Petals on a Wet, Black Bough, Chapter 3
Chapter 3
They gather in the kitchen before dawn, heads downcast, the room filled with unspoken words. Is it the lingering connection to Charles's mind that makes Erik aware of what they are thinking? Or is it his memory that supplies the knowledge of how they feel?
It can’t be the latter. When Erik was their age, he hadn’t cared whether he lived or died. He just wanted to get the job done.
But this is wrong, the way they can’t look at each other, the way they accept those ridiculous suits without a word, the way they rest their hands on the house's furniture; lingering touches of goodbye.
They don’t believe they’ll live through this day. Not without their leader.
And Erik doesn’t know what to do. He is an expert at shutting his own fear away, at facing danger without the what-ifs of longing, but he’s never done it for someone else.
He checks their suits instead, carefully, tests the straps of Sean’s ‘wings’ (they still look ridiculous, but he’s learned enough over the past week not to mention that), the position of Alex’s breastplate. He nods approvingly towards Hank and lets his hand rest on Raven’s shoulder for a moment.
“Let’s head out while Moira gets the car,” he tells them, and the way they file out after him, like a line of bedraggled ducks, hurts parts of him he didn’t possess before yesterday.
Damn you, Charles, what have you done to me?
He is very aware of the gravel crunching beneath his feet, the rising sun slowly tinting their faces, caressing them with warmth. His body is humming in tune with the metal around him. There’s so much metal in these suits, and the thought reassures him a bit.
At least I can move them out of danger quickly.
He doesn’t think that thought will serve to reassure them, though.
Moira arrives with the car (limousine would be a more fitting description, but they’ve already started buying into the Xaviers’ tendency for understatement), steps out, and joins the waiting half circle. She’s calmer than the rest of them, but still she’s never done anything like this (How do I know this? Why do I care?), and the thought of dying has always been an abstract one to her. Before today.
They look at him, all of them, expecting something, and Erik knows that Charles would give them exactly what they need right now. But he’s not Charles.
“Alright,” he therefore says, his voice a bit too rough, and Sean flinches. “I know you’re all frightened, and we’d all prefer Charles to be here, but remember that we trained for this. We have a plan, we have the element of surprise on our side, and beyond all that, we have a team. As long as you stick up for each other, you’ll be fine.”
It’s not great rhetoric, but at least it’s something, and he can see a little bit of courage returning to their faces, can see them standing that much straighter, when the sound of footsteps behind them, of gravel shifting and metal moving flushes adrenaline into Erik’s system - no one knows we’re here, how did Shaw - and he whirls around a bit quicker than the rest of them, and there, standing opposite him, wearing a suit just like theirs…
Is Charles.
“You wouldn’t really leave without me, would you?” He asks, and smiles.
This is bravado at its worst - one look at his friend is enough to tell Erik that.
Charles is sweating, his skin looks sallow and his eyes are bloodshot. The smile is weak and threatens to slip away any moment. Charles really doesn’t look as if he should be on his feet, but Erik can feel the children’s tension drain away, and for a moment he wonders whether Charles is projecting something to them or whether his mere presence is truly enough to cause this effect.
“Charles?” It’s Raven, voice wavering between hope and disbelief, one of her hands outstretched, but there’s something in Charles's posture that’s warning them not to get too close. “Should you really… You’re coming with us?”
“There’s no place I’d rather be,” he answers, but the smile slips again as he says it, turning into a grimace.
This is ridiculous. More than that, it’s impossible. Erik has been through just a fraction of what happened to Charles yesterday, but it was enough to make him tremble and shake through the night, bad enough hat he had to lock his feelings and fears away this morning, just as he did at the camps, to be ready for battle. And he’s not a telepath.
He knows how flimsy Charles's shields must still be, and there’s no way his friend could hope to pull this off, no way he can function under such stress…
“Charles, a word, please.”
Charles nods and turns back to the house, waiting for Erik to join him, and it’s obvious, the way he’s leaning back against the terrace’s balustrade for support, as if he can’t even manage standing on his own.
This is ridiculous.
