The only problems with a story is you already know the outcome.
Title: Too Far to Turn Around
Summary: For andthexmen’s Off-Season Fic Off #8. Set pre-WatXM, shortly after the flashbacks in Breakdown. Charles and Erik have a discussion.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Xavier and Magneto. Mentions or brief appearances by Mystique, Blink, Teen!Cyclops (who I am in love with a little after episode 20), Jean Grey, and The Scarlett Witch.
Pairings: Nope
Warnings: Somewhat ideologically sensitive I suppose.
Disclaimer: Marvel owns. Title comes courtesy of the Grover Girl song, Make-Believe.
A/N: This has been shelved, scrapped, rewritten and then scrapped again about four or five times since June. Part of me is insanely relieved to exorcise at least one thing out of my deadfic file; another part of me is confident that there was a reason I kept scrapping it and it should've never seen the light of fic day heh.
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"Please take a seat, Professor." Charles wondered briefly if it was a politeness extended without actual thought, or a subtle jab. Mystique smiled at him, very much herself behind close-cropped dark hair and porcelain skin, catlike and vicious in the light from the fireplace. Most assuredly a jab. "Magneto will be with you shortly."
Charles manoeuvred the wheelchair further into the study. Erik was always fond of his books. How many volumes here contained their battles within the margins, notes that they would leave for one another on the first read before swapping? A majority of Charles' books were marked in the same way; tight precise printing that took him back three decades in an instant. "Thank you, Raven." She narrowed her eyes at the familiarity--perhaps she had been hoping Charles would not see past her disguise--but said nothing. He knew she would like nothing more than to end these occasional meetings, to end him right there. Instead, she turned efficiently on her heels, blue snaking sinuously across her form as she left Charles very much alone. Working for Erik required a certain level of courtesy when it came to him, and Charles was thankful not for the first time for that fact.
Erik could have met him immediately, he knew, but this was a reminder that Charles was a guest in his domain, and that his team would not hesitate to act were he not to abide by Erik's rules. His adult team. Charles sighed to himself, idly plucking one of the bishops from the chessboard and rolling it in his palm; they would play after dinner.
He shouldn't have lied to his children, shouldn't have fed them half-truths. 'Where are you going, Professor?' Scott, always Scott, official spokesman for his classmates, more commanding at seventeen than Charles could ever be. Charles was simply a teacher, not a leader of men; that was Scott...that was Erik. Scott had a right to question Charles, of course; the worry in his voice was justified. The last time he had left the mansion, he had not come home for weeks, and when he had.... Charles had gone alone because he had feared his mission would have been too dangerous for the team. It had proven too dangerous for Charles, as well.
'To see an old friend. I'll be returning later tonight.' Charles only wanted to protect Scott, a man in so many ways but still a child. Charles was not broken (if he kept telling himself that, maybe it would become true, maybe he would believe what he had convinced his students.) It was still his responsibility to shield his children from danger, from the ugly truths, not the other way around.
'Don't worry, Professor,'(Charles was never worried when Scott was at the helm.)'I'll take care of the team while you're away. And we'll get Jean to contact you if Magneto starts anything. We're ready; you can count on us.' Except...protecting his X-Men, his surrogate sons and daughters, was not Charles' motivation. Not really. They would've been far better armed had they known where he actually was tonight, that their sworn enemy had once been (had always been; would always be) Charles' dearest friend. He was startled from his thoughts by a sound from the doorway.
"Charles." Erik's true power lay not in his mastery of the metallic, his formidable assets, his deadly associates. "It's good to see you." It was in his voice, warm and rich and compelling. It put Charles at ease, even when his guard should have stayed up.
"And you, Erik. You look well." And he did -- light age lines softening the steely eyes, the physique of a much younger man. He was greyer at the temples than the last time they had met outside of the battlefield, but was otherwise completely unchanged. Erik never seemed to age. It made Charles all the more aware of his own recent brush with his mortality.
Erik took a seat in the wingback opposite, so that they were level with one another. "As do you." Charles was more thankful than he should have been for the compliment and the simple courtesy. "I hope the transportation was suitable. Some find teleportation...unsettling. I assure you that young Blink has made astounding progress since her arrival here."
