Fic: The third who walks always beside you 2/18
Title The third who walks always beside you 2/18
Fandom X-Men First Class
Pairings Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier/Gabrielle Haller, in all possible combinations.
Beta cicero_drayon
World count of chapter 6608
Word count of entire fic 94 000
Rating/warnings NC-17. Sexual situations, mental illness, professional misconduct, period homophobia, ableism and racism as well as casual misogyny, discussion of genocide and sexual abuse.
Disclaimer Marvels owns it, not I.
Summary After a chance meeting, the recently reunited mutant school-master and leader of the Brotherhood both become fascinated by Gabrielle Haller, a human who has demons of her own to fight. As Erik finds himself pulled between his mutant identity and his human heritage, Charles wrestles with his own ethical code and his attraction to his friend. The innocent distraction between the three of them rapidly grows more complicated and, ultimately, altogether more sinister.
Author's notes I’m in the middle of the last push before the end of term, just so you know that there will be a somewhat longer wait for chapter three.
13 January 1965
Charles had wondered how far the conversation would proceed before Erik stated what they both thought.
‘We were lovers once.’
It had been a chance meeting, eyes accidentally locking over the hotel restaurant. When Erik had first entered the room, Charles had not recognised him. Dressed in ordinary, human clothes, he did not stand out in the crowd more than any handsome, well-groomed man would. It had not lasted long. As soon as they caught each other’s gaze, the rest of the room seemed to recede, and single-mindedly, Erik crossed to him. He looked wearier than Charles remembered him, his temples starting to go white. Terrorism was evidently as exhausting as running a school.
They had greeted each other, Erik hesitantly and Charles stiffly, and the ensuing silence had been broken by the obvious, glaring truth.
‘Yes,’ Charles said finally and folded his hands on the table. ‘But that was rather a long time ago.’ Erik looked at him, his face unreadable. He was not wearing Shaw’s helmet, so it would have been easy to reach out and read his mind, but neither did Charles want to violate his privacy, nor did he want to know his thoughts so plainly. He sensed that they would not be to his liking.
‘It does not seem long ago to me,’ he finally said. Charles forced a smile. How easy it would be to snap at him and point out that time probably moved at a different pace for those not confined to a hospital bed for months and months. He had expected to want to do that, and try to make him feel as guilty as was humanly possible, but he had no wish to shout at the man. In fact, now he realised that he was glad to see him, but, he was certain, not quite as happy as Erik was to see him. Erik was good at hiding his feelings, but it seemed like he had momentarily lost control of his body language, because the way he leaned slightly forward and looked straight at him made it plain that this was a reunion he had hoped for a long time.
‘A lot has happened,’ Charles said, and then added: ‘To both of us.’ Not wanting to lead this discussion further, as it would inevitably end with discussing the consequences of that deflected bullet on the day on Cuba, he instead said: ‘Please, join me for some wine.’ Before Erik had time to answer, he had gestured to the waiter, who fetched an extra glass and poured the wine. As the waiter left, Erik sat down oppose him and threw Charles an amused glance.
‘How much telepathy went into that order?’
‘Only enough that he would understand what I wanted,’ he answered, unable not to answer the smile. Then once again the silence was back, and for a moment he floundered. ‘Your health,’ he said at last and raised his glass.
‘And yours,’ Erik said and mirrored it. When they put their glasses down, he cleared his throat and spoke.
‘Erik, I can’t help but wonder...’
‘...Whether I sought you out?‘ Erik suggested. Charles nodded.
‘It’s a natural thing to wonder.’
‘I suppose so, but I didn’t,’ he assured him, fingers tracing the foot of the wineglass. ‘I had thought you’d be in Westchester. What are you doing in New York?’ Charles looked away, a little embarrassed.
‘An enforced holiday,’ he explained. All that time he had spent convalescing had made him restless, and since they had opened the school, he had not had as much as a day off. By the end of last year, it had been clear it was getting to him. He had been prone to nerves when he was younger, and however much he argued that the insomnia and the black moods were just part of it, Hank had told him that he would end up damaging either his heart or his mental balance if he did not take some time off. Not willing to give Erik all that information, he simply said:
‘The others thought I was getting a little overworked.’
‘So where are they?’ Erik asked, looking around as if expecting Beast to bound out from behind one of the pillars and try to choke him.
‘Oh, in Westchester,’ Charles said. ‘Alex drove me up, and the plan is that Sean will come up to join me after the weekend.’ Erik raised an entertained eyebrow at that.
‘Sean?’ he repeated. ‘Not the most stimulating company.’
‘Sean is very pleasant,’ Charles answered, and Erik chuckled at his defensive tone. ‘Well, Hank is in charge of the school while I’m gone, and Alex doesn’t like New York, so it had to be Sean. It had to be someone, they thought. They didn’t even like the idea of me being on my own even for these few days.’
‘I see,’ Erik said, still looking entertained. ‘They’re a protective bunch.’
‘Well, certainly,’ Charles said, suddenly imagining what they would say if they knew that he was having wine with someone who had been their enemy the past few years. ‘What are you doing here?’
Erik shifted in his chair, suddenly growing reserved.
‘Information-gathering.’
‘On your own?’ Charles asked. Now that he had stated his purpose, he wanted to hear Erik’s.
‘The others are in New York too, but at different hotels,’ he answered. ‘So as to not draw attention to ourselves. In fact, I’m just about to go and liaise with them.’ He emptied his glass and stood. ‘But we must...’ He paused, looking for the appropriate English phrase. The one he settled on sounded odd in his mouth. ‘...catch up. Are you free for dinner tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ Charles said, failing to hide his surprise at the invitation.
‘Good,’ Erik said and grinned. ‘Eight o’clock, at Sibell’s - it’s just down the street. A rather nice fish restaurant. You’ll like it. Dress for dinner.’
For a moment, he hesitated. He knew he should decline, for so many reasons, but he wanted it, more than he had wanted anything for a long time.
‘Wonderful,’ he said and nodded in acknowledgement. Erik gave a nod and started turning away, but then paused and looked over his shoulder.
‘I’m very glad to see you again.’ Charles smiled.
‘And I you.’ He watched him leave, as a torrent of conflicting feelings rose within him.
***
The following day was spent waiting for the evening to come. Charles was glad that he had thought of packing his tuxedo. It had been brought up with the opera in mind, but this seemed like a good enough time to use it. As he started getting ready, anticipation turned into fearful excitement. Who was he going to meet - his enemy? his former lover? his old friend? There was no telling what facet of the man would dominate. The closest they had come to meeting since Cuba was when the team had faced off the Brotherhood. Charles had not been there, but had watched through the others’ eyes. He still remembered the terror he had felt the first time he had seen Magneto, crowned with the helmet of his mother’s murderer. What had happened to the man he had loved? It had made him assume that with the quest for Shaw ended, he had shed that part of himself and changed. But evidently, the man within the monster had not disappeared altogether, because he had met him only yesterday, or someone alike, to the point of confusion. As he tied his bow-tie, Charles looked himself admonishingly in the eye in the mirror, challenging his reflection to admit what he felt. Affection, yes. Anticipation, certainly. Attraction...?
No, Charles. Don’t forget what he did. Remember the pain and the grief and the long convalescence. Remember what he took from you.
The reminder did not make him feel strengthened, as he had hoped, but somewhat uneasy. He hoped it was not a sign that he had needed the reproach.
Charles decided to get to the restaurant before the agreed time, so that he was already at the table when Erik arrived. Even if it was something Erik knew about and would scarcely miss anyway, the less he noticed the wheelchair, the better, Charles felt. Besides, turning up early meant that he did not have to fidget in his room. Well at the table, he could not help glancing at this watch every few minutes. The long hand slowly passed the hour. Charles’ eyes travelled from his watch to the door, trying not to wonder whether Erik had decided not to come.
