Erik hadn't fought him for control in weeks. They'd developed a nice sort of rhythm, but this memory had him surging forward, not out of anger, but a simple desire to be more than a presence in the back of one's mind. It confused the hell out of Neil, whatever he was seeing, but to Erik it made much more sense. He said a bunch of things in French Neil failed to understand, and all he recognized was a name, repeated over and over.
Gratitude. Knowledge of that which he had been aware of, but never seen as such, and it was a foreign feeling for Erik, who had never had much of a reason to be grateful for anything. Neil let him have the memory, not entirely concerned with what it meant, not for himself-- he was still seething over the last one.