If you were faced with Him in all His glory

What would you ask if you had just one question?


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IC contact: Sirenspull
- your calls are bad news
paterelohim
Uh, hi! This is Ca- I mean Chuck Shurley, just- Chuck, sorry. [Indistinct fumbling noises] Leave a message after the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks?

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[There's a faint mechanical whine and a soft thump about six inches from the base of the door. When Chuck opens it, there will be a small square roomba style robot modified to transverse stairs outside his door. On the top is a sealed legal sized manilla envelop with a red ripcord, with a note inside, and a Thermos of his 'Barbie Dream House' coffee. The note is addressed to Chuck on the outside, in elegant Hebrew, in a beautiful blue ink.

The note inside is hand printed in English in the same ink, on heavy weight ivory paper. The hand writing is simple, clean, and some how manages to look old fashioned, only his signature, such as it is, flourished. It reads:

Chuck,

Yesterday was a difficult day for all. Shikamaru was out of line, greatly so. I won't attempt to lecture you on the forces which make a young man as he is. It is simply too close to home for me to remain calm while doing do. And for that I apologize. I've been trying to remove the boy from the mess he is in, and it has taken more than I had previously believed I had in me to give to earn the small amount of trust he has in me. Maintaining an emotional even keel while dealing with those I care about who are grieving so hard is difficult for me. As is being calm when I am defending those who have been forced onto similar paths as mine. Both intersected yesterday.

I hope despite out disagreement, you know I am and shall remain someone you may call a friend.

--M
]

[He drags his ass in around two, after Elaine and Michael made him go home to get some sleep. He barely slept the night before, dozing off for maybe two hours total but mostly drinking beer and playing tic-tac-toe with Michael, who apparently had nothing better to do. Chuck hauls himself into bed and rolls out at around five, unable to sleep for too long at a time.

When he hears the thump and answers the door, he picks up the coffee first, then note, and takes a sip. Oh, it's good. It even has maple sugar in it. Then he starts reading, and actually stops in the hall outside his apartment to finish it.

Once finished with the note, Chuck looks at his apartment door and thinks better of it, making for the elevator instead. It's still in his hand when he knocks on Erik's door.]

[It takes him a few minutes to untangle himself from the wires on his desk and pad out to the front door. His hair is curled from being mused by his hands, his left eye still unnaturally blue due to the subconjunctival hemorrhage.]

Evening Chuck.

[Chuck blinks at his appearance, but holds up the paper with a Look.]

Dude. I don't trash friendships because of one bitch fight.

[He looked worse yesterday.]

You'd be surprised how many people do.

[Thoughtfully:]

Yeah, well... fuck 'em. I'm not exactly most people.

[Evenly, honestly.]

You do realize unless the Core keeps us both here for more than a decade, I'm not going to believe that right?

[Not for lack of wanting to. But he just. Can't. Take the risk.]

[And that's what makes Chuck settle back on his heels, starting to visibly close down again.]

Yep. Eeeven if I prove it.

[It's sadly really not personal.]

Everyone says that. My wife said that.

[People with PTSD aren't great at maintaining friendships either. He's trying, really. But. The other shoe has to drop at some point, doesn't it?]

You look like I should feed you.

[His wife. She sounds like a saint. Chuck glances down at himself, blinking distantly.]

Uh- yeah, I don't know. I guess I haven't really eaten today.

[He won't admit it, can't, because he gave so much to Magda, to have it spit in his face, but their marriage was doomed. And he just has never really been able to completely trust anyone since. Magda created Magneto just as much as the Holocaust did.]

Come in then. I have a chronic problem of overfilling my refrigerator.

[Tired nod.] Okay.

[He walks in, noticing the kittens without his usual smile- just a blank sip of the coffee.]

[He steers Chuck into a chair, Yali and Schrödinger trying to run after but bumping into each other and getting into a tussle match.]

Drink your coffee, I'll heat up some food.

[He lets himself be steered and sits down numbly, slowly relaxing into it.]

Okay. Sure.

[Obedient sip. The kittens eventually make their way over, and one starts climbing up his leg. His pants are corduroy, so he doesn't really feel it, but greets Yali silently once he's in his lap by letting the kitten sniff his finger. Yali headbutting his hand actually gets him to crack a smile, and by the time Magneto comes back Yali will be on his back in Chuck's lap, stretched out and purring loudly.]

[He walks back in with a plate of roast beef, a ton of vegetables, couscous, and a bowl of cranberry & pecan croissant bread pudding.]

Kitten therapy cures all ills, for a little while.

Yeah. [Softly, still gazing raptly at Yali. After a moment he tears his gaze away, eyes... widening at everything Erik's carrying.]

Wow. You weren't kidding about feeding me.

No, I wasn't. What do you want to drink?

[He puts the plate on a TV tray, so Chuck can keep Yali in his lap.]

[He pulls the tray closer with one hand and keeps petting Yali.]

Well, the coffee's good, for now. It's actually awesome.

[Because maple. Seriously. The Canadians are geniuses, he's pretty sure. Chuck starts a little when Yali takes issue with something he's doing and scratches at his wrist, but his gaze lingers on the kitten long after Yali has moved on.]

I love cats. [Of all sizes.]

I can make you more, when you want it.

[He follows the kittens with his eyes.}

So do I.

Cool, thanks.

[Taking a slow, contemplative sip.]

Damn. [Softly.] I practically needed Midol yesterday.

Welcome.

[Snort]

Jubilee has a drum in her living room. If you ever feels the need for some again

[Snort. Congrats, you broke through the lineface wall!]

Thanks. You're a pal.

Sometimes.

[Small grin.]

I don't handle grief well either.

[Rubbing his face with one hand.]

Most people don't, at first. 'Specially when the guy who broke your legs is trying to play the victim at you.

[Okay, there's some definite... twisting of how it happened in that right there. Or mostly just projection, since Chuck is 100% sure that Lucifer feels like the victim, and is making himself out to be to whoever will goddamn listen, and is probably princess-pissed that Chuck didn't sit down and listen to his feelings and bake him cookies.]

[Or feed him booze and pain pills like he did.]

If I say something you probably really don't want to hear, do you promise not to storm out?

[That is not fear you hear in his voice, Chuck, you must be mishearing.]

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