But no, suddenly he was aware of a very familiar mind close-by, and the next moment, Erik entered the restaurant. He handed his hat and coat to one of the waiters as he exchanged a few words. The waiter gestured towards Charles’ table, and Erik looked his way. When he caught sight of Charles, uncharacteristic relief lit up his face, and he grinned. Charles’ heart made an alarming somersault - perhaps his feelings did not stop at affection and anticipation after all. Erik crossed to him with long strides, and stopped just beside him. His smile gave way to a frown instead, and Charles realised that he was trying to figure out how to greet him. Seeing Erik flounder was as endearing as it was odd. Finally, they awkwardly shook hands. Erik kept his grip around Charles’ hand longer than what was appropriate, but then released him. He took his place opposite him and asked about his preferences in wine. The distraction of ordering was welcome, but it proved brief. As soon as the waiter had disappeared with their order, Charles found himself under that pale gaze, which seemed to pierce through him to his inner being.
‘So,’ he said.
‘So,’ Erik echoed.
‘How’s Mystique?’ Charles asked, for want of anything else. ‘I heard from the others that that’s how she’s referred to.’
‘She’s exceptionally well,’ was the answer.
‘And am I also to understand that she has become a nudist.’ The corner of Erik’s mouth curled.
‘She has embraced her true form completely,’ he simply answered. When Charles leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together, Erik asked: ‘Do you not approve?’
‘Surprising as it may seem, I do not approve of my sister walking around with no clothes on,’ he said, trying to make light of it.
‘I can convey your wishes, if you like,’ Erik answered, sounding amused, ‘but it will only make her more inclined not to cover up.’ The waiter chose that moment to serve the wine, which gave Charles time to think of something less embarrassing to discuss. After tasting their wine, he asked:
‘What information-gathering are you doing in New York?’
For a moment, Erik looked taken aback at the question. Then his face took on a schooled thoughtful expression.
‘I see no reason to keep you in the dark,’ he said finally, steepled his fingers and collected his thoughts. Then he explained under his breath: ‘We are trying to learn as much as possible about a new anti-mutant initiative. It is sponsored by the US government - there might be more nations involved. We know that it is based in New York, probably behind a front of a company of some sort. We’re trying to find it.’ Charles leaned a little closer.
‘Where did you learn about this?’ he asked, shocked. Acknowledging for the first time that they were in public, Erik glanced around, silently indicating the other diners. ‘May I...?’ He raised two fingers. Erik hesitated, but then gave a curt nod. Charles raised his fingers to his temple and concentrated.
Mystique - the Pentagon - half a transcript of a meeting - three copied letters - a file which she just about manages to steal - eavesdropped conversations through locked doors - Sentinels.
He broke the connection and met Erik’s eyes.
‘“Sentinels”?’ he repeated quietly. ‘What does it mean?’
‘We don’t know yet, but their application is all too plain,’ Erik answered gravely.
‘Detection and elimination,’ Charles supplied. That had been obvious in the information he had found in his mind. They looked at each other. He could see the answering fear in Erik’s eyes. ‘Would you like me to call in the team?’
‘Your X-Men?’ Erik said, suddenly scornful. ‘What are you going to do - go in and rap them across the knuckles? Cut their allowance?’
‘You must have told me because you wanted my help,’ Charles said. Erik snorted.
‘I told you because I trust you, not so that you can go and lecture them.’
‘I don’t see the reason for this,’ he said reproachfully. ‘I know you do not agree with my methods...’
‘I do not only not agree with them - I actively despise them,’ Erik filled in. ‘You run a school, Charles, while we are facing extermination.’ Charles exhaled, trying to keep his calm.
‘You’ve seen the X-Men in the field. You know that they are no school-children,’ he answered, but could not mask his annoyance. ‘You have fought them, and they forced you to retreat more than once.’
‘True, but I don’t want your interference,’ Magneto (because Erik had momentarily faded) said.
‘So that you can go in with all guns blazing?’ Charles answered, loud enough to make the lady at the next table look at him oddly. Checking his voice, he continued. ‘Don’t you understand that that kind of reaction will only strengthen the prejudices against mutants? There will be consequences for us all...’
The waiter was back to ask if the wine was to their satisfaction. As Erik spoke to the man, Charles turned his gaze from him and looked at the restaurant guests standing by the bar, which was by the wall opposite him. To one side, a few business associates stood, and to the other, a couple arguing about things they had promised not to bring up that evening. Charles only gave them all the briefest of glances. Instead, he turned his attention to the only one standing alone - a young woman in a blue gown and white high gloves, standing with her back towards him. Her shoulder-blades stood out in stark relief under her skin and her spine was visible as a row of knots, running up her neck, finally obscured by a thick bun of black hair. As he sipped his wine, he reflected on how thin she was. He wondered briefly if she was an anorexic. Now she turned to look towards the door, as if hoping for someone to appear there, and Charles caught sight of her face. He had not expected her to be so beautiful. She had a strong mouth and an upturned mouth, and her cheekbones were sharpened by her thinness. Even at this distance, he thought he could tell that her eyes were green. The girl looked away from the door, disappointed, and glanced around the restaurant. Her feeling of being out of place was obvious from her body language, and Charles could sense her unease. Then yet again, she glanced back at the entrance. By that, Charles gathered that she had been stood up. He was sure that he would have noticed her entering, so she must have been there when he arrived, almost half an hour ago now.
Now, the waiter appeared once again, this time with their food, and Charles tore his gaze off the intriguing sylph at the bar. When their food was served and the waiter had left, Erik spoke, sounding a little guilty.
‘You must understand why I oppose to your X-Men getting involved.’
‘As a matter of fact I don’t understand,’ he answered, sounding more annoyed than he actually was. The intermission in the conversation had calmed them both.
‘What source would you give them?’ Erik asked, surveying his dinner.
‘I’m a telepath, remember? I might have read it in some passerby’s mind.’
‘They would never accept that as an explanation. Also, it’s not something only one person would know,’ he supplied. ‘The little we know is scraps and pieces - some of them advanced, some of them simply... admin.’ He seemed to anticipate Charles’ next suggestion. He had expected him to snap at him, but instead his voice was hushed. ‘I think it’d be better if we did not let either of our contingents know that we are meeting.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ They were silent for a while and ate. When Erik next caught his eye, he smiled. Charles found himself answering the smile, despite himself.
‘How is your sea bass?’ Erik asked.
‘Very good. Excellent choice of restaurant, if I might say so.’ He smiled at the approval.
‘I’m very glad that you accepted the invitation,’ he added.
‘Well, of course I would,’ Charles said. Erik put down his cutlery and stalled for a moment, then reached over the table. Their hands brushed together before Charles drew his away. The place where Erik’s fingers had touched his tingled.
‘Erik...’ Charles said, fighting for words. ‘I...’
‘I just...’
‘I thought I made it quite clear...’ Erik’s lost expression made him break off. ‘But apparently not clear enough,’ he sighed. ‘Erik. I’m sorry if you find that I have led you on, but we are not going to be what we were.’ Erik looked away.
‘I know we parted on bad terms...’ Charles laughed incredulously.
‘“Bad terms”?’ he exclaimed. ‘You turned against me! You injured me - you broke my back!’
‘I did not fire that bullet,’ Erik said through gritted teeth.
‘But you made sure it hit me!’
‘Do you honestly think I did it on purpose?’
Charles paused, regaining his self-control.
‘Of course you didn’t,’ he admitted. ‘But that doesn’t change anything.’ Erik still would not look at him. All his hope and disappointment was visible on his face. ‘For goodness’ sake, Erik, I know you don’t care about conventions, but... what would the others say? The Brotherhood - the X-Men? We’re...’
‘Please,’ Erik said, his tone sharp but his words pleading. ‘Do not say “enemies”.’
‘It’s true,’ Charles pointed out.
‘We fight a common enemy,’ Erik pressed on.
‘No, you have made the humans your enemy. They are not mine.’
He shook his head with a sigh.