Clarice had been taciturn for the majority of the journey, save the one condition she supplied. 'If you're going to ralph, let me know first. I'm tired of being puked on.' Charles had chuckled and given his word. He could see her fitting well with his team; he'd left the offer to join open ended when they parted.
"She seems like quite the remarkable young woman." In conversation with Erik, it was often difficult to tell when the pleasantries ended and the ulterior motives began. It was best to keep his comments neutral until he could better gauge the direction their talk was going to take.
"Mmm." Erik nodded, standing again and crossing the room, splashing brandy into two snifters. His fidgeting indicated he was ill at ease about something, that much was certain, though Charles would never use his gifts to pry. "And she's developed the most fascinating friendship with Victor. It's rather surprising, really." Erik flashed him a wry grin and looked thirty again. "Though I suppose there are more surprising friendships that exist."
"Stranger things have indeed happened." For an instant, they were just two young men waxing hypothetical once more. Charles accepted the drink with a smile. "And your children? How is the training progressing with their gifts?" It was another secret Charles had kept from his students, the origin of the two newest Brotherhood members. Of course they were curious; contact with any mutants always brought an onslaught of questions. Toss in a pretty girl their age and Charles had nearly buckled under the barrage of inquiries.
"It has been..." He swirled the brandy, lit up golden from the firelight, searching for the word. Another gift of his speech, Erik knew when to pause. "Trying. They're impatient and rash and convinced they're invincible."
"Ah, so they're teenagers."
Erik chuckled. "I never did have your patience, Charles."
"The invitation to my school is always open. They both might do well with others their own age. And the girl..." Wanda had become a point of contention between the two men. The sheer magnitude of power in hands so inexperienced terrified Charles. He wondered if Erik truly understood what she was capable of if she lost control.
"Will not have her gifts savagely subdued like your telekinetic. Her powers should not be dimmed simply to fit our limited vision." Jean had been another sore point of debate. Charles had only done what he had thought was best. "Wanda has so much potential."
"It's only what that potential could be converted into that worries me."
Annoyance briefly flashed across Erik's face before it smoothed over with a practiced calm. "I appreciate your concern, but please trust me when I say it is unwarranted. I have complete control of the situation." There was a long pause in the conversation, broken only by the burning crackle of too green wood, the slosh of brandy lifted to lips. Erik was amicable when he spoke again. "And what of your students, Charles?"
"They're progressing exceptionally well with their gifts." This would be the only information he would share on that particular aspect of his team. Erik was his friend, but the X-Men were his family, and their safety needed to come first, even when Charles was indulging his unseemly ties. "I'm hoping to take on a full regime of students in the fall semester, though the paperwork involved registering for a private academy has proven arduous. But several of my senior members have indicated interest in remaining at the mansion and staying on as teaching staff."
"I'm sure you'll be grateful for the extra assistance." Erik was shifting uneasily once more, inspecting his glass. "In light of the circumstances."
Ah, the proverbial elephant in the room. "I should hope that my students' motivations to teach stem from something a bit loftier than pity." And they did, mostly. It was always lurking in the background now though, tainting things. Charles wasn't blind to it. He had foolishly hoped to escape it for an evening; as a general rule, Erik was not wont to pity.
"Of course. I wasn't implying...," he trailed off. It was the first time Erik had ever abandoned a sentence in Charles' presence, and it hung there, gangly and malformed, disconnected to what followed. "You've heard of the atrocities on Genosha, I'm sure."
Charles was thankful for the deference of topic. It had been eight months since he had lost the use of his legs. Every day was difficult, challenging when it used to be so simple, made more so by an isolation from his peers. It was not a burden he could share with his students. They were still children, they were his children, and he already asked so much of them. Yet now, in the face of an equal, Charles was relieved to avoid discussing it. His weaknesses, so much more mental than physical now, stayed his and his alone. "Yes. The OHCHR has become involved at this point, correct?"
"As has the Brotherhood, though much less publically." The island of Genosha, a self-governing unincorporated territory of the United States, had long been promising a haven for those with gifts, yet it had always remained secretive and secluded from the rest of the world. Charles had simply assumed it was in order to protect the inhabitants from further persecution. It had been reassuring when he had checked Cerebro, shining like a beacon with legions of tiny yellow dots. When the photographs from the U.N. inquiry had been released, he had felt sick; the experiments being performed on mutantkind by the government, the brutality of it all. "Of course, there is ongoing debate outside of the OHCHR as to whether our kind qualifies for basic human rights." His voice was steeped in bitterness.
