Erik wasn’t particularly picky about where he drank - as long as it was (mostly) clean and served something decent, hard liquor or otherwise, and he wouldn’t be hassled, well, that was fine with him. He liked the tavern at the Crossed Quills, with its medieval vibe - trestle boards, casks, warm and buttery light, fire. Lanterns hanging from the ceilings and lit with flickering flames, hurricane glasses. Wooden benches at tables, a splinter up the ass. All those really authentic touches.
He didn’t mind dingy or smoke-wafted either, or a place that smelled like sweat and dusty hijinks - but when he found Galahd, he thought that would do just fine. Maybe he couldn’t enjoy a bottle of tequila to himself, but he really wasn’t going for that anyway. Mostly just a numbing of the senses, a little, and a tingling of the nerves.
And a bourbon, neat, which was what he ordered - he thought he might actually sit at the bar, rather than retreat to a corner somewhere like the loner he was (besides Brigitte, he really hadn’t tried to make a ton of friends, though he hadn’t been here very long and the idea of making friends was odd anyway) but then decided not to. The seat near him was empty, but he asked the woman next to him, “Is this taken?” since, well, maybe she was waiting for someone. It seemed the polite thing to do.
Rogue wasn’t one to head out to a bar often. Most of her nights were taken up with bedtime stories with her daughter and checking in to see how Ochaco’s day had gone. But occasionally she did like to get out and Galahd’s was the place she’d frequent the most. It helped that Nyx owned the place and occasionally the live music was pretty good. The bartenders knew their drinks and her usual order--whiskey, neat--so the urge to go somewhere else was low.
She had expected to be asked about the chair at some point during the night, ones at the bar were high real estate, but Rogue hadn’t expected the familiar voice to be the one asking it. The last time she’d heard a version of it he’d been telling her he was going to pick up toothpaste on his way back from Tumbleweed’s version of Genosha before just being gone. Had to love the randomness of TPTB.
“You’re free to have it, Erik,” she raised her glass to him, indicating that he could sit before taking a sip of it, enjoying the slight burn.
She knew his name, that was - surprising. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. A lot of people seemed to know him, or a version of him (older, apparently - and in danger of having an itch to take over the world? As if he would ever want to do that) and it was strange but could be worse. If he thought about it for too long he might get lost too far down that rabbit hole, though - best to just remember who he was, or try to.
Still, she knew his name and he actually recognized her too - the pictures on the network were small, and he didn’t want to spend eons squinting at everyone’s to match faces to names, but regardless. He did recognize her. “Rogue, right?” he said, taking the seat beside her. “Formerly a Darkhölme. That’s a story I still would like to hear.” His blue jean gaze shifted toward her, and he sipped his drink - his was bourbon, hers was whiskey. Similar enough tastes, which he also found interesting.
“It ain’t the most interestin’ story.” That was a lie but that very early Catholic upbringing by her aunt and then Kurt’s influence had her occasionally trying to be modest. “Mama found me wanderin’ the woods when I was eight down in Mississippi and took me in with her partner at the time, Irene Adler. Destiny. I don’t think y’all got her in your world.” At least Rogue had never heard her be brought up before. “I didn’t have my powers yet, but I knew they were mutants pretty quickly and Irene knew I’d be gettin’ some abilities that would be useful to them later on.”
Rogue swirled the liquid around in the glass as she turned a little on the stool to look at him better. “They raised me as their own. Learned a lil too much about poisons, breakin’ and enterin’ and a myriad of other illegal activities before I got my powers. Eventually Raven started up her own version of the Brotherhood because she always thought Magneto was a ‘melancholic megalomaniac’--her words, not mine--and brought me into it. There was an incident when I was seventeen that had me leavin’ and goin’ to Charles for help and joinin’ up with the X-Men.”
She shrugged her shoulders, setting the glass back down on the bar’s counter, watching his reactions and waiting to see if there would be any follow-up questions.. “She was pissed. Tried to kill him. Eventually realized it was best for me to stay there with them and occasionally likes to pop back around to try and manipulate everyone and anyone.”
