thisavrou_log | Delia All My Life

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Delia All My Life

Who: Erik Lehnsherr and Diana Prince
When: late January
Where: Greenery
What: Erik opens up about at least one of the things that are on his mind.
Warnings: Talk of gun violence and possibly Nazis.

Erik's skill at the weekly chess games with Diana has been notably poor ever since Charles left. It's not just losing his friend that weighs on him, but also the responsibility he inherited. While he has slowly been coming to terms with that, other concerns have reasserted themselves.

Diana, of course, does not insult him by pulling her punches. So to speak. And he appreciates the brief moments where he is able to focus fully on the game and have a brief respite from the problems at hand.

This is not one of those times. The problem that weighs on him had been one he wanted to talk to Charles about, but didn't get the chance. Which makes it doubly difficult. He doesn't even focus on the board, but lets his gaze wander over the hydroponic fields, or whatever they're called. It looks like the grapes might be fruiting soon.

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Though Diana knows losing Charles had been a blow to Erik, she doesn't fully comprehend what he's going through. Partially because she doesn't know how close they were, and partially because she's never lost someone in quite this manner before. Leaving Themyscira had been a choice for her to make--neither Erik nor Charles had a say in the latter's departure. It had been so sudden, so unpredictable. But at least Charles is in their world now, presumably safe and healthy. Diana thinks, briefly, that perhaps Erik should be happy for his friend, but immediately dismisses the thought. Loss, no matter its form, is always hard to bear.

But today, his attention is somewhere else entirely. Nothing can seem to pull him away. Finally, she twines her fingers together, resting her arms on the table and leaning forward. "It's been your turn for nearly thirty seconds, Erik."

It takes a moment for Diana's words to penetrate the thick fog of doubt in his mind. "Hm? Oh. Of course." He returns his attention to the game and realizes he cannot remember what his strategy has been for the last five moves.

He moves a rook into a more defensible spot.

He wonders how much insight Diana really has to offer on this front. On the other hand, she has seen combat. They certainly had firearms on the Western Front. Though now that he thinks of it, even when she is fully armored she doesn't carry a sidearm. Perhaps she'd even be an ally.

"I've been asked to help with a building project on the station." He decides to gloss over exactly who asked, as that part isn't as important as what the project is. "A shooting range. I'll have time to do it soon, if I decide to help."

As she watches him and notices that he's completely abandoned his strategy, she decides that something is indeed wrong. Diana leans back slightly, inspecting him. If he wants to tell her about it, she believes he will. And if it's something he prefers to keep to himself, well. She might try to question him at some point, but not during their chess game.

To her relief, he opts for the former.

At first, she doesn't see why this would be such a distracting predicament. There was a shooting range on Themyscira, where all Amazons learned to use their bows. But after a split second of thought, about where they are and who populated the ship, she realizes that it wouldn't be for bows and arrows--it would be for guns. The corners of her lips turn downward. She had been to a shooting range on Thisavrou with Tex, to learn how to use a gun. She'd found it distasteful, but had decided that it would be remiss of her not to at least have perfunctory knowledge of modern weaponry. The same could be said about many people on the station. Not all of them were fighters, not all of them had powers. A weapon could be a good idea.

But his words, if I decide to help, give her pause.

"You don't want to." A simple statement, accompanied by a slight tilt of her head. An unasked question--why?

"I'm of two minds." He rubs his lower lip with the side of his finger. For all he's been thinking about it, it's hard to put into words. "Possibly three." He smiles wryly.

He sighs and leans back. "The easy thing would be to simply do it. Maintain good relations on the station. Work alongside the humans and don't buck too hard when they make requests that... touch a nerve." He frowns. The path of least resistance has never been an easy one for him. "On the other hand. I could refuse to do it. I explained some of my reasoning to Shepard, though not as well as I could. It would ruffle feathers, to say the least. Humans don't like to be reminded that we have reason not to trust them. That what is in our best interest does not overlap with theirs. Or." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I could prevent them from making it at all. And take all their firearms and melt them down. Make them into something useful. Like a giant cube."