"In what capacity are you involved, Erik." Charles was almost hesitant to ask.
“I’m not always the villain you paint me to be to your students.” Erik leaned forward in his chair. “We’ve been helping with the relief of the people, and the destruction of the government facilities. It troubled me that the Americans had been solely in charge of that, many of the torture devices and the research was being harvested instead of destroyed. There are rumours that their government are forming a division for mutant response here. I’d like to prevent something like this from occurring again.”
“I’m sure the UN is grateful for your help.”
“As is the United States, it seems.” Erik shook his head, as if clearing it. “It’s mine, Charles.” Charles was certain the confusion showed upon his face. “The previous regime is toppled, everything is in the throes of unrest over there. These people need a leader...and I am to fill that role. The bill was signed this morning.” From somewhere within Erik’s brain, images screamed at Charles before he could block them - dark-rimmed glasses, an antique oak desk, Capital buildings - a sure sign he was not telling the whole story. A lie of omission was like a shout to a telepath.
And yet, even in the undercurrent of deceit, there was a ringing morality to it, a belief of ends justifying means which underscored every single conviction Erik held that Charles could not subscribe to. “Are you sure this is what you want? The scrutiny you’ll face as a world leader, Erik... you’ll not be able to continue on with the Brotherhood.”
“That is a chapter of my life I am more than willing to close for this opportunity.” Or operate covertly, Charles suspected. “Do you realize what this means for our kind? A place where mutants can use their powers in the streets? Where all of us can be free of persecution? Where our talents will be lauded instead of shunned? It will be a paradise, Charles.”
“Why the sudden change though, the co-operation with humanity?” For as long as they had know one another, Erik had been vehement, not stopping until all of the world became a sanctuary for Homo sapiens superior. Charles hated that Erik’s term had snuck into his vocabulary. Superior. It undermined his own beliefs.
“You almost sound disappointed. Isn’t this what you’ve been espousing for decades?”
“And what you’ve been fighting just as inflexibly against.”
Erik smiled tightly. “I admit, it’s not ideal, but it is a start. If I can show, on the world stage, how productive, how effective, how peaceful a nation of mutants can be, perhaps humans will begin to realize their own obsolescence. It will make things easier, in the long run. Surely, you’re not opposed to the idea of providing a haven for our people. There are more mutants every day, Charles, and you will not be able to shelter them all in your quaint little academy.”
Charles was acutely aware of this. After the students had gone to bed, he would be awake for hours, (he hadn’t slept much in the last year, imaginary pain in his legs keeping him awake, reminding him what he had taken for granted, reminding him of his failures,) sifting through new signatures on Cerebro. He tried to find those that needed his help the most, but there were so many. So so many and he was only one man. (Half a man, broken and unwhole. How could he help them when he was unable to even save himself?) “Segregation is not the answer. Integration is.”
“Says the man who has cloistered himself, who hides the true nature of his ‘Gifted Youngsters’ from the public eye.”
He was right, of course; Charles hated when he was right. But anti-mutant sentiment grew everyday and he couldn’t bear the thought of one of his students alone, falling victim to it. It contradicted all of the lessons he had taught them, but they never questioned him on it. They put too much faith in him; he could never live up to their expectations. One day they would realize, and they would hate him for his hypocrisy. “They’re children, Erik.”
“They’re nearly men. You cannot protect them forever.” Unlike his students, Erik knew him -- not a projected image of a man, not an ideal to be followed, but Charles himself. It was comforting and terrifying all at once. Erik closed his eyes and held up his index finger; a system they had set up a lifetime ago to indicate he had another point to make before Charles’ rebuttal, but needed to collect his thoughts first. Or temper his frustration. Generally the latter. “I didn’t ask you here to have this debate again.”
“Why did you ask me here?”
Eric rose from the chair and began to pace. “Join me in Genosha; leave the United States behind. I will give you your school and the freedom to teach as you choose.” He laughed darkly. “Even if your preference is for impractical ideals instead of the pragmatic.”