‘Has everything changed so much?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes, it has,’ Charles answered, but even as he did, he wished it had not. He remembered the dizzying joy of those few months. Before meeting Erik, he had not thought that love like that was possible. What they had shared had been an all-consuming, feral power. He should have understood that it would end with blood, but perhaps there had been a chance, however small, that it could have gone the other way. Their love was strong enough to crush oppression and create a new world. Now, as Charles looked at his old lover, he wondered if there was a way to turn it all around. Then reality seemed to intrude, and he saw both of them as they were - Erik, disillusioned and bitter, and himself, crippled and aging. It had been barely three years since they had first met, but they had been young then. The world had changed them more than they had changed the world. Sometimes, it was only by insisting on the contrary that he still believed that it was possible to change it.
He tried to find a way to voice his disappointment at the world and the people they had become, without betraying his own feelings, but he was interrupted. A sudden spike of emotion thrust itself into his mind, and for a moment, he felt someone else’s panic as if it were first-hand. Bewildered, he looked up just in time to see the woman he had watched earlier lean heavily against the bar and grab her chest.
‘Erik - the girl!’ he shouted. Erik looked around and jumped to his feet when he caught sight of her. In the time it took him to cross to the bar, she had started sliding down towards the floor.
‘Miss, what’s wrong?’ he asked and took hold of her shoulders to keep her upright. To Charles, who was wheeling himself over to them quickly, it was plain what it was. Her agitation was hitting against him in waves, and he could see how her hands shook and she struggled to breathe.
‘There, there, love, keep yourself together,’ he said softly and touched her arm. She looked at him, panic-stricken. Despite it, Charles registered that he had been right about the colour of her eyes. ‘I’m a doctor - I can help. Tell me, what’s your name?’ She swallowed and struggled to form sounds. Finally, she managed to say:
‘Gabrielle Haller.’
‘Alright, Miss Haller,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be fine. Just try to keep calm.’
‘Calm?’ she repeated incredulously between gasps. Before Charles had time to concede that it was a rather contradictory thing to say in the situation, the head waiter came bounding towards them, looking like he did not know whether to respond with concern and annoyance.
‘What is going on, sir?’ he said, turning to Erik. ‘What’s wrong with the girl?’
‘She’s ill,’ Charles cut in. The head waiter looked down at him, as if he had not really expected him there. The look in his face made it evident that he assumed that the appearance of a cripple meant even more problems. ‘Is there anywhere she can lie down?’ The head waiter opened and closed his mouth a few times, and finally said:
‘I think we should call for a doctor...’
‘I am a doctor,’ Charles said, losing his patience with the man’s suspicion. ‘I’ll be able to help her, but she needs somewhere quiet where she can rest.’ Erik, still propping the young woman up for fear that she might fall, pierced the waiter with his gaze and asked:
‘Surely there is somewhere like that?’
‘Of course, sir,’ he said quickly, apprehension turning into fear. ‘This way.’
‘Come on,’ Charles told the girl and touched her arm again. Erik adjusted his hold of her and held her steady as they walked, as Charles followed behind them. The head-waiter showed them to a small side-room, thankfully on the same floor-level as the main restaurant. Judging by the couch in it, it was kept for the eventuality of fainting ladies.
‘Shouldn’t we call someone else...?’ the head waiter asked from where he lingered in the doorway, reluctant to enter.
‘No need for that,’ Charles said. ‘Thank you!’ Scared into submission, the head waiter left them, and Charles looked over at the two others in the room. Erik was leading the girl to the couch, and the sight of it made Charles pause. He had never seen Erik looking so grimly tender. It gave him the feeling that something about the girl, perhaps the same thing that had caught his attention earlier, arrested him too. He held onto her as she lowered herself down, her skirts rustling around her. Suddenly, she gasped loudly and grabbed at her chest again.
‘Charles!’ Erik called out. Charles wheeled himself as close as he could and took her hand.
‘There, there, it’s alright,’ he told her. ‘Just lie back, try to breathe properly, relax...’ She reclined, but he could still see and sense the tenseness in her. Erik caught his eye, quietly communicating his concern. It’s not anything physical, it’s a panic attack, Charles explained. Not dangerous, just unpleasant. If she wants to be calmed, I can calm her down. ‘Go get a glass of water,’ he said aloud. This would be easier without an audience. Erik nodded his understanding and left. As he swept past him, Charles thought of how suddenly the discussion of their past relationship had been interrupted. Then he shook it off and turned to his patient.
She looked truly pitiful where she lay, one arm crossed over her chest and lips quivering. ‘Miss Haller? Does your chest hurt?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said weakly. ‘My heart...’ Charles hushed her.
‘There, there. Deep breaths.’ She tried, even if it was difficult by the way she hyperventilated. ‘Has this happened before?’ Miss Haller nodded. Charles looked at her where she lay, with her right hand pressed to her heart. Her left arm, which was closest to him, lay limply at her side. He would not be able to feel her pulse through the gloves, and it felt too intimate to feel it on her throat, so he took her left hand in his and started to pull at the fingers of the glove. Suddenly, her prone form sprung to life and sat up as she tried to pull back. Instinctively, Charles closed his grip around her hand.
‘Let go!’ the girl shouted, panic rising in her voice. In the midst of the commotion, he registered that she had an accent.
‘I need to check your pulse,’ Charles said. ‘I won’t hurt you...’
‘Please, don’t,’ she said, tears rising. He hesitated - causing her more agitation was counterproductive, but he did not see another way. Looking at the high gloves, he considered why his attempt at taking it off upset her so. She must be wearing them to cover something. Considering this was a young woman of a nervous disposition, his guess was self-inflicted cuts. With that in mind, he fixed her with his gaze.
‘Gabrielle, you have nothing to be ashamed about. I will not judge you. Please. I just need to feel your pulse.’
For a moment, her resistance remained. Then her eyes flooded with tears and she turned her face away, quenching her sobs with her free hand.
‘There, there, don’t agitate yourself,’ he said and clasped her hand, but she did not heed him. Instead, her sobs shook her body as her discordant breaths tore through it. With a sigh, he turned his attention from her, and pulled off her glove. Putting the glove aside, he found her pulse. As he had expected, it was perfectly normal - this was simply in her mind, as he had thought. He let go of her wrist, but as he did so, he tipped her arm and made it shift so that it lay with the inside up. He had not been looking at it, but something caught his eye. It took him a moment to realise that his eyes were not playing tricks on him. Then, he cursed under his breath.
He had expected to find something, but not this. Her arm bore no new cuts or burns, and there were no scars. Instead, on the pale inside of her arm was s a sequence of numbers, carved into her skin with a tattooing-needle. Charles stared at it in disbelief, remembering how Erik had removed his wetsuit when they came aboard the cutter and had uncovered his tattoo. Charles had touched it once, but Erik had taken away his hand and kissed him instead, as if he did not want that to taint what they shared. He had known by whom and why it had been made, and by implication that there were thousands of others with the same kind of tattoo. Despite all that, he had never imagined that he would ever meet another person with a number branded into their arm.
Charles stared down at the girl, as inexpressible pity formed. He did not know what to do to help her. The panic-attack was just a symptom; the rest was more deeply buried. His previous experience with concentration camp survivors would not be helpful in this case. It should not surprise him. Erik may be unhinged, but he had grown a thick hide against the world and it could not shake him. Had he honestly thought that everyone who survived that manmade hell could turn their experiences into strength? Cursing himself for his naivety, he set about putting her limp hand back into its glove and covering her arm again. That being done, he touched her forehead and plunged.
He promised and then he did not come and he left me there. Can none of them be trusted? Are all men brutes? (But he did not hurt you, Gaby, he only stood you up.) But he did hurt me! Whether he wanted to or not, and by God, I think he did want it. (But he did not hurt you.) ...No, he didn’t - so just as well that he did not come. Because I suppose he would have if he had.
Charles, moving disembodied through her thoughts, tried to instill calm into her conscious mind. He was swept with the current of her thoughts and glimpsed reflexions and memories on the way. Arriving to America, coat and one suitcase all she owns. The office where she works, breaking her fingernails on the typewriter. Before that, France. Cold hospital rooms. White walls closing in. Tables and restraints and the concerned doctors, who always ask the same question. How can she live? How can any of these poor souls still be alive? And she does not know the answer. Why live? What is keeping her that way? What did she do to be punished so? She must have been wicked, she must have insulted God, because He does not let her die. He does not even let her disappear again.