The last option is the one he favors the most.

Knowing what Erik can do and the hardships he's suffered at the hands of the worst kind of people because of it, Diana understands his conflicting desires. He seems to have met few good people in his life--and now many of those few are gone. She laces her fingers together to make a rest for her chin as he puts forth his options, and wonders if she is the right person to guide him in this. She has her own biases, ones that align somewhat with his--but not because she fears the mortals hurting her. It's because she doesn't want them to destroy themselves. That's all she's seen their weapons do, after all.

So honestly, the third option he presents appeals to her as well, but she forces herself to look at things objectively, trying to choose her words carefully.

"You can always refuse. But you must ask yourself if doing so would truly benefit the ship. Because if you say no, someone else will say yes." There will always be someone else to encourage destructive behavior. "Many people here have no way to defend themselves besides guns, and denying them the chance to learn how to do so safely could lead to worse things in the future. And if you agree, you have leverage to set forth boundaries." And it isn't as if he wouldn't be able to tear the entire thing down in a moment, anyway. A small smile tugs at her lips as she adds, "I would avoid the last option. That one would do more than... ruffle feathers, I think."

Erik rolls his eyes. "Yes, but if they didn't have their precious guns they couldn't do anything about it." There is an edge of petulance in his voice. The humans would find another way. They always do. And the next way might not be something he can defend them from so easily. Shepard had already mentioned energy weapons. He can control where such a thing is aimed but he can't deflect a laser beam.

He's quiet as he mulls this, and his next move, over. His initial strategy has been irretrievably lost. But he might be able to pull this one out of the tailspin it's in.

"What would I do with that leverage?" The idea of helping create something he's so steadfastly opposed to rankles him. "I would be a collaborator." The worst sin. At least a believer thought they were doing what was right. A collaborator knew they weren't, and did it anyway. A collaborator could do the right thing and chose not to. The lowest of the low. Vile, disgusting, irredeemable.

Shaw was a collaborator.

Though she may be in agreement, Diana takes pause when he talks that way. Free will is one of the most important aspects of humanity, and doing anything to impede that may seem like a good idea at the time, but it will undoubtedly backfire.

As she's sure he knows, there are other ways they could fight back.

Her lips press together as she tries to think of the best way to answer. "Leverage would allow you to set terms," she finally offers. "Of what kinds of weapons, how people are to be trained, what safety measures should be in place." None of that sounds unreasonable to her, and it shouldn't to whomever had asked for his help.

He nods, exhaling softly. He had thought the same thing about terms. "I'm sick of negotiating terms that determine how likely it is that my children will survive." He's speaking metaphorically for the most part. Not all of the young mutants on the station are his biological children, but as always, they are a family. And as the oldest and most experienced by far, he is their leader. For better or worse.

But that's not the only issue. And admitting his next misgiving is embarrassing. "I'm not certain how much they'd listen to me anyway. I'm a useful handyman. Custodian. A... tool. The humans aren't interested in what I have to say when making decisions that affect the wider population." He sighs. "Like you said, this is happening whether I help or not. My opinion on the matter is moot."

Her brow furrows as she listens to him. Does he really believe that? Her experience with humans certainly hadn't been all positive, but she had never thought about whether or not they cared about what she thought. Then again, her experience was very limited. Erik's doesn't seem to be so.

A few more moments pass in silence as she makes her move, pondering her answer. "You are not just a tool," she finally says. "We are a community, human or not. We must support one another, and they must understand that." Because if they didn't... no, she won't let her thoughts stray that way. She shakes her head slightly. "Have a little faith in them, Erik. I know it's hard, with what you've been through. But deep down, mankind is rooted in a common goodness."