Charles could practically feel the sword of Damocles twisting above his head. “At what cost?”
“I only ask that your school remains just that, Charles.”
“Disband the X-Men, you mean.”
Erik’s back was to the fireplace, and Charles could no longer see his expression in the menacing black silhouette. “The Brotherhood will not be operating. My Acolytes will be more than able to provide any support you or I may need. There will be no necessity to go gallivanting about as heroes. Which you cannot do anymore. Even with your unflappable optimism, surely you must realize your limitations now.”
“I am not some invalid.” As Charles spoke, he began to feel the doubt from the last eight months seep away. “I will give everything...” Realization pounded heavy in his chest. “My students will give everything to uphold what we have worked for.” Charles didn’t need to do this alone, and he didn’t only have Erik. The X-Men were not just his students, not just his children; they were people who had made a conscious decision to stand by his side and uphold his beliefs and Charles was so thankful for them. Ultimately, that outweighed everything.
“But you don’t need to! If you come to Genosha, your students will be safe. You will be safe.” He was startled by the ragged emotion in Erik’s voice. “Think of it Charles. Your existence doesn’t have to be a struggle.”
Unless he was fighting for something, struggling against something, what was the point? Erik had reminded him of that. He’d been wallowing in indifference. “I appreciate your concern, but we will be fine in Westchester.”
Erik ran a hand through his hair, aware that he was defeated. “Why must you make everything so difficult?” And perhaps that was why he and Erik remained friends, in spite of everything. Erik saw him as the man he was and, intentionally or not, he would force Charles to confront that. It always left Charles with a clear focus of the man he wanted to be, of how strong his beliefs were, of how he could never let them be comprised. And it would make Charles see what was truly important. When he returned to the mansion, Charles would tell his children, no... he would tell his X-Men of his ongoing and complicated friendship with their enemy. He owed it to them, and they would understand. They were more mature than he had been giving them credit for. “Do you ever tire of your sanctimonious convictions, Charles?”
Raven entered with a tray of food for the two men. Lamb, it looked like, and an aged Cab Sauv; Erik knew it was his favourite. “Do you ever tire of yours?”
A ghost of a smile. “Never.”
Summary: For andthexmen’s Off-Season Fic Off #8. Set pre-WatXM, shortly after the flashbacks in Breakdown. Charles and Erik have a discussion.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Xavier and Magneto. Mentions or brief appearances by Mystique, Blink, Teen!Cyclops (who I am in love with a little after episode 20), Jean Grey, and The Scarlett Witch.
Pairings: Nope
Warnings: Somewhat ideologically sensitive I suppose.
Disclaimer: Marvel owns. Title comes courtesy of the Grover Girl song, Make-Believe.
A/N: This has been shelved, scrapped, rewritten and then scrapped again about four or five times since June. Part of me is insanely relieved to exorcise at least one thing out of my deadfic file; another part of me is confident that there was a reason I kept scrapping it and it should've never seen the light of fic day heh.
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"Please take a seat, Professor." Charles wondered briefly if it was a politeness extended without actual thought, or a subtle jab. Mystique smiled at him, very much herself behind close-cropped dark hair and porcelain skin, catlike and vicious in the light from the fireplace. Most assuredly a jab. "Magneto will be with you shortly."
Charles manoeuvred the wheelchair further into the study. Erik was always fond of his books. How many volumes here contained their battles within the margins, notes that they would leave for one another on the first read before swapping? A majority of Charles' books were marked in the same way; tight precise printing that took him back three decades in an instant. "Thank you, Raven." She narrowed her eyes at the familiarity--perhaps she had been hoping Charles would not see past her disguise--but said nothing. He knew she would like nothing more than to end these occasional meetings, to end him right there. Instead, she turned efficiently on her heels, blue snaking sinuously across her form as she left Charles very much alone. Working for Erik required a certain level of courtesy when it came to him, and Charles was thankful not for the first time for that fact.
Erik could have met him immediately, he knew, but this was a reminder that Charles was a guest in his domain, and that his team would not hesitate to act were he not to abide by Erik's rules. His adult team. Charles sighed to himself, idly plucking one of the bishops from the chessboard and rolling it in his palm; they would play after dinner.