Melancholic megalomaniac. What a choice phrase - he wasn’t certain whether he ought to be offended or amused; he settled for dryly amused, since he was only going off of what other people said about his other self. They didn’t know him. Not here, anyway.
Still, it was strangely fascinating to hear all this about Raven, the tales a trainwreck he couldn’t pull away from. For him, there had been a point in time where she’d been elevated as some kind of hero, whereas Erik was viewed as everything to despise about mutantkind - he’d backed off from being Magneto, taken time to retreat and recalibrate and that didn’t end well either; ultimately, he started Genosha but he had a feeling that the Raven whom Rogue spoke of would have been shocked at being viewed as some kind of mutant liberator, in Erik’s world.
“Not that interesting,” he teased lightly, sipping on his drink. Because of course that had been a lie. Then he grew a bit more somber. “Well. The Raven I knew was much different, as you know. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with Jean Grey, but - there was a situation when she wasn’t entirely herself. There was a lot of damage caused. Raven tried to calm her down. It didn’t end well.”
He missed her, thought of her often. Erik had been the first person to really accept her as who she was, and they had something of a bond - it wasn’t really romantic, but he loved her in his own way.
Didn’t end well. Rogue had a feeling that was code for Raven had died but she wasn’t going to press the issue. “I know Jean. I’m gonna guess if there was a lot of damage that the Phoenix force was involved. Seems she can’t get a break from it in any universe.” Like a moth to a flame, that damn thing always seemed to seek her out, and ruin her life.
“I met her once when we were on the island. Raven from your world. As well as the Charles from yours too. Charles was similar to the one I knew, but he had hair and that was just never gonna not be weird.” She knew he lost it at some point as well, but still seeing him rolling around in that wheelchair with a headful of hair had been a sight for all of the X-Men from her world. “He ain’t had hair since his powers started in mine.”
She raised her hand to get the bartender’s attention, indicating she wanted a refill. “How are ya settlin’ in?”
It was a bit jarring to think of Raven, and Charles for that matter, showing up in other places, other worlds, and Erik having no idea. After all, it wasn’t as if they’d remembered - or said anything. How that all worked, he didn’t know - and parsing it out was likely a very difficult task. No one seemed to have the answers, about comings and goings.
“The Phoenix force, yes,” he confirmed, glass twisting ‘round and ‘round in scarred hands. “It was a debacle. And Charles hated losing his hair - “ Though that thought caused a smirk to bloom on Erik’s face, “...he’s quite vain. But rest assured, he’s fully bald now.” After that failed body transfer process with En Sabah Nur (or Apocalypse, as he was more commonly known as), it left Charles alive but without hair. Still, to have survived was the most important part. Charles could deal with being a cueball.
As for settling in, well, that was a question. “I’ve found work, at least,” he said. “At the smithy, in the forest village. It keeps me busy. Other than that, it’s been - fine, I suppose.” He had little choice about sticking around, therefore, he remained neutral about his circumstances.
Rogue grinned, clearly picturing how that version of Charles would no doubt have moped about his loss of hair. He had been pretty vain about the lot of it. Though he’d had some nice hair so she couldn’t really blame him for missing it. It didn’t surprise her that Erik was merely fine either. Considering everything that was a far better outcome than railing against the nothingness that had brought them all there. At least a job meant some sort of purpose.
“Work at least helps break up the day and the week,” she told him, noting that the tray of fries she’d ordered were finally ready. The bartender waved toward them, letting her know she could go about her usual way of retrieving them. She didn’t even think about it, utilizing her control over metal to float it over to her. “The smithy is the one who does all them real neat swords, right? Brigitte?” Rogue was fairly certain that was the right one.
“That’s her - “ Erik blinked then, attention shifted to the way the basket of fries just floated over to them. It wasn’t particularly unusual, really, when he thought about it - he’d noticed that being on an island with people who came from different worlds meant that there were all sorts of different skillsets; even the island itself was magic, though he didn’t claim to understand it. Magic didn’t exist where he came from - what he could do, what others could do, it wasn’t magic.