Charles wondered at the distinction between dying and disappearing, but before he could delve deeper, his astral form was flung against something. A psychic wall, he realised. It was not particularly thick, and he doubted that whatever was behind it was properly repressed, only made more distance. What it kept hidden from her might be important to understanding her psyche, but he could not risk flooding her mind with it; it would only cause her more pain. Instead, he circumvented it and found the mental current again, which landed him straight into an early memory, not as an onlooker but as Gaby, frightened and hungry and ten years old.
Her grandmother tells her not to worry and to be quiet. ‘Don’t cry’, she admonishes her, even as she swallows tears herself. The man walking in front of them is weeping - she has never seen a man cry before. The soldiers laugh at him and strike him, and when he tries to fight them off they pull him to the ground. Gaby buries her head in her grandmother’s side, and she puts an arm around her, pushing along. The beating has upset the stream of people, but they are soon there. They have covered the platform, and they join the surge of people climbing into the cattle wagons. Grandmother takes her under the arms and lifts her up. A man already on the train takes her and offers grandmother a hand. Soon they are huddled close, the weight of the crowd pressing them together. There is no place to sit, only the floor, but it is too crowded to sit down. In the middle of the wagon are two buckets, one filled with drinking water, one for waste. The crowd moves to give even more people rooms. Grandmother grabs her tightly and they are swallowed, until they are several rows of people, equivalent to an arms-length, from the far wall, far away from the buckets. ‘What’s going to happen to us?’ Gaby asks as the doors are shut, leaving them in darkness. She hears the sound of a padlock clicking shut. ‘Don’t ask stupid questions,’ grandmother says, and Gaby knows that she has guessed the answer. She does not know it yet. The train shudders as the engine bursts into life, and they are on the way. Only the light through the planks of wood tells her how long they have been on the road. After a day, grandmother dies. They stand so close that she does not fall, but remains upright, her body pressed against Gaby’s for another full day. Then the train stops and they hear the doors being unlocked.
He could not bear it anymore. Fearing that he might be drawn into the occluded part if her mind, he rose, and returned to his body.
He found himself still with his hand on her forehead, but they were no longer alone. Erik was crouching beside him, hand on his shoulder.
‘Charles? What’s wrong?’ Charles raised his hand and touched his cheek. It was wet with tears. Instead of answering Erik, he found a handkerchief and dried them. Part of him wanted to tell him what he had learned and what he had seen (Erik would probably understand it better), but he knew it was wrong to do so. This was knowledge he had taken without being offered it, and he had no right to pass it on.
‘Nothing,’ he said and took a deep breath, grounding himself. On the couch, the girl (Gaby? Gabrielle? Miss Haller? he did not know what to call her) was stirring; his psychic escapades had put her into some state between waking and sleeping. Charles wondered if she had dreamed of what he had seen, and sincerely hoped not. At least she was breathing normally now, so his presence in her mind had done some good, but she still did not look recovered. She was shaking, as if with cold, and had wrapped her thin arms around herself to warm her.
‘How are you feeling?’ Charles asked. She shook her head, reluctant or unable to answer. Erik must have noticed her shivering, because he stood up and took off his dinner jacket.
‘Put this on,’ he told her. With some effort, she sat up and let him help her into it.
‘Thank you,’ she said weakly. Charles offered her the glass of water, which Erik had put on a nearby table. She took the glass and drained it greedily, then looked Charles in the eye. ‘I’m sorry about making a scene.’ The melody of the sentence was not quite right in her soft accent. Charles found it charming.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for, my dear,’ he said kindly. She held his gaze for another moment, and then she buried her face in her hands and started weeping. ‘There, there,’ he said. He hesitated, remembering what he had heard in her mind (are all men brutes?) but then decided that some paternal kindness would only do good. Therefore, he put an arm around her shoulders and hushed her. She did not pull away, but wept against his shoulder, one hand closing around his lapel. ‘Have a good cry, there’s a darling,’ he said and patted her hair. Finally he let her go - it did not seem right to touch her more than he already had. Miss Haller drew Erik’s jacket around her body and sat in silence, evidently trying to compose herself. After some considerable time, she moved and swung her legs over the edge of the couch, her skirts rustling. She looked quite pale, and her wide eyes shone almost feverishly.
‘Do you feel a little steadier, Miss Haller?’ Charles asked. She nodded, intertwining her fingers to push the gloves on better. Something about the self-conscious gesture caught his attention, and he let silence linger a little too long. ‘Are you waiting for someone to turn up?’ Miss Haller made a sigh halfway between a sigh and a dejected laugh.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not any more, I think.’
‘In that case, I think we should get you home,’ he said. ‘How does that sound?’ She nodded without looking at him.
‘Yes, I think I’d like that.’
Charles nodded and turned to Erik.
‘Would you go flag down a cab?’ With a nod, Erik left, and Charles turned back to the girl. Shyly, she met his eyes, and he smiled encouragingly. He found it difficult not to watch her. There was something very arresting about her, not only in her looks but in the way her mind felt. Even now, when she was shy and shaken up, he could glimpse more under the surface. The thoughts he had touched had intrigued him, but why he could not yet say.
‘You’re very kind, sir,’ she said quietly, as if not quite trusting her own voice yet.
‘I was happy to be able to help,’ he said. He considered whether to ask or not, and then settled that it was probably part of his duty as a doctor to pursue the question and his duty as a gentleman to do a good deed. ‘Have you spoken to anyone about this, Miss Haller?’ She shook her head and averted her gaze. Evidently, he had touched upon some sore spot. ‘In that case, may I possibly help you further?’ Miss Haller eyed him warily.
‘I don’t understand.’ Charles reached into his inner pocket and found his card. On the back, he scribbled the name of his hotel and the phone number, and handed it to her. She looked at what he had written, and then turned to read the print. ‘Professor Xavier,’ she said, as if in greeting.
‘Call me tomorrow, whenever is most convenient,’ he told her. She looked hesitant. Perhaps, Charles realised, she was misinterpreting his actions. Ideally, he would want to meet and talk with her, as that would be helpful to understand what precisely was ailing her, but he decided that downplaying that for now would be better. When she was not as much on edge as before, she would be more willing to trust him, he thought. ‘That way, I’ll know that you’re feeling better.’
At that, she nodded.
‘Thank you. I will.’ For a brief moment, he glimpsed a smile on her face. He smiled back. At that moment, the door opened and Erik stepped in.
‘There’s a taxi waiting outside.’
‘Thank you, Erik,’ Charles said and turned back to Miss Haller. ‘Do you live with someone, Miss Haller?’ She shook her head. He had expected that (had he hoped it?). It would have been better for her if she had someone to keep her company, but he was certain that she was in no danger. The panic attack had shaken her, but it was not worse than that. ‘Well, make sure to get plenty of rest. A proper night’s sleep will do you good.’ She nodded at the instructions and rose. Without thinking twice, Charles reached out and took hold of her elbow to steady her. Miss Haller looked down at him and smiled, for the first time genuinely. It made crow’s-feet appear by her eyes and lit up her face. Something about it caught him off guard, and smiling back felt instinctual. Then, embarrassed, he let go of her arm. Erik walked beside her, looking ready to spring into action if needed. Charles wheeled himself after them.
They followed her out onto the street, to where the cab waited. Miss Haller made an attempt to take the jacket off, but Erik raised a hand to stop her.
‘You can return it later,’ he said. ‘You must keep warm.’ She flushed and thanked him, and as Charles paid the driver, he opened the door for her. As soon as it closed, she opened the window and caught Charles’ eye. Beyond the shaken nerves and the exhaustion, he glimpsed another part of her, strong-willed and acute. He felt a sudden wish to get to know this woman, and hoped that she would call him as he had asked her to.
‘Thank you, Professor,’ she said, her voice steadier. Before he had time to answer, the cab started moving, so instead he waved after her. He could not see if she waved back.