The fact that he's talking it over with somebody, and somebody he trusts as much as Diana, removes some of the weight. The problem isn't solved, but he's no longer running in circles in the rabbit warren of his mind. Diana falls silent as she ponders her move and the issue at hand, and he is able to take the time to try to recover some kind of strategy.

It's not looking good. But he hasn't lost yet. He takes his time to chose his next move, and to answer her question.

"There was a young girl once. She wrote a diary. She would have agreed with you." Anne Frank's diary was something Erik found himself pondering more often as he got older. He wonders if the library has a copy.

He sighs. "I haven't sought out a leadership role because I know it is... not my strong suit. Charles was always better at it." The lack of Charles is like lacking an arm. He hasn't quite figured out how to find his balance again. "That doesn't mean I will simply follow orders. There is no actual chain of command here, even if some in leadership positions are accustomed to being on the top of such things."

"At some point, we must all take up mantles we aren't ready for." As she had when she'd decided to leave Themyscira, when she'd walked alone into no-man's-land, when she'd fought Ares. All things she hadn't been ready or equipped to do, but had attempted anyway. And each had led to a failure of some kind. The pain of those failures still stings, even all these months later.

She watches him make his move, thoughts jumping around as she tries to think of how best to advise him. "Have you spoken with your charges about this?" It does concern them, after all.

Erik nods somberly. "There are mantles that I took up prematurely," he admits. "The results were disastrous." The weight of his dead brethren, so many cruelly tortured and murdered by the humans. Treated like monkeys in a lab. "It's the consequences that others will face that concern me."

He sighs and shakes his head at her question. "It seems like quite the burden to place on them." He looks over the plants in the greenery. Fledging pale green sprouts emerging from their water baths. Thriving in such a strange environment. "We were supposed to make things better for them."

The crease in her brow only deepens. Before leaving Themyscira and spending time among mortal men, she had never much considered how her actions might impact them. She had been so focused on her mission to defeat Ares that the consequences of doing so had never crossed her mind.

Steve had changed that.

Diana pauses for a short while, letting his words sink in. Every parent wants a better life for their children, and would do nearly anything to give it to them. Hippolyta had been so desperate to keep her daughter safe that she'd lied about the circumstances of her birth for thousands of years. Diana wonders if she will ever love someone so much that she would choose to do something so selfish.

"Do you think they will be safer if they don't know, if they don't have a say?" It's a question she feels he needs to answer. Ignorance can be far more dangerous than information.

Having a child is an awesome responsibility. They are so vulnerable for so long and in bringing them into the world one is making a promise. To the child and to God, to care for them. To protect them from a violent, unforgiving, chaotic world that seeks to annihilate them. To be that barrier between them and destruction until they are able to do it on their own.

He failed at this responsibility. He never had the opportunity to transition from protector to advocate. His elder children were grown when he met him. The younger never made it that far.

Diana asks a fair question, and one Erik takes time to consider. "Whatever say they might have will be misinformed. They don't know the full measure of what they're up against yet." Not to say that any of them have had it easy. But none of them really know the depraved evil humans can and will inflict on each other, let alone them.

As he ponders, she examines the board and plans out her next few moves. He's gotten back into the game, even in the midst of their heavy conversation. He's focusing on the present, not losing himself in worries of the future and tragedies of the past. It may seem a small thing, but it's essential if he's to make a practical decision.

She moves her Queen, returning her gaze to him. "I wouldn't say misinformed." It isn't quite an argument, but her tone verges on it. "They each have their own experiences, good and bad, which should not be undervalued. Their opinions matter." A beat passes, and she adds: "Do you feel it's right to make this decision without them, with as much as it will impact them?"

His eyebrow lifts and he glances up at her when she contradicts his assertion. "I wouldn't say I undervalue them," he defends himself, mild in tone and meaning.

He leans back again, thinking his words over before speaking. And also considering his next move.

"I have been witness to the full measure of humanity's evil." It's not said with mourning or boasting. It's simply a fact that he states as such. "What they are capable of. I use that to ensure that they won't ever have to know."