He turned on the barstool, all interest and rapt attention, knees accidentally knocking against Rogue’s, but he had long limbs so it couldn’t be helped. Though he’d try not to be too overzealous. “What is it that you can do, exactly? You mentioned your powers...”
It could be telekinesis. He’d never met anyone who could do what he could do, control metal - not in the same way, really. Other mutants, yes, but none with his same abilities.
Oh. Right. “Absorption. If I touch someone I can get their thoughts, memories, powers, skillsets--don’t matter if they’re mutant or not. Whatever they have will become mine. Usually temporarily, but there’s a few that I’ve got permanently now.” Or until her body decided to go through some other kind of reset. Then there were all of the mutants she’d absorbed while she’d been Reaper in Moira’s twisted version of their reality, but that seemed like a can of worms better left closed.
She snagged one of the fries to bite into, scooting back in the stool so she could give him a little more room. “The Erik from my world had me usin’ his enough before I headed off on my first foray into this different world insanity that its stuck around. Also got some healin’, though not to the degree Logan usually offers up.”
Erik’s brow furrowed - he had grudgingly sort of accepted that there were other versions of himself, in other worlds, and that many people had met him in the past despite the fact that he had no idea who they were. But he knew himself - he wouldn’t let just anyone use his power, not to the point where they could be retaining it permanently.
He wasn’t generous in that sort of way. There were a lot of things, powers included, that he kept close to his chest. He wasn’t open with a lot of people. It wasn’t like he wanted the world to be terrified of him, or impressed by what he could do, but if he was going to get to the heart of himself it had to be around someone he trusted enough to share things with. To see him in a gentler light.
“You were close?” he surmised, then took another sip of his drink, tasting smoke and bitterness. “I’m sorry I’m...different. Not the one you would want to see.”
What was it that he had used to tell her? Kindred spirits. But that had been a long time ago and he’d killed Zaladane without hesitation, putting barriers between them that never stayed down for too long, even when they had finally tried out a relationship on Utopia. Not to mention he was wrong. It had never been the one from her world she longed to see again, but the one sitting in front of her. She’d just hoped he’d have his memories of them being a family when he’d returned, but fate never did seem to work in her favor.
“I made my peace with him a long time ago, hon,” Rogue murmured, before taking another sip of her drink. “We were...friends.” It was as good a description as any. No version of Erik Lehnsherr that she’d met so far allowed many to get close to him.
“I’ve actually met you three times now.” Technically four if she counted him as well.
“Three times?” Erik repeated, obviously quite impressed - or horrified, not sure which one. He wasn’t horrified for himself, but for her - it had to be disappointing, to be taken away or have someone else you were close to (friends with?) taken away suddenly. It made the idea of getting close to people here more precarious.
But he was sadly accustomed to losing people. To being alone. He’d spent ten years in solitary confinement, he’d questioned whether he could be a good leader, or a good liberator, then decided that he could do neither and tried to live a normal life - but normal was relative, and there were days he felt like he was just a monster in a person-shaped suit anyway.
Still, even he wasn’t so pessimistic as to brush off the fact that three times was...quite a bit. “And you don’t think it’s fate?” he asked, with a wry little smile partially hidden by his glass.
In Rogue’s opinion fate was an asshole. One that if it ever manifested in physical form she really wanted to be able to punch in the face at least once. Especially whichever version of it took control of these different worlds because it kept on doing this to her. She was a big girl, she could handle the getting to know you phase that seemed to randomly happen between them each and every time. But it wasn’t fair to the little girl who was tucked soundly asleep in her bedroom back at her apartment. She didn’t deserve the heartache that came about every time.
That wasn’t the fault of the man in front of her though. It wasn’t’ anyone’s fault really, simply how these worlds seemed to work, whether they liked it or not. All any of them could do was roll which the punches, which was something she honestly hated doing, having been at the whims of Destiny’s prophecies far too often, but they all found their ways to cope.
“It’s somethin’ alright but I ain’t sure I’d call it fate,” she told him, offering up her own smile before she snagged another fry. “Dunno what I’d call it instead of that though either.”