Next chapter
Fandom X-Men First Class
Pairings Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier/Gabrielle Haller, in all possible combinations.
Beta cicero_drayon
World count of chapter 6608
Word count of entire fic 94 000
Rating/warnings NC-17. Sexual situations, mental illness, professional misconduct, period homophobia, ableism and racism as well as casual misogyny, discussion of genocide and sexual abuse.
Disclaimer Marvels owns it, not I.
Summary After a chance meeting, the recently reunited mutant school-master and leader of the Brotherhood both become fascinated by Gabrielle Haller, a human who has demons of her own to fight. As Erik finds himself pulled between his mutant identity and his human heritage, Charles wrestles with his own ethical code and his attraction to his friend. The innocent distraction between the three of them rapidly grows more complicated and, ultimately, altogether more sinister.
Author's notes I’m in the middle of the last push before the end of term, just so you know that there will be a somewhat longer wait for chapter three.
13 January 1965
Charles had wondered how far the conversation would proceed before Erik stated what they both thought.
‘We were lovers once.’
It had been a chance meeting, eyes accidentally locking over the hotel restaurant. When Erik had first entered the room, Charles had not recognised him. Dressed in ordinary, human clothes, he did not stand out in the crowd more than any handsome, well-groomed man would. It had not lasted long. As soon as they caught each other’s gaze, the rest of the room seemed to recede, and single-mindedly, Erik crossed to him. He looked wearier than Charles remembered him, his temples starting to go white. Terrorism was evidently as exhausting as running a school.
They had greeted each other, Erik hesitantly and Charles stiffly, and the ensuing silence had been broken by the obvious, glaring truth.
‘Yes,’ Charles said finally and folded his hands on the table. ‘But that was rather a long time ago.’ Erik looked at him, his face unreadable. He was not wearing Shaw’s helmet, so it would have been easy to reach out and read his mind, but neither did Charles want to violate his privacy, nor did he want to know his thoughts so plainly. He sensed that they would not be to his liking.
‘It does not seem long ago to me,’ he finally said. Charles forced a smile. How easy it would be to snap at him and point out that time probably moved at a different pace for those not confined to a hospital bed for months and months. He had expected to want to do that, and try to make him feel as guilty as was humanly possible, but he had no wish to shout at the man. In fact, now he realised that he was glad to see him, but, he was certain, not quite as happy as Erik was to see him. Erik was good at hiding his feelings, but it seemed like he had momentarily lost control of his body language, because the way he leaned slightly forward and looked straight at him made it plain that this was a reunion he had hoped for a long time.
‘A lot has happened,’ Charles said, and then added: ‘To both of us.’ Not wanting to lead this discussion further, as it would inevitably end with discussing the consequences of that deflected bullet on the day on Cuba, he instead said: ‘Please, join me for some wine.’ Before Erik had time to answer, he had gestured to the waiter, who fetched an extra glass and poured the wine. As the waiter left, Erik sat down oppose him and threw Charles an amused glance.
‘How much telepathy went into that order?’
‘Only enough that he would understand what I wanted,’ he answered, unable not to answer the smile. Then once again the silence was back, and for a moment he floundered. ‘Your health,’ he said at last and raised his glass.
‘And yours,’ Erik said and mirrored it. When they put their glasses down, he cleared his throat and spoke.
‘Erik, I can’t help but wonder...’
‘...Whether I sought you out?‘ Erik suggested. Charles nodded.
‘It’s a natural thing to wonder.’
‘I suppose so, but I didn’t,’ he assured him, fingers tracing the foot of the wineglass. ‘I had thought you’d be in Westchester. What are you doing in New York?’ Charles looked away, a little embarrassed.
‘An enforced holiday,’ he explained. All that time he had spent convalescing had made him restless, and since they had opened the school, he had not had as much as a day off. By the end of last year, it had been clear it was getting to him. He had been prone to nerves when he was younger, and however much he argued that the insomnia and the black moods were just part of it, Hank had told him that he would end up damaging either his heart or his mental balance if he did not take some time off. Not willing to give Erik all that information, he simply said:
‘The others thought I was getting a little overworked.’
‘So where are they?’ Erik asked, looking around as if expecting Beast to bound out from behind one of the pillars and try to choke him.
‘Oh, in Westchester,’ Charles said. ‘Alex drove me up, and the plan is that Sean will come up to join me after the weekend.’ Erik raised an entertained eyebrow at that.
‘Sean?’ he repeated. ‘Not the most stimulating company.’
‘Sean is very pleasant,’ Charles answered, and Erik chuckled at his defensive tone. ‘Well, Hank is in charge of the school while I’m gone, and Alex doesn’t like New York, so it had to be Sean. It had to be someone, they thought. They didn’t even like the idea of me being on my own even for these few days.’
‘I see,’ Erik said, still looking entertained. ‘They’re a protective bunch.’
‘Well, certainly,’ Charles said, suddenly imagining what they would say if they knew that he was having wine with someone who had been their enemy the past few years. ‘What are you doing here?’
Erik shifted in his chair, suddenly growing reserved.
‘Information-gathering.’
‘On your own?’ Charles asked. Now that he had stated his purpose, he wanted to hear Erik’s.
‘The others are in New York too, but at different hotels,’ he answered. ‘So as to not draw attention to ourselves. In fact, I’m just about to go and liaise with them.’ He emptied his glass and stood. ‘But we must...’ He paused, looking for the appropriate English phrase. The one he settled on sounded odd in his mouth. ‘...catch up. Are you free for dinner tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ Charles said, failing to hide his surprise at the invitation.
‘Good,’ Erik said and grinned. ‘Eight o’clock, at Sibell’s - it’s just down the street. A rather nice fish restaurant. You’ll like it. Dress for dinner.’
For a moment, he hesitated. He knew he should decline, for so many reasons, but he wanted it, more than he had wanted anything for a long time.
‘Wonderful,’ he said and nodded in acknowledgement. Erik gave a nod and started turning away, but then paused and looked over his shoulder.
‘I’m very glad to see you again.’ Charles smiled.
‘And I you.’ He watched him leave, as a torrent of conflicting feelings rose within him.
***
The following day was spent waiting for the evening to come. Charles was glad that he had thought of packing his tuxedo. It had been brought up with the opera in mind, but this seemed like a good enough time to use it. As he started getting ready, anticipation turned into fearful excitement. Who was he going to meet - his enemy? his former lover? his old friend? There was no telling what facet of the man would dominate. The closest they had come to meeting since Cuba was when the team had faced off the Brotherhood. Charles had not been there, but had watched through the others’ eyes. He still remembered the terror he had felt the first time he had seen Magneto, crowned with the helmet of his mother’s murderer. What had happened to the man he had loved? It had made him assume that with the quest for Shaw ended, he had shed that part of himself and changed. But evidently, the man within the monster had not disappeared altogether, because he had met him only yesterday, or someone alike, to the point of confusion. As he tied his bow-tie, Charles looked himself admonishingly in the eye in the mirror, challenging his reflection to admit what he felt. Affection, yes. Anticipation, certainly. Attraction...?
No, Charles. Don’t forget what he did. Remember the pain and the grief and the long convalescence. Remember what he took from you.
The reminder did not make him feel strengthened, as he had hoped, but somewhat uneasy. He hoped it was not a sign that he had needed the reproach.
Charles decided to get to the restaurant before the agreed time, so that he was already at the table when Erik arrived. Even if it was something Erik knew about and would scarcely miss anyway, the less he noticed the wheelchair, the better, Charles felt. Besides, turning up early meant that he did not have to fidget in his room. Well at the table, he could not help glancing at this watch every few minutes. The long hand slowly passed the hour. Charles’ eyes travelled from his watch to the door, trying not to wonder whether Erik had decided not to come.
