Brain
Sometimes he was very thoughtless as a boy. It drove his mother insane when he knocked a glass off the table due to inattention. Or tracked mud on her clean floors right before Shabbat. He never intended to cause problems. He just didn't think things through sometimes.
He could be very reactionary. That was another thing that drove his mama nuts. Having to stitch up a tear in his shirt because he got into another fight. Having to scrub the blood and dirt off his arms and face, and give him a long lecture because his father wasn't there to do it.
Sometimes it felt like he was just chasing blindly, thoughtlessly after Shaw. The man who had destroyed so much of his life. There was no real plan of attack. No goal after he was killed. A suicide mission.
But then he met him. Mr. Perfect. So morally upright and thoughtful, the pinnacle of pristine and theoretical morality.
He wished he could have him within minutes of them meeting. Thinking things like that around a telepath was dangerous, especially in a world where deviation was a crime. If he picked up on those thoughts it was over. He could kiss the CIA's classified files and endless funds goodbye.
But it didn't stop him when he thought he could get away with it. Late at night when he tossed and turned in the hotel room next door. Moments when he could glance across the chessboard and just feel for the first time in forever. It was thoughtless, pure emotion, like so many other things in his life.
He wondered what those rich brown curls would feel like gathered in his fist. If they were as soft as they looked. Those crimson lips that tortured him with asinine arguments and heartfelt promises.
As long as you want to stay, this can be your home.
Can I stay now? Now that I've torn us both to pieces and ruined any possibility of reconciliation? Now that I've turned your sister against you and abandoned you? Now that I've completed my mission?
He remembered pushing the coin forward into his skull. The slow and sinuous glide through his brain and out the other end. The feel of the helmet snug against his head.
Protection from the worst thing his mind could suffer from. Without the helmet he could easily take control and change his mind. But it was more complicated than that. Just like all things between them.
Even without his telepathy he could control him with a single look. A single frown or smile. A single touch to his arm or gentle exhale of his name as they sat quietly playing chess at night. The helmet was a telepathic barrier, but more importantly it was a wall to defend him from... All of him.
He should have thought it through. Maybe he would have forgiven him for taking his revenge. Maybe he would have forgiven him for thoughtlessly, carelessly deflecting her bullet into his spine. But he would never forgive him for leaving. How could he? He had turned away, without a second thought.
And now, as he lays in bed alone staring at the darkened ceiling, he wonders what Charles would have thought if he told him he loved him.
Sometimes he was very thoughtless as a boy. He supposed some things never really changed. People never really change, even when given a second chance. A second chance at having a home, a family.
But he knew whose fault it really was that everything was once again in shambles. The humans would always tear to bits everything they couldn't understand, just like in Cuba.
Erik would make sure they didn't have a second chance. And he had plenty of time to plan.