Still, there was something soothing about hearing the throaty whine of the diesel engines as the boat cut through the water, in feeling the vibrations humming beneath his feet. And just knowing that he was surrounded by tons of malleable steel settled him as nothing else could. He could take full control of this ship if needed. He watched the Nazi coin in idle curiosity as it flitted through the air, spinning in perfect silver arcs, a reminder and a promise of the debt he still owed. He may have failed tonight, but it wouldn't happen again. The coin dropped to his palm at the knock on the door, the sound echoing loudly in the small room. Erik pocketed it as he stood, its weight a comforting presence. He couldn't say he was entirely surprised at his visitor. Charles Xavier, all cleaned up and dried off, with his too-bright eyes and his over-bright smile, wearing a ridiculous-looking, lived-in navy cardigan sweater over dark grey slacks and a crisp-white shirt that fit his slight frame to perfection. He looked very lord of the manor. Erik thought idly that Charles probably owned a pipe, as well. The look was quite the contrast from Erik's own black jeans and black t-shirt, but Erik figured taste in clothing was only one of the many ways he and Charles were complete opposites. "Charles," Erik acknowledged, leaning against the door. "What brings you to my humble abode?" In a rather uncharacteristic-looking move, Charles shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Then he held up a wooden box, bright smile turning sheepish, like he was asking a favor and would be forever in Erik's debt if he said yes. Erik wasn't used to anyone owing him, let alone someone he barely knew. (And they were still strangers, even after spending the last several hours together with the CIA operatives, poring over every detail of what had happened earlier.) "I...well, I figured I might not be the only person having trouble getting to sleep after...everything," Charles said. "So, I was hoping perhaps you might care to join me in a game of chess." Even Charles' voice was worlds away from Erik's own clipped speech – soft, with rounded vowels and lilting consonants. It brought to mind rolling, lushly green hills and leisure hours in smoky gentlemen's clubs spent in the pursuit of higher aesthetics and philosophy. Erik was sure that Charles had lifelong memberships at more than a few of those clubs – clubs that would never admit someone like Erik. No, he and Charles Xavier were so far apart they may as well not reside on the same plane of existence. Yet, it didn't stop Erik from stepping back to allow Charles inside the sparsely furnished room. "I take it your sister wasn't up to keeping you company?" Raven, she'd told him when she'd introduced herself, and after seeing a small demonstration of her true form, Erik rather thought the name suited her. Dark and mysterious and otherworldly, like something out of the old folklore tales his mother used to tell him when he was a little boy. He wondered if either Raven or Charles had any idea what a rare and powerful jewel she really was. Charles' gaze flickered from the neatly made bed to the lone chair sitting next to a wooden foot locker. Erik couldn't say he was surprised when Charles chose the chair. "Raven's got a clever mind, to be sure," Charles said, conversationally, as he unfolded the board on the locker and started setting up the pieces, "but she hasn't got a true gift for strategy." His gaze flickered up, locked on Erik with unerring accuracy, like he could see right into Erik's very core. "Something I imagine you're rather good at." "Well, you'd know," Erik replied in a mild tone, as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He could still remember the cold shock of hearing Charles' voice in his head, the chaotic swirl of emotions as his every memory and thought were laid bare for Charles to pick apart at will. The mere idea of a being powerful enough to steal another's thoughts and self-control, of all of that raw power, all of that potential to influence minds, housed in an innocuous-looking man with a disarming smile and kind eyes was the richest sort of irony. Erik wondered how Charles was still remotely sane. "I explained about that," Charles said, and, to his credit, managed to sound genuinely contrite. "I'll let you open the match as penance, how's that?" "Acceptable." Erik steepled his fingers together as he studied the board and the untouched pieces. So many choices, so many moves he could make, so many attacks...right now, the possibilities were endless. And, if he was entirely honest with himself, he was more than a little curious to see how Charles played. Would he be full of brash, reckless moves like the person who'd leapt from a ship into freezing waters to rescue a total stranger, or would his every move be calculated and studied, backed by the certainty of his superiority and intellect as befitted a man of his upper-class upbringing? Schmidt - Shaw, he reminded himself forcefully – had been a very deliberate and ruthless player, if somewhat unimaginative. (He was also the worst sort of loser, but Erik had learned a valuable lesson all the same in the art of acting like he was trying to win, but also sabotaging his endgame to keep Shaw happy.) Somehow, Erik didn't think a lack of imagination – or being ungracious in defeat – would count in Charles' list of faults. "You know," Charles said, after a few