Erik also wasn’t really sure what to call it - he probably wouldn’t have gone with fate himself, but he was at a loss for other terms. “Something you just can’t escape, perhaps?” he suggested. “Something that’s always been there. That will always be there.”
No matter what, life carried on. And everything came from somewhere - he was still somewhat the same Erik others had known, to some degree.
There were a lot of things he might be, stupid wasn’t one of them. He could tell that this wasn’t your typical ‘we met three times, I just vaguely knew you though’ sort of deal. They’d been close, hadn’t they? If another version of himself was willing to share his magnetism, then surely other Erik Lehnsherrs could find it in themselves to get close to this woman, with her green eyes and buttery accent that wormed its way through aural senses like molasses.
“You must know everything about me,” he guessed. “I’d like to even the score a little.”
He wasn’t exactly wrong. She did know pretty much everything about the man up to a certain point. This version was older than the last she’d known. Jean hadn’t encountered the phoenix force yet as far as Rogue was aware and Mystique had been very much alive as well. She wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed for him, but from what she could see there seemed to be an almost peace to this one that had been missing from the others. Which wasn’t too surprising considering the last time he’d blipped back into her life, Nina and Magda had been dead for only a few months.
“I reckon you could say that. As much as you allow anyone to get to know you anyway,” she told him, her smile softening. They all kept pieces of themselves hidden to a degree, not wanting to burden the other with those parts.
Rogue arched a brow, almost hating how easily the conversation was flowing between the two. Not that she wanted it to be full of awkward silences but she was adding that to the list of reasons to kick the powers that be’s asses if she ever got the chance. “You’re gonna have to buy a refill if’n you wanna go playin’ twenty questions though.”
“I think I can handle that,” Erik replied smoothly. He fulfilled his end of the deal, asking the bartender for another drink and then another of whatever Rogue wanted. Another bourbon seemed like good medicine, charred oak and sweetness, a study in contrasts. Much like he was sometimes, probably, if you asked those who knew him best (there weren’t many who did).
Magda had known most things about him - but not everything. She never judged him, though she certainly challenged him, questioning his decisions. He wondered how much Rogue knew too - it was strange to think of, and he oddly wasn’t...angered by it. Not even close. It was actually sort of relieving, to have that in place already. To know that if he needed someone to sit and listen, it was possible she’d do that because she’d done it before. No tip-toeing around, wondering if he could be open with her.
“Something far past what your favorite color is?” he prompted. “Maybe - why you got yourself so intertwined with someone like me.” That seemed a good place to start.
She’d ordered another whiskey. It would be her last, wanting to be able to head home with a clear head when this conversation was over. Nursing a hangover with a toddler was just not something she wanted to experience. Rogue wasn’t surprised he started out with one of the harder questions, bypassing the easier ones to start out with.
“It kinda depends on the time I met you,” she told him as she leaned against the bar. She had always seen a side of him that he rarely showed to others back in her own world and in all the others she’d been to so far. Rogue had learned if you didn’t treat others as a threat or the enemy that they were more likely to open up.
“Though I reckon they all come back to the same thing,” she continued as she finished off her fries. “Ya ain’t as bad as you or others claim ya to be. You’ve done horrible things, but so has everyone I’ve ever known at this point. Talkin’ to you just seemed to make more sense than pummelin’ you as far as interactions went. And as much as ya try to isolate yourself you need contact with others as well.”
Was he as bad as he or others claimed? Well, Erik didn’t know. He knew his methods had been extreme, and he was willing to do the difficult things that no one else wanted to do, to take that on - when he’d ended up in prison, solitary, he felt as if he’d failed his brothers and sisters. Genosha was a far better outcome, but there had been quite a bit of muck and mire to wade through in order to get there.
He also isolated himself because that meant he could pretend his feelings didn’t exist - his feelings meant violence soon followed, in some form or another; after Nina and Magda had been killed, he simply accepted the overwhelming sadness and the pain, pushing all of that and other people away. Obviously it hadn’t worked with the woman sitting next to him at the bar.