He advances his bishop.

Diana keeps her face a mask of practiced neutrality for a few moments to tamp her urge to give a thoughtless reply. She knows that arguing with Erik won't change his opinions, and she doesn't blame him for it. But it still doesn't sit well with her that he's prepared to speak for all of his people and leave no room for dissent. It's what her mother had done for the Amazons when Steve Trevor had washed up on their shores, what his generals had done as they prepared to sacrifice thousands of lives as they sat comfortably in their offices.

She takes a moment to breathe, moving her knight defensively.

"And what about the best parts of humanity?" It's a vague, leading question. "You must have known kindness from a human, as I'm certain the children have. Does that mean nothing?"

"The best parts," he repeats as he studies the board. Diana isn't playing her best. But neither is he, so he can't even properly take advantage of it. "I have known kindness. From my mother, my father, my uncle, my sister, my wife. All murdered by other humans." Again stating facts.

He sighs, a weariness settling over him. "Such things mean very little when humanity, as a whole, is never so motivated by kindness as they are by hatred. And there is nothing they hate more than the unknown."

To an extent, she knows he's right. Men are fearful, and often their first instinct is to destroy what scares them, to defend against it. But there have always been those who instead try to learn and connect with the unknown, and for her, that is enough. Men are inherently good--that is simply the way they were made. The cruelty in them is a lingering corruption put there by Ares that may never go away. But that doesn't mean she has to give up on them.

But they aren't dealing with all of humanity, just the population of this station. She needs to bring the conversation back to that. "Humanity as a whole is not on this station. There are what, nearly seventy people here? And how many of them are fully human?" That isn't a phrase she ever thought she would utter, but here she is. She stares at the board, keeping her tone even as she adds: "We don't even know if we will be able to return to the rest of humanity. So it may be wiser for you to focus on the people that are here right now and what you know about them, and not those that are out of our reach."

Erik captures one of her knights. "The lines are very clear, though many don't want to admit it. They may not be fully human, but most want to be. And will take the side of the oppressor if they think it'll grant them some reprieve. It won't. They always know you're not one of them, no matter how much you betray your own for them."

He frowns deeply at her other words. "Of course we're returning. Charles already left. So did Peter. At some point, so will I and so will you and we will return to our lives." He is calm but firm on this. Because he can't doubt it. Shepard told him of the scientist's experiments and they were logically sound. It is the only explanation that makes sense, and keeps him from losing his mind with grief.

Diana can already see that this line of arguing will lead nowhere. Erik has been scarred too deeply for anything she says to fundamentally change his mind. Still, she has a stubborn streak running through her that not even Hippolyta could quell. She takes his bishop. "I do not ask that you ignore your own experience," she says. "Only that you do not weigh it more heavily than those of your children. Leaving them out of this decision could damage their trust in you, even if you feel it is in their best interest."

She lets a brief silence fall as she tries to think of how to answer him. Diana is an optimistic person by nature, but the random way in which people arrive and depart doesn't give her much hope. Still, there's something in his voice--a necessary conviction, perhaps--that keeps her from saying as much. Instead, she simply hums in acknowledgement and moves another piece on the board.

"I'm not interested in their trust. Only their survival." The two were not necessarily mutually exclusive, of course. But their opinion of him as a person is immaterial so long as they are alive to have one.

They have reached the point in the conversation where there doesn't seem to be much else to say. Until he actually acts on this, one way or another. And then they could discuss what happened after that, he supposes. "Thank you. This conversation has been helpful." He glances up and smiles wryly. "I'm no longer just running in circles."

The corners of her lips are still turned downward, but all she can do is hope that he's actually heard her and hasn't just appeased her. When she looks up and sees his smile, she can't help herself, and smiles back a bit. "I really hope it was." For the sake of not only his students, but himself as well.

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Delia All My Life

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