But no, suddenly he was aware of a very familiar mind close-by, and the next moment, Erik entered the restaurant. He handed his hat and coat to one of the waiters as he exchanged a few words. The waiter gestured towards Charles’ table, and Erik looked his way. When he caught sight of Charles, uncharacteristic relief lit up his face, and he grinned. Charles’ heart made an alarming somersault - perhaps his feelings did not stop at affection and anticipation after all. Erik crossed to him with long strides, and stopped just beside him. His smile gave way to a frown instead, and Charles realised that he was trying to figure out how to greet him. Seeing Erik flounder was as endearing as it was odd. Finally, they awkwardly shook hands. Erik kept his grip around Charles’ hand longer than what was appropriate, but then released him. He took his place opposite him and asked about his preferences in wine. The distraction of ordering was welcome, but it proved brief. As soon as the waiter had disappeared with their order, Charles found himself under that pale gaze, which seemed to pierce through him to his inner being.
‘So,’ he said.
‘So,’ Erik echoed.
‘How’s Mystique?’ Charles asked, for want of anything else. ‘I heard from the others that that’s how she’s referred to.’
‘She’s exceptionally well,’ was the answer.
‘And am I also to understand that she has become a nudist.’ The corner of Erik’s mouth curled.
‘She has embraced her true form completely,’ he simply answered. When Charles leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together, Erik asked: ‘Do you not approve?’
‘Surprising as it may seem, I do not approve of my sister walking around with no clothes on,’ he said, trying to make light of it.
‘I can convey your wishes, if you like,’ Erik answered, sounding amused, ‘but it will only make her more inclined not to cover up.’ The waiter chose that moment to serve the wine, which gave Charles time to think of something less embarrassing to discuss. After tasting their wine, he asked:
‘What information-gathering are you doing in New York?’
For a moment, Erik looked taken aback at the question. Then his face took on a schooled thoughtful expression.
‘I see no reason to keep you in the dark,’ he said finally, steepled his fingers and collected his thoughts. Then he explained under his breath: ‘We are trying to learn as much as possible about a new anti-mutant initiative. It is sponsored by the US government - there might be more nations involved. We know that it is based in New York, probably behind a front of a company of some sort. We’re trying to find it.’ Charles leaned a little closer.
‘Where did you learn about this?’ he asked, shocked. Acknowledging for the first time that they were in public, Erik glanced around, silently indicating the other diners. ‘May I...?’ He raised two fingers. Erik hesitated, but then gave a curt nod. Charles raised his fingers to his temple and concentrated.
Mystique - the Pentagon - half a transcript of a meeting - three copied letters - a file which she just about manages to steal - eavesdropped conversations through locked doors - Sentinels.
He broke the connection and met Erik’s eyes.
‘“Sentinels”?’ he repeated quietly. ‘What does it mean?’
‘We don’t know yet, but their application is all too plain,’ Erik answered gravely.
‘Detection and elimination,’ Charles supplied. That had been obvious in the information he had found in his mind. They looked at each other. He could see the answering fear in Erik’s eyes. ‘Would you like me to call in the team?’
‘Your X-Men?’ Erik said, suddenly scornful. ‘What are you going to do - go in and rap them across the knuckles? Cut their allowance?’
‘You must have told me because you wanted my help,’ Charles said. Erik snorted.
‘I told you because I trust you, not so that you can go and lecture them.’
‘I don’t see the reason for this,’ he said reproachfully. ‘I know you do not agree with my methods...’
‘I do not only not agree with them - I actively despise them,’ Erik filled in. ‘You run a school, Charles, while we are facing extermination.’ Charles exhaled, trying to keep his calm.
‘You’ve seen the X-Men in the field. You know that they are no school-children,’ he answered, but could not mask his annoyance. ‘You have fought them, and they forced you to retreat more than once.’
‘True, but I don’t want your interference,’ Magneto (because Erik had momentarily faded) said.
‘So that you can go in with all guns blazing?’ Charles answered, loud enough to make the lady at the next table look at him oddly. Checking his voice, he continued. ‘Don’t you understand that that kind of reaction will only strengthen the prejudices against mutants? There will be consequences for us all...’
The waiter was back to ask if the wine was to their satisfaction. As Erik spoke to the man, Charles turned his gaze from him and looked at the restaurant guests standing by the bar, which was by the wall opposite him. To one side, a few business associates stood, and to the other, a couple arguing about things they had promised not to bring up that evening. Charles only gave them all the briefest of glances. Instead, he turned his attention to the only one standing alone - a young woman in a blue gown and white high gloves, standing with her back towards him. Her shoulder-blades stood out in stark relief under her skin and her spine was visible as a row of knots, running up her neck, finally obscured by a thick bun of black hair. As he sipped his wine, he reflected on how thin she was. He wondered briefly if she was an anorexic. Now she turned to look towards the door, as if hoping for someone to appear there, and Charles caught sight of her face. He had not expected her to be so beautiful. She had a strong mouth and an upturned mouth, and her cheekbones were sharpened by her thinness. Even at this distance, he thought he could tell that her eyes were green. The girl looked away from the door, disappointed, and glanced around the restaurant. Her feeling of being out of place was obvious from her body language, and Charles could sense her unease. Then yet again, she glanced back at the entrance. By that, Charles gathered that she had been stood up. He was sure that he would have noticed her entering, so she must have been there when he arrived, almost half an hour ago now.
Now, the waiter appeared once again, this time with their food, and Charles tore his gaze off the intriguing sylph at the bar. When their food was served and the waiter had left, Erik spoke, sounding a little guilty.
‘You must understand why I oppose to your X-Men getting involved.’
‘As a matter of fact I don’t understand,’ he answered, sounding more annoyed than he actually was. The intermission in the conversation had calmed them both.
‘What source would you give them?’ Erik asked, surveying his dinner.
‘I’m a telepath, remember? I might have read it in some passerby’s mind.’
‘They would never accept that as an explanation. Also, it’s not something only one person would know,’ he supplied. ‘The little we know is scraps and pieces - some of them advanced, some of them simply... admin.’ He seemed to anticipate Charles’ next suggestion. He had expected him to snap at him, but instead his voice was hushed. ‘I think it’d be better if we did not let either of our contingents know that we are meeting.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ They were silent for a while and ate. When Erik next caught his eye, he smiled. Charles found himself answering the smile, despite himself.
‘How is your sea bass?’ Erik asked.
‘Very good. Excellent choice of restaurant, if I might say so.’ He smiled at the approval.
‘I’m very glad that you accepted the invitation,’ he added.
‘Well, of course I would,’ Charles said. Erik put down his cutlery and stalled for a moment, then reached over the table. Their hands brushed together before Charles drew his away. The place where Erik’s fingers had touched his tingled.
‘Erik...’ Charles said, fighting for words. ‘I...’
‘I just...’
‘I thought I made it quite clear...’ Erik’s lost expression made him break off. ‘But apparently not clear enough,’ he sighed. ‘Erik. I’m sorry if you find that I have led you on, but we are not going to be what we were.’ Erik looked away.
‘I know we parted on bad terms...’ Charles laughed incredulously.
‘“Bad terms”?’ he exclaimed. ‘You turned against me! You injured me - you broke my back!’
‘I did not fire that bullet,’ Erik said through gritted teeth.
‘But you made sure it hit me!’
‘Do you honestly think I did it on purpose?’
Charles paused, regaining his self-control.
‘Of course you didn’t,’ he admitted. ‘But that doesn’t change anything.’ Erik still would not look at him. All his hope and disappointment was visible on his face. ‘For goodness’ sake, Erik, I know you don’t care about conventions, but... what would the others say? The Brotherhood - the X-Men? We’re...’
‘Please,’ Erik said, his tone sharp but his words pleading. ‘Do not say “enemies”.’
‘It’s true,’ Charles pointed out.
‘We fight a common enemy,’ Erik pressed on.
‘No, you have made the humans your enemy. They are not mine.’
He shook his head with a sigh.
