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remix_reduxTitle: The Caged Bird’s Song (The Hand in Hand Remix)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trascendenza
Summary: Things have never been simple between them.
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Charles Xavier/Erik Lensherr
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Marvel’s, not mine.
Original story: Endlösung bymusamea
Author’s Note: Thanks totinheart, the best pan-fandom beta a writer could ever hope for.
The Caged Bird’s Song (The Hand in Hand Remix)
Prisons, Charles once told you, are a state of mind, not of physical confinement.
You did know this to be true, and indulged him. His need to see your wounds healed was only matched by your need to keep them open. They were your strength, your certainty: scars that stayed red and bright, connecting you to the truth. Some things the body does not forget.
You slowly learned to unfold yourself to him, but kept these lines of blood close to your heart, and did not let him see the body emaciating in the prison of your thoughts. The scars were not only tears in flesh, or psyche: they were tears in time. You needed but probe them and you were back there, fingering the tattoo fresh on the skin inside your arm, asking the guards when you would be able to see your parents.
And again, you are in a prison, and again, he is here.
“Hello, old friend.” His face, ageless in its gentle evaluation of you, is open. With Charles, you have always felt that he is a series of layered transparencies: at any given moment, you can look through to see the core of him.
But do not look too deeply, for Charles, like your scars, will bring a flood of memories that wash the present into insignificance, and you’re curious to see what he holds close to his chest, like a talisman.
“For me?” You ask, nodding your head toward his chest; the note of haughtiness is for the guards you know are listening. They are fools. They think with their instruments and jeers they can break you, but they will never understand that most of the scars you bear are older than them: what they learned as history in school, you lived through. You will survive them, as well.
“A gift,” Charles says, his eyes uncertain as he slides it across the table, the rectangular shadow passing through the clear table and over your feet.
Your finger maps the thick black script on the cover of its own accord. The Once and Future King. These words bring their own wash of memories: London, learning English, wrapping its leatherbound weight in a gauzy paper, your small concession to the Christmas tradition. And again, leaving it on your pillow at the mansion for Charles to find that night, instead of you.
You do not need to open it to know it is the copy that has crossed the Atlantic with you. Some things the body does not forget.
“After all this time? I’d have thought if you were to repudiate me, it would be long before now.” Or has your past finally come back to haunt you? You slip in past his first layer.
A susurration brushes through your mind, and déjà vu accompanies it. You are well-versed in Charles’s non-verbal language, and this is instantly recognizable as a sound-emotion that you often inspired in him: a heavy sigh.
His silent voice becomes clearer, and the words that echo in your mind are steeped in old regret. You will always haunt me.
Look away from his sad smile. But looking away will not change how you respond to him, how the perverse pleasure at his pain gives you comfort greater than his reassurances ever did.
“I know how much it means to you,” he says aloud, reminding you of the guards, “And that they let you keep little in here.” Let me get you out of here, old friend, he adds silently, and underneath it, a tinge of worry more than a fully-formed question: do I need to get you out of here?
He doesn’t have to see Stryker’s handiwork to sense it in you; he didn’t have to read the numbers on your arm to trace the invisible network of scars with his telepathic fingers. There were times that you couldn’t abide by his unwavering understanding, and you hate yourself now for craving it.
“Reading is a way to pass the time. Time is all I have now.” But it’s a safer world with me in here, isn’t it? You’re protecting mankind. Your irony is lost in the overshadowing cloud of bitterness, like the cloying scent of chloroform that taints your memories.
His denial stirs behind your eyes.
You are a part of mankind, Erik.
Raise your head: he is translucent to you. See, and know that what you see is what you have always seen, will always see.
In the end, this will be your downfall: his love. There are many you have loved, and many more who have loved you, but his is of a singular nature.
The span of years had made little dent in the breadth or depth of the emotion, and the splintering of ideology even less so. He speaks your name, in his voice that is not a voice but a ghost of sensation, and you remember. You remember that you offered him the world and he refused you, with unforgivable tenderness.
And again, he gives you back your gifts.