“And what horrible things have you done?” was his next question, sloshing the remaining liquid in his glass.
“I took a woman’s life from her once. Not killed. That woulda been far more merciful honestly. I stripped her of everythin’ that she was, took all of her memories, her powers. She didn’t know a thing. Even after Charles helped her get those memories back she had no connections to them. It was like she was seein’ them from the outside in, no emotions connectin’ her to anyone she knew or loved.” Carol and her might have reconciled and moved on from that point, able to work together and not be sniping at one another the whole time, but the guilt would forever eat away at Rogue.
Just as it always would with Cody. He might have forgiven her and she knew his coma and eventual death hadn’t been her fault, but that knowledge did little to lessen the guilt or pain. She didn’t let it consume her like she had done before though. Doing that only ended with her inability to control her powers, with far too many cages inside of her mind, and too much compartmentalization for her to handle.
“I guess ya could add destroyin’ an entire alien races civilization but they were jerks tryin’ to kill me and the kids under my charge then so I reckon that’s only fair.”
Erik chuckled without humor, the sound rolling around in his throat. “Well, if they were jerks then, indeed, it was only fair,” he said, acknowledging that with a toast of his glass. “That - about the woman, though. The one whose life you took. Why did you do it?”
He was curious about the reasoning, though in the end - what did it matter? It had happened and they had to deal with the aftermath, the consequences and the harm it caused them both. Still, for some reason he wanted to understand. This was obviously a turning point, a milestone, in Rogue’s life - and since she knew what most of his were (he assumed), he wanted to balance the scales a little.
“Irene had a vision that Carol would end up harmin’ me and the two of them losin’ me. It sorta sent Mama into a tailspin of anger and madness. She was plannin’ different ways to try and take Carol down even if it cost her own life. I was seventeen and thought I could take on the world,” Rogue started, which considering she’d singlehandedly taken out all of the Avengers that day she sort of had.
They should have known better about Destiny’s visions, that acting rashly in regards to them never ended well, but that was a lesson they continued on learning long after the woman had died. She picked up her drink, needing the slight sting of the alcohol as it slid down her throat before continuing.
“I also didn’t want her goin’ anywhere near Carol so I took the opportunity to take her out. Only it left Carol and I both losin’ our minds in different ways and they did lose me considerin’ that’s when I went to the Professor for help.”
Understandable, but not excusable - still, she’d been a child. A scared child at that. “Was it entirely about protecting you?” Erik asked. “Because you mentioned Raven brought you into the Brotherhood. Put you in harm’s way on a regular basis, I would guess.” Not to mention the slew of illegal activities she’d learned as a girl - not that Erik was judging, but he severely doubted that the entire motivation was about protecting her.
Maybe if it was his Raven - but the other one sounded like she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body.
“Suppose it goes to show - hurt people hurt others. We have that in common,” he smiled, but it was somewhat sad, in the blue of his eyes. “Or we did. I’m attempting to reel back from that these days. Genosha was supposed to be a safe haven, free from violence or any discord beyond who was supposed to take care of which chores.”
“I honestly don’t know anymore when it comes to her.” It was difficult for Rogue to reconcile the woman who had held her through her nightmares as a child with the one who manipulated everyone--including her--on a regular basis. There were too many facets to Mystique, which was partly to blame on her powers. Rogue knew how much changing who she was throughout the years had messed with the woman’s psyche. Betsy had tried to explain it to her after she’d done whatever psychic doctoring she had to her mother.
She chose to focus on the latter part of his words though, arching a brow at the familiar name. Rogue didn’t exactly have the best memories of the one in her own world, but there were bound to be some differences to the one in his.
“You’ve created Genosha now?” That was definitely new. Hopefully it would meet the same fate that it had back in her world. Far too many mutants had died in a matter of hours because of that Sentinel attack. “And I’m knee deep in carin’ for a toddler so my time of stealin’ memories is far behind me. But whaddaya mean it used to be all that?”
