draw back, stop him somehow, but Erik lets two fingers rest against his temple. Charles' other hand raises to his own head and there it is, the happy hubbub of minds in the pub on the night of his thesis presentation, a cut to the more muted buzzing once he's had a bit to drink and finally – wait, no, better not to show that particular group, and the booze haze would alter the feel of it anyhow – there, a quick snatch of the group in the compound, Hank and Raven shining bright against the dull roar of agents and analysts, different and special and instantly visible.

Erik's openmouthed, eyes gone enormous, liquid and vulnerable as the day Charles first strapped on Cerebro. Somewhere along the way he's lifted his own hand to cradle Charles' against his temple. A heartbeat, two, and then, "It's like that for you all the time."

"Yes." Another heartbeat. "Well. Unless I do something about it."

Erik's jaw firms. "And when you read someone deliberately?"

Charles chooses his moment, pushes the feeling of rummaging in Agent Stevens' mind to make sure of his intentions over to Erik. Of course that makes him smile, face shifting under Charles' fingers. "I can be suspicious, too."

"It's hardly suspicion, with you," Erik purrs, slipping his hand away from Charles'.

Charles drawn his own hands into his lap, fingers knit, looking, he hopes, harmless. "And there you have it."

"Of course, that's not all you can do." Charles is sad to see the end of that open expression, even if Erik's pale eyes retain some of that shocking warmth.

"No, it's not." Erik nods – that's another discussion, best deferred. He slides the car back into drive, but Charles is watching and for once has time to brace himself against the sudden squeal of the tires.

They haven't got far before Erik's voice cuts the silence again. "You don't have to put yourself out on my account." A small, dangerous smile. "In either direction."

Much as he hates to give Erik time to reconsider… "Are you certain? It will make it much harder to send me smashing into car doors."

"Ah, you underestimate me. My friend," and the teasing purr in those r's goes a long way toward reassuring Charles into releasing the tight strings he's kept wound around his own consciousness. It feels divine.

"Thank you." The softness of his own voice feels out of place, but it calls a similarly soft set to Erik's mouth.

"Think nothing of it," he says, as though that's remotely possible.

XXXXXXXX

"Wait." Charles presses his finger harder to his temple, stretching farther than he really feels able until Erik's nothing more than a ghost presence on the very edge of his consciousness. Best to preserve distance out here in this maze of dirt roads; anyone will hear them coming across the silent miles. "Oh," he says, and Erik's eyes rake him at the surprised tone. "Oh. There's – Erik, there's a whole ranch full of them – a whole family, I think." Just a bit more… "They've been here for years. One of them – ah, it's amazing, imagine being able to divert water out here…"

"They wouldn't welcome the intrusion." It isn't a question, but Charles nods. Another bust in a long string of them. So many mutants, happily installed in the lives they've carefully built for themselves out here away from the more intrusive forms of society, none of whom would be the least bit grateful to see two strangers who can see right through them, none of whom would dream of destroying their cautiously crafted personal palaces. It's frustrating and exhilarating all at once.

"Perhaps we'd better start looking in more… populated areas."

Erik nods. "We'll find an airport tomorrow."

Charles eyes the darkening sky and doesn't bother stifling his groan. "I suppose this means more camping."

"And here I thought you were enjoying our little adventure," Erik teases, but he's staring dubiously at the ground. "But we won't be camping here."

"Dare I even ask?" The ground doesn't look comfortable, precisely, but…

"Snakes," Erik says succinctly and guns the engine. Charles suppresses his shudder, but not quickly enough to avoid Erik's snort of amusement. "Perhaps that little town back on the interstate?"

Well, it has been big enough to warrant a road sign. "Worth a try. Are you sure you don't want me to take a turn at the wheel?"

"Certain," Erik says, too quickly.

"I'm a perfectly capable driver…" Charles starts, and Erik raises a placating hand.

"I'm eager to see any signs of that," he teases warmly, "on some other day. I was under the impression that today has been… rather taxing for you."

"Better now," and Erik matches his warm smile.

"Nevertheless, you could do with some rest," and he must look rebellious because Erik adds, "and I could do with a bit of thinking."

"I see how it is," Charles grumps, but his eyes do feel heavy, stuffed in front of a mind that's been stretched taut as taffy for the better part of a week.

He must have drifted off quick as blinking – the next thing he remembers is the car rumbling to a stop in front of the Hyatville Inn, which looks more like the Hyatville Two Rooms Over A Miniscule Luncheonette. An elderly man in worn coveralls is just locking the door as they pull up. Charles stays Erik with a hand and hops out of the car. Anyone who doesn't know him might think that he's brushing his sleep-mussed hair back, but he can feel Erik' sharp eyes on the back of his head for the few seconds it takes to extract the information he needs.

"Good evening," he calls, and the man raises a friendly hand. "Perhaps you can help us. We're trying to get to Billings and…" A sheepish shrug. "I rather suspect we've taken a wrong turning somewhere. Maybe several wrong turnings."

"You're right about that, I'm afraid. You in a hurry?" Charles shakes his head and the man gestures at the rooms. "Best stay here, then, and get started in the morning. It's a long drive and easy to miss the turns in the dark."

"You're probably right," Charles sighs. "Erik?" The man shrugs peaceably and starts to climb out of the car.

"You're our only takers tonight, so you can have 'em both for the price of one." The man eases a keyring out of his pocket and peels two keys from the metal ring. "Right up those stairs, bathroom's at the end of the hall." A friendly smile. "Anybody can see you boys are beat. We'll settle up in the morning and I'll mark your map out for you, how's that."

"Perfect," Charles says, trying on his most charming smile. "Thanks."

The old man nods amiably and shuffles off down the packed dirt of Main Street, and Charles goes around to help Erik with the bags. A real bed! He pops his shoulders, imagines the way a good night's rest might ease the slow ache in his back, not to mention his head.

Erik tugs Charles' duffel out of his hands, confiscates the bottle of scotch sticking out of it. "I won't deal with you overstrained and hungover."

"Dreams," Charles protests feebly, dragging his feet up the stairs.

"I'll take my chances," Erik deadpans. "Even the mind of great Charles Xavier must need the occasional rest."

Charles is sure that he'll wonder at that later, but for now he's far from certain that he'll remember unlocking his door and falling into bed. It is just slightly possible that he's overdone it a bit.