“No, Charles.” Breathe in the scents blood and chloroform and see the sharp, cold glint of scalpels instead of his acceptance: it will make forgetting his warmth all the easier. You tap the book. “We are the Other. And no prison holds me.” You touch two fingers to the side of your temple. “Not here.” This is perhaps the first true thing you have told him since you drove away from the mansion under the cover of night. He nods, knowing this to be true, and indulges you.
And again, he asks permission, and again, you give it.
His fingers glide through yours effortlessly; yours slide open. No matter how often or what else you refuse him, you cannot refuse him this. Even as your lips are still warm from refusal, you cannot withdraw your mind from his, or stop your palm from lining up to his.
There are some things that the body does not want to forget.
Author:
trascendenzaSummary: Things have never been simple between them.
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Charles Xavier/Erik Lensherr
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Marvel’s, not mine.
Original story: Endlösung by
musameaAuthor’s Note: Thanks to
tinheart, the best pan-fandom beta a writer could ever hope for.The Caged Bird’s Song (The Hand in Hand Remix)
Prisons, Charles once told you, are a state of mind, not of physical confinement.
You did know this to be true, and indulged him. His need to see your wounds healed was only matched by your need to keep them open. They were your strength, your certainty: scars that stayed red and bright, connecting you to the truth. Some things the body does not forget.
You slowly learned to unfold yourself to him, but kept these lines of blood close to your heart, and did not let him see the body emaciating in the prison of your thoughts. The scars were not only tears in flesh, or psyche: they were tears in time. You needed but probe them and you were back there, fingering the tattoo fresh on the skin inside your arm, asking the guards when you would be able to see your parents.
And again, you are in a prison, and again, he is here.
“Hello, old friend.” His face, ageless in its gentle evaluation of you, is open. With Charles, you have always felt that he is a series of layered transparencies: at any given moment, you can look through to see the core of him.
But do not look too deeply, for Charles, like your scars, will bring a flood of memories that wash the present into insignificance, and you’re curious to see what he holds close to his chest, like a talisman.
“For me?” You ask, nodding your head toward his chest; the note of haughtiness is for the guards you know are listening. They are fools. They think with their instruments and jeers they can break you, but they will never understand that most of the scars you bear are older than them: what they learned as history in school, you lived through. You will survive them, as well.
“A gift,” Charles says, his eyes uncertain as he slides it across the table, the rectangular shadow passing through the clear table and over your feet.
Your finger maps the thick black script on the cover of its own accord. The Once and Future King. These words bring their own wash of memories: London, learning English, wrapping its leatherbound weight in a gauzy paper, your small concession to the Christmas tradition. And again, leaving it on your pillow at the mansion for Charles to find that night, instead of you.
You do not need to open it to know it is the copy that has crossed the Atlantic with you. Some things the body does not forget.
“After all this time? I’d have thought if you were to repudiate me, it would be long before now.” Or has your past finally come back to haunt you? You slip in past his first layer.
A susurration brushes through your mind, and déjà vu accompanies it. You are well-versed in Charles’s non-verbal language, and this is instantly recognizable as a sound-emotion that you often inspired in him: a heavy sigh.
His silent voice becomes clearer, and the words that echo in your mind are steeped in old regret. You will always haunt me.
Look away from his sad smile. But looking away will not change how you respond to him, how the perverse pleasure at his pain gives you comfort greater than his reassurances ever did.
“I know how much it means to you,” he says aloud, reminding you of the guards, “And that they let you keep little in here.” Let me get you out of here, old friend, he adds silently, and underneath it, a tinge of worry more than a fully-formed question: do I need to get you out of here?
He doesn’t have to see Stryker’s handiwork to sense it in you; he didn’t have to read the numbers on your arm to trace the invisible network of scars with his telepathic fingers. There were times that you couldn’t abide by his unwavering understanding, and you hate yourself now for craving it.
“Reading is a way to pass the time. Time is all I have now.” But it’s a safer world with me in here, isn’t it? You’re protecting mankind. Your irony is lost in the overshadowing cloud of bitterness, like the cloying scent of chloroform that taints your memories.