moments of silence, like he was used to filling conversational voids with the sound of his own voice, "there's a new school of thought about chess openings that says the point now is not to create a powerful position from which to attack, but to create a power imbalance with the countermoves. It's quite fascinating really. For example, in the Trompowsky Attack, which is –" "Yes, I'm familiar with it," Eric interrupted impatiently. For a terrifying handful of endless seconds, Charles had sounded suspiciously like Shaw when Shaw had been in one of his educational moods. Erik unclenched his hands and took a calming breath. The skin under his tattoo itched uncomfortably, a burn that never quite went away. "Do you think me some uneducated, uncouth brute because I didn't have the luxury of a formal education? You'll have to forgive me if I was too busy spending my formative years trying to survive being a human guinea pig." Each word was bitten out, cruelly punctuated with barbs meant to dig deep under the skin. He should have known Charles would have been no different than everyone else who simply saw serial numbers and a yellow star of shame instead of a person... "Heavens no," Charles quickly replied, sounding equal parts horrified and appalled. "On the contrary, I think you're a brilliant man, Erik. Honestly brilliant. I was merely..." his voice stumbled – the sound of a man rarely at a loss for words – then continued, "I was simply trying to spark a conversation." "And what use would that be? You've already been inside my mind." "Yes, yes," Charles bit out, no longer sounding calm and professional. Irrationally, Erik found his estimation of Charles increasing at the sight of him looking so agitated. "I've been inside your mind," Charles continued, "but I don't know you. Your memories, your thoughts, yes, but not how it all ties together as a whole. I know conclusions, but not the steps, and if there's one thing I've learned in all of my years of research, it's that the journey is the best part of the discovery process, not the discovery itself. I want to know your journey." It suddenly struck Erik that Charles was just as lonely as he was, and that was why Charles had sought him out for company. Oh, certainly, Charles had Raven, but how hard must it be to maintain any sort of meaningful friendship with someone who had the potential inside them to discern your every stray thought? In knowing that there would always be an imbalance, that you'd always have to be on your guard mentally? Erik could easily imagine that Charles, for all his warmth and friendliness, tended to drive people away from him rather than towards him. "I'll make you a deal," he finally said, staring hard into Charles' guileless, blue eyes (a color that would have been the prize of many of the Nazi scientists at the camps) as he leaned forward. "We'll play – and no cheating or looking into my mind –" "– I wouldn't –" Erik cut off the protest with a wave of his hand. "Yes, you would. You'd ask forgiveness after, but you would. However, if you give your word, I'll believe it. You seem like the honorable sort." "Thank you, I think," Charles answered, furrowing his brows in suspicion. "It wasn't a compliment." The corners of Charles' lips lifted slightly. "Nevertheless, thank you. And you have my word I won't look into your mind without permission." It was a neatly phrased loophole, but Erik didn't mind. At least this way, Charles was giving him the illusion of control, and he knew better than most how important those illusions were. "Agreed. And while we play, you'll tell me one truth about you for every move you make." "Why on earth would you want me to do that?" "I'm told that's what people do when they want to get to know each other – they talk about themselves." He was certain he had to look as smug as he felt at besting Charles at his own verbal game. "And since you already know so much about me..." "I just told that it's not what you –" Erik held up a hand to stop the latest objection. "Yes, you did. Now, do you agree to my terms?" For some unfathomable reason, he found himself holding his breath. "I suppose I haven't got a choice," Charles answered, with a graceful shrug of his shoulders. "But I expect you to reciprocate with your own truths." "And you'll know if I'm lying, I suppose?" Charles' smile was as brilliant as a burst of sunlight from behind a cover of clouds. Erik wondered exactly how many people Charles had seduced with that smile, and got the uncomfortable feeling he might be next in line. The thought both concerned and intrigued him in equal measure. "Not unless you tell me," Charles answered. "I did give you my word, after all." "Perfect." Erik matched Charles' easy grin with his own, hoping it didn't look as rusty as it felt, and finally moved his pawn to D-4. "Queen's Gambit?" Charles' eyes widened in delight. "Oh, this is marvelous, I haven't encountered that opening in years. Now, let me think..." Erik couldn't resist teasing Charles just a little. "With your hands by your sides, if you please." "Of course," Charles replied, clearly distracted. Erik could practically see the wheels of that brilliant mind at work trying to think of counterattacks and moves. Eric sat back, content to wait. Patience had gotten him this far in life, and he had a feeling the rewards of practicing patience with Charles would be monumental.
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