‘Has everything changed so much?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes, it has,’ Charles answered, but even as he did, he wished it had not. He remembered the dizzying joy of those few months. Before meeting Erik, he had not thought that love like that was possible. What they had shared had been an all-consuming, feral power. He should have understood that it would end with blood, but perhaps there had been a chance, however small, that it could have gone the other way. Their love was strong enough to crush oppression and create a new world. Now, as Charles looked at his old lover, he wondered if there was a way to turn it all around. Then reality seemed to intrude, and he saw both of them as they were - Erik, disillusioned and bitter, and himself, crippled and aging. It had been barely three years since they had first met, but they had been young then. The world had changed them more than they had changed the world. Sometimes, it was only by insisting on the contrary that he still believed that it was possible to change it.
He tried to find a way to voice his disappointment at the world and the people they had become, without betraying his own feelings, but he was interrupted. A sudden spike of emotion thrust itself into his mind, and for a moment, he felt someone else’s panic as if it were first-hand. Bewildered, he looked up just in time to see the woman he had watched earlier lean heavily against the bar and grab her chest.
‘Erik - the girl!’ he shouted. Erik looked around and jumped to his feet when he caught sight of her. In the time it took him to cross to the bar, she had started sliding down towards the floor.
‘Miss, what’s wrong?’ he asked and took hold of her shoulders to keep her upright. To Charles, who was wheeling himself over to them quickly, it was plain what it was. Her agitation was hitting against him in waves, and he could see how her hands shook and she struggled to breathe.
‘There, there, love, keep yourself together,’ he said softly and touched her arm. She looked at him, panic-stricken. Despite it, Charles registered that he had been right about the colour of her eyes. ‘I’m a doctor - I can help. Tell me, what’s your name?’ She swallowed and struggled to form sounds. Finally, she managed to say:
‘Gabrielle Haller.’
‘Alright, Miss Haller,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be fine. Just try to keep calm.’
‘Calm?’ she repeated incredulously between gasps. Before Charles had time to concede that it was a rather contradictory thing to say in the situation, the head waiter came bounding towards them, looking like he did not know whether to respond with concern and annoyance.
‘What is going on, sir?’ he said, turning to Erik. ‘What’s wrong with the girl?’
‘She’s ill,’ Charles cut in. The head waiter looked down at him, as if he had not really expected him there. The look in his face made it evident that he assumed that the appearance of a cripple meant even more problems. ‘Is there anywhere she can lie down?’ The head waiter opened and closed his mouth a few times, and finally said:
‘I think we should call for a doctor...’
‘I am a doctor,’ Charles said, losing his patience with the man’s suspicion. ‘I’ll be able to help her, but she needs somewhere quiet where she can rest.’ Erik, still propping the young woman up for fear that she might fall, pierced the waiter with his gaze and asked:
‘Surely there is somewhere like that?’
‘Of course, sir,’ he said quickly, apprehension turning into fear. ‘This way.’
‘Come on,’ Charles told the girl and touched her arm again. Erik adjusted his hold of her and held her steady as they walked, as Charles followed behind them. The head-waiter showed them to a small side-room, thankfully on the same floor-level as the main restaurant. Judging by the couch in it, it was kept for the eventuality of fainting ladies.
‘Shouldn’t we call someone else...?’ the head waiter asked from where he lingered in the doorway, reluctant to enter.
‘No need for that,’ Charles said. ‘Thank you!’ Scared into submission, the head waiter left them, and Charles looked over at the two others in the room. Erik was leading the girl to the couch, and the sight of it made Charles pause. He had never seen Erik looking so grimly tender. It gave him the feeling that something about the girl, perhaps the same thing that had caught his attention earlier, arrested him too. He held onto her as she lowered herself down, her skirts rustling around her. Suddenly, she gasped loudly and grabbed at her chest again.
‘Charles!’ Erik called out. Charles wheeled himself as close as he could and took her hand.
‘There, there, it’s alright,’ he told her. ‘Just lie back, try to breathe properly, relax...’ She reclined, but he could still see and sense the tenseness in her. Erik caught his eye, quietly communicating his concern. It’s not anything physical, it’s a panic attack, Charles explained. Not dangerous, just unpleasant. If she wants to be calmed, I can calm her down. ‘Go get a glass of water,’ he said aloud. This would be easier without an audience. Erik nodded his understanding and left. As he swept past him, Charles thought of how suddenly the discussion of their past relationship had been interrupted. Then he shook it off and turned to his patient.
She looked truly pitiful where she lay, one arm crossed over her chest and lips quivering. ‘Miss Haller? Does your chest hurt?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said weakly. ‘My heart...’ Charles hushed her.
‘There, there. Deep breaths.’ She tried, even if it was difficult by the way she hyperventilated. ‘Has this happened before?’ Miss Haller nodded. Charles looked at her where she lay, with her right hand pressed to her heart. Her left arm, which was closest to him, lay limply at her side. He would not be able to feel her pulse through the gloves, and it felt too intimate to feel it on her throat, so he took her left hand in his and started to pull at the fingers of the glove. Suddenly, her prone form sprung to life and sat up as she tried to pull back. Instinctively, Charles closed his grip around her hand.
‘Let go!’ the girl shouted, panic rising in her voice. In the midst of the commotion, he registered that she had an accent.
‘I need to check your pulse,’ Charles said. ‘I won’t hurt you...’
‘Please, don’t,’ she said, tears rising. He hesitated - causing her more agitation was counterproductive, but he did not see another way. Looking at the high gloves, he considered why his attempt at taking it off upset her so. She must be wearing them to cover something. Considering this was a young woman of a nervous disposition, his guess was self-inflicted cuts. With that in mind, he fixed her with his gaze.
‘Gabrielle, you have nothing to be ashamed about. I will not judge you. Please. I just need to feel your pulse.’
For a moment, her resistance remained. Then her eyes flooded with tears and she turned her face away, quenching her sobs with her free hand.
‘There, there, don’t agitate yourself,’ he said and clasped her hand, but she did not heed him. Instead, her sobs shook her body as her discordant breaths tore through it. With a sigh, he turned his attention from her, and pulled off her glove. Putting the glove aside, he found her pulse. As he had expected, it was perfectly normal - this was simply in her mind, as he had thought. He let go of her wrist, but as he did so, he tipped her arm and made it shift so that it lay with the inside up. He had not been looking at it, but something caught his eye. It took him a moment to realise that his eyes were not playing tricks on him. Then, he cursed under his breath.
He had expected to find something, but not this. Her arm bore no new cuts or burns, and there were no scars. Instead, on the pale inside of her arm was s a sequence of numbers, carved into her skin with a tattooing-needle. Charles stared at it in disbelief, remembering how Erik had removed his wetsuit when they came aboard the cutter and had uncovered his tattoo. Charles had touched it once, but Erik had taken away his hand and kissed him instead, as if he did not want that to taint what they shared. He had known by whom and why it had been made, and by implication that there were thousands of others with the same kind of tattoo. Despite all that, he had never imagined that he would ever meet another person with a number branded into their arm.
Charles stared down at the girl, as inexpressible pity formed. He did not know what to do to help her. The panic-attack was just a symptom; the rest was more deeply buried. His previous experience with concentration camp survivors would not be helpful in this case. It should not surprise him. Erik may be unhinged, but he had grown a thick hide against the world and it could not shake him. Had he honestly thought that everyone who survived that manmade hell could turn their experiences into strength? Cursing himself for his naivety, he set about putting her limp hand back into its glove and covering her arm again. That being done, he touched her forehead and plunged.
He promised and then he did not come and he left me there. Can none of them be trusted? Are all men brutes? (But he did not hurt you, Gaby, he only stood you up.) But he did hurt me! Whether he wanted to or not, and by God, I think he did want it. (But he did not hurt you.) ...No, he didn’t - so just as well that he did not come. Because I suppose he would have if he had.
Charles, moving disembodied through her thoughts, tried to instill calm into her conscious mind. He was swept with the current of her thoughts and glimpsed reflexions and memories on the way. Arriving to America, coat and one suitcase all she owns. The office where she works, breaking her fingernails on the typewriter. Before that, France. Cold hospital rooms. White walls closing in. Tables and restraints and the concerned doctors, who always ask the same question. How can she live? How can any of these poor souls still be alive? And she does not know the answer. Why live? What is keeping her that way? What did she do to be punished so? She must have been wicked, she must have insulted God, because He does not let her die. He does not even let her disappear again.