He shouldn't have lied to his children, shouldn't have fed them half-truths. 'Where are you going, Professor?' Scott, always Scott, official spokesman for his classmates, more commanding at seventeen than Charles could ever be. Charles was simply a teacher, not a leader of men; that was Scott...that was Erik. Scott had a right to question Charles, of course; the worry in his voice was justified. The last time he had left the mansion, he had not come home for weeks, and when he had.... Charles had gone alone because he had feared his mission would have been too dangerous for the team. It had proven too dangerous for Charles, as well.
'To see an old friend. I'll be returning later tonight.' Charles only wanted to protect Scott, a man in so many ways but still a child. Charles was not broken (if he kept telling himself that, maybe it would become true, maybe he would believe what he had convinced his students.) It was still his responsibility to shield his children from danger, from the ugly truths, not the other way around.
'Don't worry, Professor,'(Charles was never worried when Scott was at the helm.)'I'll take care of the team while you're away. And we'll get Jean to contact you if Magneto starts anything. We're ready; you can count on us.' Except...protecting his X-Men, his surrogate sons and daughters, was not Charles' motivation. Not really. They would've been far better armed had they known where he actually was tonight, that their sworn enemy had once been (had always been; would always be) Charles' dearest friend. He was startled from his thoughts by a sound from the doorway.
"Charles." Erik's true power lay not in his mastery of the metallic, his formidable assets, his deadly associates. "It's good to see you." It was in his voice, warm and rich and compelling. It put Charles at ease, even when his guard should have stayed up.
"And you, Erik. You look well." And he did -- light age lines softening the steely eyes, the physique of a much younger man. He was greyer at the temples than the last time they had met outside of the battlefield, but was otherwise completely unchanged. Erik never seemed to age. It made Charles all the more aware of his own recent brush with his mortality.
Erik took a seat in the wingback opposite, so that they were level with one another. "As do you." Charles was more thankful than he should have been for the compliment and the simple courtesy. "I hope the transportation was suitable. Some find teleportation...unsettling. I assure you that young Blink has made astounding progress since her arrival here."
Clarice had been taciturn for the majority of the journey, save the one condition she supplied. 'If you're going to ralph, let me know first. I'm tired of being puked on.' Charles had chuckled and given his word. He could see her fitting well with his team; he'd left the offer to join open ended when they parted.
"She seems like quite the remarkable young woman." In conversation with Erik, it was often difficult to tell when the pleasantries ended and the ulterior motives began. It was best to keep his comments neutral until he could better gauge the direction their talk was going to take.
"Mmm." Erik nodded, standing again and crossing the room, splashing brandy into two snifters. His fidgeting indicated he was ill at ease about something, that much was certain, though Charles would never use his gifts to pry. "And she's developed the most fascinating friendship with Victor. It's rather surprising, really." Erik flashed him a wry grin and looked thirty again. "Though I suppose there are more surprising friendships that exist."
"Stranger things have indeed happened." For an instant, they were just two young men waxing hypothetical once more. Charles accepted the drink with a smile. "And your children? How is the training progressing with their gifts?" It was another secret Charles had kept from his students, the origin of the two newest Brotherhood members. Of course they were curious; contact with any mutants always brought an onslaught of questions. Toss in a pretty girl their age and Charles had nearly buckled under the barrage of inquiries.
"It has been..." He swirled the brandy, lit up golden from the firelight, searching for the word. Another gift of his speech, Erik knew when to pause. "Trying. They're impatient and rash and convinced they're invincible."
"Ah, so they're teenagers."
Erik chuckled. "I never did have your patience, Charles."
"The invitation to my school is always open. They both might do well with others their own age. And the girl..." Wanda had become a point of contention between the two men. The sheer magnitude of power in hands so inexperienced terrified Charles. He wondered if Erik truly understood what she was capable of if she lost control.
"Will not have her gifts savagely subdued like your telekinetic. Her powers should not be dimmed simply to fit our limited vision." Jean had been another sore point of debate. Charles had only done what he had thought was best. "Wanda has so much potential."
"It's only what that potential could be converted into that worries me."
Annoyance briefly flashed across Erik's face before it smoothed over with a practiced calm. "I appreciate your concern, but please trust me when I say it is unwarranted. I have complete control of the situation." There was a long pause in the conversation, broken only by the burning crackle of too green wood, the slosh of brandy lifted to lips. Erik was amicable when he spoke again. "And what of your students, Charles?"