His denial stirs behind your eyes.
You are a part of mankind, Erik.
Raise your head: he is translucent to you. See, and know that what you see is what you have always seen, will always see.
In the end, this will be your downfall: his love. There are many you have loved, and many more who have loved you, but his is of a singular nature.
The span of years had made little dent in the breadth or depth of the emotion, and the splintering of ideology even less so. He speaks your name, in his voice that is not a voice but a ghost of sensation, and you remember. You remember that you offered him the world and he refused you, with unforgivable tenderness.
And again, he gives you back your gifts.
“No, Charles.” Breathe in the scents blood and chloroform and see the sharp, cold glint of scalpels instead of his acceptance: it will make forgetting his warmth all the easier. You tap the book. “We are the Other. And no prison holds me.” You touch two fingers to the side of your temple. “Not here.” This is perhaps the first true thing you have told him since you drove away from the mansion under the cover of night. He nods, knowing this to be true, and indulges you.
And again, he asks permission, and again, you give it.
His fingers glide through yours effortlessly; yours slide open. No matter how often or what else you refuse him, you cannot refuse him this. Even as your lips are still warm from refusal, you cannot withdraw your mind from his, or stop your palm from lining up to his.
There are some things that the body does not want to forget.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-22 07:00 pm (UTC)I love this look at their relationship, the book as a sort of signifier of everything that's gone between them, all the ways they communicate without really getting through to eachother.
Wonderful story!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 08:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-22 07:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 08:20 pm (UTC)Exactly, exactly. So hard to see, but also impossible to miss the deep underlying love.
Thanks for the comment!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-22 08:01 pm (UTC)Once and Future King mentions are also fabulous.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 08:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-23 01:21 am (UTC)I love that you retain their conflict -- the way Erik is unyielding and Charles is ever hopeful. And yet there's a touch of vulnerability here, too, that Erik's willing to let Charles see him. Love the repetition of certain key phrases and your reinterpretation of them.
Mmm, I really like this purely as a remix, too. The easiest route with that story would've been to write it from Charles's perspective, but I really like that you chose to do this, retell it from Erik's POV and pick out the one thing -- their love -- that is truly important.
Thank you so much for writing this story in such a compassionate and lyrical way!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 08:25 pm (UTC)Speaking of which: Endlösung is an incredible, incredible Erik piece. I started reading it purely to browse for stories I'd have the knowledge to remix, but was quickly drawn in to the amazing portrait you painted of Erik.
I really can't tell you how happy I am that you like this :) Thank you so much for the kind words!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-30 04:33 am (UTC)And thank you so much for your comments regarding "Endlösung"! That fic is still really close to my heart, so I'm glad you liked it and really glad you treated its subject matter so respectfully in this remix. Thank you so much for writing!!!
(Would you mind if I friend you? You have a gorgeous writing style, a quick browse of your journal showed me that we share some fandoms [Good Omens, for one :)], and anyone who has a T.S. Eliot icon is Good People in my book!)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-30 06:25 am (UTC)And I wish I were better at leaving reviews via e-mail, but I fear that LJ has spoiled me, so you'll probably never get the review that you deserve for it, but suffice it to say that it was an honor to remix :) (And it'll appear in my recs community when I get that up and running again—I just discovered del.icio.us so I've been remaking the whole thing over to synch them up, heh.)
And I friended you; always happy to add a great writer to my flist :) Yay for Good Omens and T.S. Eliot!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-23 01:49 am (UTC)In the end, this will be your downfall: his love.
This line killed me dead. Just so you know.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 08:26 pm (UTC)And you so win the prize for spotting the line the pivotal line of this piece! i.e.--the one that inspired me to write the whole thing and still remains my favorite. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-23 03:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 08:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-23 02:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 08:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-25 02:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 08:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 04:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-29 08:30 pm (UTC)Oh, thank you! That's exactly what I was hoping would come through so I can't tell you how happy I am that it did :)