Charles wondered at the distinction between dying and disappearing, but before he could delve deeper, his astral form was flung against something. A psychic wall, he realised. It was not particularly thick, and he doubted that whatever was behind it was properly repressed, only made more distance. What it kept hidden from her might be important to understanding her psyche, but he could not risk flooding her mind with it; it would only cause her more pain. Instead, he circumvented it and found the mental current again, which landed him straight into an early memory, not as an onlooker but as Gaby, frightened and hungry and ten years old.
Her grandmother tells her not to worry and to be quiet. ‘Don’t cry’, she admonishes her, even as she swallows tears herself. The man walking in front of them is weeping - she has never seen a man cry before. The soldiers laugh at him and strike him, and when he tries to fight them off they pull him to the ground. Gaby buries her head in her grandmother’s side, and she puts an arm around her, pushing along. The beating has upset the stream of people, but they are soon there. They have covered the platform, and they join the surge of people climbing into the cattle wagons. Grandmother takes her under the arms and lifts her up. A man already on the train takes her and offers grandmother a hand. Soon they are huddled close, the weight of the crowd pressing them together. There is no place to sit, only the floor, but it is too crowded to sit down. In the middle of the wagon are two buckets, one filled with drinking water, one for waste. The crowd moves to give even more people rooms. Grandmother grabs her tightly and they are swallowed, until they are several rows of people, equivalent to an arms-length, from the far wall, far away from the buckets. ‘What’s going to happen to us?’ Gaby asks as the doors are shut, leaving them in darkness. She hears the sound of a padlock clicking shut. ‘Don’t ask stupid questions,’ grandmother says, and Gaby knows that she has guessed the answer. She does not know it yet. The train shudders as the engine bursts into life, and they are on the way. Only the light through the planks of wood tells her how long they have been on the road. After a day, grandmother dies. They stand so close that she does not fall, but remains upright, her body pressed against Gaby’s for another full day. Then the train stops and they hear the doors being unlocked.
He could not bear it anymore. Fearing that he might be drawn into the occluded part if her mind, he rose, and returned to his body.
He found himself still with his hand on her forehead, but they were no longer alone. Erik was crouching beside him, hand on his shoulder.
‘Charles? What’s wrong?’ Charles raised his hand and touched his cheek. It was wet with tears. Instead of answering Erik, he found a handkerchief and dried them. Part of him wanted to tell him what he had learned and what he had seen (Erik would probably understand it better), but he knew it was wrong to do so. This was knowledge he had taken without being offered it, and he had no right to pass it on.
‘Nothing,’ he said and took a deep breath, grounding himself. On the couch, the girl (Gaby? Gabrielle? Miss Haller? he did not know what to call her) was stirring; his psychic escapades had put her into some state between waking and sleeping. Charles wondered if she had dreamed of what he had seen, and sincerely hoped not. At least she was breathing normally now, so his presence in her mind had done some good, but she still did not look recovered. She was shaking, as if with cold, and had wrapped her thin arms around herself to warm her.
‘How are you feeling?’ Charles asked. She shook her head, reluctant or unable to answer. Erik must have noticed her shivering, because he stood up and took off his dinner jacket.
‘Put this on,’ he told her. With some effort, she sat up and let him help her into it.
‘Thank you,’ she said weakly. Charles offered her the glass of water, which Erik had put on a nearby table. She took the glass and drained it greedily, then looked Charles in the eye. ‘I’m sorry about making a scene.’ The melody of the sentence was not quite right in her soft accent. Charles found it charming.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for, my dear,’ he said kindly. She held his gaze for another moment, and then she buried her face in her hands and started weeping. ‘There, there,’ he said. He hesitated, remembering what he had heard in her mind (are all men brutes?) but then decided that some paternal kindness would only do good. Therefore, he put an arm around her shoulders and hushed her. She did not pull away, but wept against his shoulder, one hand closing around his lapel. ‘Have a good cry, there’s a darling,’ he said and patted her hair. Finally he let her go - it did not seem right to touch her more than he already had. Miss Haller drew Erik’s jacket around her body and sat in silence, evidently trying to compose herself. After some considerable time, she moved and swung her legs over the edge of the couch, her skirts rustling. She looked quite pale, and her wide eyes shone almost feverishly.
‘Do you feel a little steadier, Miss Haller?’ Charles asked. She nodded, intertwining her fingers to push the gloves on better. Something about the self-conscious gesture caught his attention, and he let silence linger a little too long. ‘Are you waiting for someone to turn up?’ Miss Haller made a sigh halfway between a sigh and a dejected laugh.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not any more, I think.’
‘In that case, I think we should get you home,’ he said. ‘How does that sound?’ She nodded without looking at him.
‘Yes, I think I’d like that.’
Charles nodded and turned to Erik.
‘Would you go flag down a cab?’ With a nod, Erik left, and Charles turned back to the girl. Shyly, she met his eyes, and he smiled encouragingly. He found it difficult not to watch her. There was something very arresting about her, not only in her looks but in the way her mind felt. Even now, when she was shy and shaken up, he could glimpse more under the surface. The thoughts he had touched had intrigued him, but why he could not yet say.
‘You’re very kind, sir,’ she said quietly, as if not quite trusting her own voice yet.
‘I was happy to be able to help,’ he said. He considered whether to ask or not, and then settled that it was probably part of his duty as a doctor to pursue the question and his duty as a gentleman to do a good deed. ‘Have you spoken to anyone about this, Miss Haller?’ She shook her head and averted her gaze. Evidently, he had touched upon some sore spot. ‘In that case, may I possibly help you further?’ Miss Haller eyed him warily.
‘I don’t understand.’ Charles reached into his inner pocket and found his card. On the back, he scribbled the name of his hotel and the phone number, and handed it to her. She looked at what he had written, and then turned to read the print. ‘Professor Xavier,’ she said, as if in greeting.
‘Call me tomorrow, whenever is most convenient,’ he told her. She looked hesitant. Perhaps, Charles realised, she was misinterpreting his actions. Ideally, he would want to meet and talk with her, as that would be helpful to understand what precisely was ailing her, but he decided that downplaying that for now would be better. When she was not as much on edge as before, she would be more willing to trust him, he thought. ‘That way, I’ll know that you’re feeling better.’
At that, she nodded.
‘Thank you. I will.’ For a brief moment, he glimpsed a smile on her face. He smiled back. At that moment, the door opened and Erik stepped in.
‘There’s a taxi waiting outside.’
‘Thank you, Erik,’ Charles said and turned back to Miss Haller. ‘Do you live with someone, Miss Haller?’ She shook her head. He had expected that (had he hoped it?). It would have been better for her if she had someone to keep her company, but he was certain that she was in no danger. The panic attack had shaken her, but it was not worse than that. ‘Well, make sure to get plenty of rest. A proper night’s sleep will do you good.’ She nodded at the instructions and rose. Without thinking twice, Charles reached out and took hold of her elbow to steady her. Miss Haller looked down at him and smiled, for the first time genuinely. It made crow’s-feet appear by her eyes and lit up her face. Something about it caught him off guard, and smiling back felt instinctual. Then, embarrassed, he let go of her arm. Erik walked beside her, looking ready to spring into action if needed. Charles wheeled himself after them.
They followed her out onto the street, to where the cab waited. Miss Haller made an attempt to take the jacket off, but Erik raised a hand to stop her.
‘You can return it later,’ he said. ‘You must keep warm.’ She flushed and thanked him, and as Charles paid the driver, he opened the door for her. As soon as it closed, she opened the window and caught Charles’ eye. Beyond the shaken nerves and the exhaustion, he glimpsed another part of her, strong-willed and acute. He felt a sudden wish to get to know this woman, and hoped that she would call him as he had asked her to.
‘Thank you, Professor,’ she said, her voice steadier. Before he had time to answer, the cab started moving, so instead he waved after her. He could not see if she waved back.
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