Charles hadn't intended to be there, at least not consciously. Months it had been—Nearly a year—since his garden argument with Erik and last trip to the Nexus. For the better part of that time, he had taken great pains to place a mental emphasis on how little he cared to return, and whether due to these efforts or some cosmic understanding of his emotional fragility, he'd remained in New York. He might still be there were it not for Hank.
Clever Hank, who was now right back to being precisely the man he'd most desperately wished to be, mutation be damned.
No, Charles hadn't intended to be at the Nexus, but he had distinctly wished to be anywhere but home. To the hotel's credit, it had deposited him neatly in the bar, and as he'd rolled immediately up to one of the small tables, he'd had the ridiculous thought that perhaps this one time, he might go an evening without seeing Erik. He'd felt him, of course, an itch tugging irrepressibly at the edges of his awareness, begging—and then demanding—to be scratched.
Hand clamped over the reassuring coolness of his tumbler of whiskey, Charles held Erik's gaze for a long, tremulous moment, and then slid his attention to the leggy creature beside him. Dark hair, bright blue eyes. Not mutant, but not human— He narrowed his own eyes, the young man (woman?) affording him an imperious look—
Pyrokinesis, yes, and…
And some kind of telepath.
It hit him like a punch to the gut, the breath huffing abruptly out of him with a faint sound of disbelief. Almost immediately he twisted in his chair to motion to a passing waitress, his expression too brittle, too bright.
"Another, love," he requested with a tap of his glass. It was still nearly full.
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Date: 2014-10-02 04:23 am (UTC)Clever Hank, who was now right back to being precisely the man he'd most desperately wished to be, mutation be damned.
No, Charles hadn't intended to be at the Nexus, but he had distinctly wished to be anywhere but home. To the hotel's credit, it had deposited him neatly in the bar, and as he'd rolled immediately up to one of the small tables, he'd had the ridiculous thought that perhaps this one time, he might go an evening without seeing Erik. He'd felt him, of course, an itch tugging irrepressibly at the edges of his awareness, begging—and then demanding—to be scratched.
Hand clamped over the reassuring coolness of his tumbler of whiskey, Charles held Erik's gaze for a long, tremulous moment, and then slid his attention to the leggy creature beside him. Dark hair, bright blue eyes. Not mutant, but not human— He narrowed his own eyes, the young man (woman?) affording him an imperious look—
Pyrokinesis, yes, and…
And some kind of telepath.
It hit him like a punch to the gut, the breath huffing abruptly out of him with a faint sound of disbelief. Almost immediately he twisted in his chair to motion to a passing waitress, his expression too brittle, too bright.
"Another, love," he requested with a tap of his glass. It was still nearly full.