"They're progressing exceptionally well with their gifts." This would be the only information he would share on that particular aspect of his team. Erik was his friend, but the X-Men were his family, and their safety needed to come first, even when Charles was indulging his unseemly ties. "I'm hoping to take on a full regime of students in the fall semester, though the paperwork involved registering for a private academy has proven arduous. But several of my senior members have indicated interest in remaining at the mansion and staying on as teaching staff."
"I'm sure you'll be grateful for the extra assistance." Erik was shifting uneasily once more, inspecting his glass. "In light of the circumstances."
Ah, the proverbial elephant in the room. "I should hope that my students' motivations to teach stem from something a bit loftier than pity." And they did, mostly. It was always lurking in the background now though, tainting things. Charles wasn't blind to it. He had foolishly hoped to escape it for an evening; as a general rule, Erik was not wont to pity.
"Of course. I wasn't implying...," he trailed off. It was the first time Erik had ever abandoned a sentence in Charles' presence, and it hung there, gangly and malformed, disconnected to what followed. "You've heard of the atrocities on Genosha, I'm sure."
Charles was thankful for the deference of topic. It had been eight months since he had lost the use of his legs. Every day was difficult, challenging when it used to be so simple, made more so by an isolation from his peers. It was not a burden he could share with his students. They were still children, they were his children, and he already asked so much of them. Yet now, in the face of an equal, Charles was relieved to avoid discussing it. His weaknesses, so much more mental than physical now, stayed his and his alone. "Yes. The OHCHR has become involved at this point, correct?"
"As has the Brotherhood, though much less publically." The island of Genosha, a self-governing unincorporated territory of the United States, had long been promising a haven for those with gifts, yet it had always remained secretive and secluded from the rest of the world. Charles had simply assumed it was in order to protect the inhabitants from further persecution. It had been reassuring when he had checked Cerebro, shining like a beacon with legions of tiny yellow dots. When the photographs from the U.N. inquiry had been released, he had felt sick; the experiments being performed on mutantkind by the government, the brutality of it all. "Of course, there is ongoing debate outside of the OHCHR as to whether our kind qualifies for basic human rights." His voice was steeped in bitterness.
"In what capacity are you involved, Erik." Charles was almost hesitant to ask.
“I’m not always the villain you paint me to be to your students.” Erik leaned forward in his chair. “We’ve been helping with the relief of the people, and the destruction of the government facilities. It troubled me that the Americans had been solely in charge of that, many of the torture devices and the research was being harvested instead of destroyed. There are rumours that their government are forming a division for mutant response here. I’d like to prevent something like this from occurring again.”
“I’m sure the UN is grateful for your help.”
“As is the United States, it seems.” Erik shook his head, as if clearing it. “It’s mine, Charles.” Charles was certain the confusion showed upon his face. “The previous regime is toppled, everything is in the throes of unrest over there. These people need a leader...and I am to fill that role. The bill was signed this morning.” From somewhere within Erik’s brain, images screamed at Charles before he could block them - dark-rimmed glasses, an antique oak desk, Capital buildings - a sure sign he was not telling the whole story. A lie of omission was like a shout to a telepath.
And yet, even in the undercurrent of deceit, there was a ringing morality to it, a belief of ends justifying means which underscored every single conviction Erik held that Charles could not subscribe to. “Are you sure this is what you want? The scrutiny you’ll face as a world leader, Erik... you’ll not be able to continue on with the Brotherhood.”
“That is a chapter of my life I am more than willing to close for this opportunity.” Or operate covertly, Charles suspected. “Do you realize what this means for our kind? A place where mutants can use their powers in the streets? Where all of us can be free of persecution? Where our talents will be lauded instead of shunned? It will be a paradise, Charles.”
“Why the sudden change though, the co-operation with humanity?” For as long as they had know one another, Erik had been vehement, not stopping until all of the world became a sanctuary for Homo sapiens superior. Charles hated that Erik’s term had snuck into his vocabulary. Superior. It undermined his own beliefs.
“You almost sound disappointed. Isn’t this what you’ve been espousing for decades?”