“After a lot of back and forth, and the government realizing I wasn’t exactly going away - yes,” Erik said, thinking fondly of the sanctuary he’d established. “They let me set up a refuge for mutants on a little island off the eastern seaboard. I managed to wrangle some help, a couple of confidantes, and Genosha was established.”
Of course, he’d lost both Selene and Ariki during the battle on the train, with the D’Bari forces - that whole mess Jean Grey brought to their proverbial doorstep was a debacle he wanted to put far behind him. Maybe even have hope for a brighter future, if such a thing was possible.
He swallowed the rest of his drink, setting the glass back down on the bartop - having another didn’t seem to be a good idea, and he fully planned to return to his apartment and fall into something of a decent sleep. “Ah, yes, the toddler. I hope you have people to help you? Is that a family situation?” he asked, assuming that Rogue had herself a nice little unit set up.
“The one in my world was off of Africa. Less the government allowin’ it to get set up and more Erik just holdin’ the world hostage until they let him have it,” she told him, frowning slightly at the memory.
Joseph had died because of that nonsense. Sacrificed his life to ensure the magnetic poles were put back to normal. Though she’d heard rumblings that he wasn’t exactly dead later on but there wasn’t anything she could do about any of that at the moment. Hopefully there were others looking out for him back in her home world.
“Mmm,” she murmured, trying to figure out how to tackle that question. “We’ve got a few friends that we’ve made here that help me out from time to time. And thankfully the daycares here are good with kids who have powers so that wasn’t as big of a hurdle as I was anticipation’.”
And the toddler had powers too. Erik lifted an eyebrow, experiencing strange knee-jerk thoughts he should not be having, as well as a sense of curiosity.
“If you need any extra help, I’d be glad to,” he offered, finding an interesting spot on the bar to watch for the time being. It seemed easier than looking at Rogue, with her sugared absinthe eyes that probably saw past every single mask he had ever tried to construct for himself. “I - had a daughter once. I’m sure you know that. But I’m...I was good with her.”
He loved Nina more than anything, and her loss still ached - it wasn’t the type of thing he’d ‘get over’ even though years had passed. He probably never would.
“Nina.” Rogue remembered the year or so she’d gotten to know the little girl, but she wasn’t sure that bringing it up would be a good idea or not at that moment. She stared at the napkin under her glass, circling her finger along the little water ring that developed from the coolness of the drink.
She had to say something about his offer though, but she was stuck for exactly how to word why she couldn’t take him up on that. This was happening far faster than she had anticipated, maybe she could be vague enough about it so that they didn’t need to dive too deeply into everything.
“I...don’t reckon that would be a good idea. You givin’ me extra help. It would confuse her a lil too much if she saw you right now.”
“Oh.”
The response hit Erik like a cold wave to the face and he didn’t really understand - or perhaps he did, may have had an inkling, but it wasn’t something he wanted to push about or put words to, not right now. Not when he was following cues from Rogue and her body language, in reference to this topic, was as closed off as he normally was about, well, everything.
“I ought to get going,” he said, leaving some money for the drinks and a tip. He slid off the stool, resisting the urge to linger - returning to his apartment and its solitude was admittedly a bit of a depressing thought, but he probably needed the time alone anyway. “I’ll - see you soon?”
Probably. He thought they had a lot more to talk about but that could be shelved for another time.
The tension seemed to leave her as he stood, thankful that she didn’t need to go into details right then. It wasn’t the easiest conversation to have and definitely not one she wanted to do after having three drinks in her system. She wasn’t a lightweight by any means--couldn’t be with Wolverine being one of her best friends--but three was enough to make her tongue slippery, the chances of saying things she wished she hadn’t a lot higher.
“I’m sure we’ll probably run into each other again soon enough.” Because fate was an utter jerk that liked doing that to her. Case in point, the fact that this man was in front of her right now. “Thanks for the conversation, hon. I’ll see ya around.”
She turned away from him and back toward the bar, resting her face in her hands as she tried to breathe through the mixture of emotions. Maybe Zatanna was up and she could call her friend on the way home, make some sense of everything that had just happened.