“And what you’ve been fighting just as inflexibly against.”
Erik smiled tightly. “I admit, it’s not ideal, but it is a start. If I can show, on the world stage, how productive, how effective, how peaceful a nation of mutants can be, perhaps humans will begin to realize their own obsolescence. It will make things easier, in the long run. Surely, you’re not opposed to the idea of providing a haven for our people. There are more mutants every day, Charles, and you will not be able to shelter them all in your quaint little academy.”
Charles was acutely aware of this. After the students had gone to bed, he would be awake for hours, (he hadn’t slept much in the last year, imaginary pain in his legs keeping him awake, reminding him what he had taken for granted, reminding him of his failures,) sifting through new signatures on Cerebro. He tried to find those that needed his help the most, but there were so many. So so many and he was only one man. (Half a man, broken and unwhole. How could he help them when he was unable to even save himself?) “Segregation is not the answer. Integration is.”
“Says the man who has cloistered himself, who hides the true nature of his ‘Gifted Youngsters’ from the public eye.”
He was right, of course; Charles hated when he was right. But anti-mutant sentiment grew everyday and he couldn’t bear the thought of one of his students alone, falling victim to it. It contradicted all of the lessons he had taught them, but they never questioned him on it. They put too much faith in him; he could never live up to their expectations. One day they would realize, and they would hate him for his hypocrisy. “They’re children, Erik.”
“They’re nearly men. You cannot protect them forever.” Unlike his students, Erik knew him -- not a projected image of a man, not an ideal to be followed, but Charles himself. It was comforting and terrifying all at once. Erik closed his eyes and held up his index finger; a system they had set up a lifetime ago to indicate he had another point to make before Charles’ rebuttal, but needed to collect his thoughts first. Or temper his frustration. Generally the latter. “I didn’t ask you here to have this debate again.”
“Why did you ask me here?”
Eric rose from the chair and began to pace. “Join me in Genosha; leave the United States behind. I will give you your school and the freedom to teach as you choose.” He laughed darkly. “Even if your preference is for impractical ideals instead of the pragmatic.”
Charles could practically feel the sword of Damocles twisting above his head. “At what cost?”
“I only ask that your school remains just that, Charles.”
“Disband the X-Men, you mean.”
Erik’s back was to the fireplace, and Charles could no longer see his expression in the menacing black silhouette. “The Brotherhood will not be operating. My Acolytes will be more than able to provide any support you or I may need. There will be no necessity to go gallivanting about as heroes. Which you cannot do anymore. Even with your unflappable optimism, surely you must realize your limitations now.”
“I am not some invalid.” As Charles spoke, he began to feel the doubt from the last eight months seep away. “I will give everything...” Realization pounded heavy in his chest. “My students will give everything to uphold what we have worked for.” Charles didn’t need to do this alone, and he didn’t only have Erik. The X-Men were not just his students, not just his children; they were people who had made a conscious decision to stand by his side and uphold his beliefs and Charles was so thankful for them. Ultimately, that outweighed everything.
“But you don’t need to! If you come to Genosha, your students will be safe. You will be safe.” He was startled by the ragged emotion in Erik’s voice. “Think of it Charles. Your existence doesn’t have to be a struggle.”
Unless he was fighting for something, struggling against something, what was the point? Erik had reminded him of that. He’d been wallowing in indifference. “I appreciate your concern, but we will be fine in Westchester.”
Erik ran a hand through his hair, aware that he was defeated. “Why must you make everything so difficult?” And perhaps that was why he and Erik remained friends, in spite of everything. Erik saw him as the man he was and, intentionally or not, he would force Charles to confront that. It always left Charles with a clear focus of the man he wanted to be, of how strong his beliefs were, of how he could never let them be comprised. And it would make Charles see what was truly important. When he returned to the mansion, Charles would tell his children, no... he would tell his X-Men of his ongoing and complicated friendship with their enemy. He owed it to them, and they would understand. They were more mature than he had been giving them credit for. “Do you ever tire of your sanctimonious convictions, Charles?”
Raven entered with a tray of food for the two men. Lamb, it looked like, and an aged Cab Sauv; Erik knew it was his favourite. “Do you ever tire of yours?”
A ghost of a smile. “Never.”