Erik should take control right now and shut this down, but the only thing he can do as he steps up to his friend is marvel at how fragile Charles looks.
Wasn’t he taller yesterday? How can something as vast as his mind fit into such a small, unassuming man?
Charles looks at him with a good deal of bewilderment in his eyes, and Erik uncomfortably realizes that Charles can probably hear every single thing he’s thinking right now, given the state of his shielding.
“I’m sorry, but I really can’t help it,” Charles whispers, confirming that thought. Erik tries to remember all the things he’s been thinking during the past hour for a moment, then gives it up as a lost cause.
“I know,” he answers. “But you can’t be serious about coming with us, Charles. You can barely stand.”
“I won’t have to in the plane.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” The words are harsh, but Charles takes them the way they were meant, as concern, and just shakes his head again.
“Then tell me, my friend, how you intend to stop Shaw without me. Is there a single power in our arsenal capable of that except mine?”
Erik doesn’t need to give an answer, and Charles doesn’t need to read Erik’s mind. They have been over this a hundred times this past week, developing scenarios and plans and counter-measures to Shaw’s unique powers. They aren’t even quite sure if Charles will be strong enough to freeze Shaw or if his telepathy will just register as another form of energy, but it is the only option they could come up with.
“You’re exhausted. Your telepathy must be all over the place,” Erik tries, because it is the truth and not just something he invents to keep Charles safe. A telepath that collapses is no use to them at all.
“I’m not that exhausted,” Charles's skin has a greenish tint and he doesn’t bother to hide how much he’s relying on the balustrade now. But still he scoffs and chuckles in that irritatingly British way of his. “And my physical state has nothing to do with my powers. I can do this. I have to.”
It is said with the same conviction Charles used to pull himself back together last night, with the same determination that made him hang on, and succeed, and give them both back their sanity, and for a moment, the urge to reach out and touch Charles, to soothe away the pain on his face is almost overwhelming.
“You could die,” Erik says, very quietly and very much afraid.
Charles meets his eyes unreservedly.
“So could you,” he says.
For a moment, Erik wonders if he should try to stop Charles (not that he’s sure he could, to be honest), but then decides that he has no reason to. At worst, they will simply have to knock Charles out again. At best, Charles will make the difference between stopping Shaw and World War III.
Erik sternly reminds himself that worry about his friend’s safety and wellbeing isn’t a legitimate reason to risk this operation. He sees Charles's expression soften. Damn those telepathic abilities.
“When this is over, you and I will have a very long talk, Charles,” he says and turns back to the car, refusing to lend the other man a helping arm. If Charles can’t make it to the Blackbird on his own, he’ll just have to stay here (safely).
xXx
The children react to Charles's presence with delight, but instead of producing his usual inspirational drivel, Charles just offers weak nods all around, asks them to forgive him because he needs to concentrate, presses himself into a corner of the limousine and closes his eyes.
His fingers seem to have taken permanent residence at his temple, and the way he doesn’t look at them makes quite clear that he’s not up to social interaction right now.
Not that this stops them from looking at him, and every time the eyes of a team member rest on him worriedly, Charles winces. The car suddenly doesn’t feel that large anymore.
The drive itself is long and arduous. Raven tries to question Charles about his mental state, but only receives monosyllabic answers. Sean tries to joke, but no one laughs. Alex tries to lighten to mood by riling up Hank, but the expression on Charles's face becomes so miserable that he falls silent rather abruptly.
So by the time they are safely strapped into place and the Blackbird has taken off, the atmosphere is more than a bit strained.
Erik still feels ridiculously helpless. Only now that Charles's part of their dynamic is missing does he realize how exceptionally well they have worked together.
Ever since Charles has pulled him out of the water, Erik has provided the drive, the ruthlessness, the determination behind this operation. When Shaw breached the CIA facility and killed Darwin, he gave them a purpose (“We can avenge him”) that they could fight for, a goal that united them.
Charles is the calming influence to Erik’s rage, the moral compass to his journey of revenge. But he is more than that. Where Erik provided a common purpose, Charles has created cohesion, where Erik has pressed forward, Charles allowed them to linger on the moment and make something of it.
Together, they are great leaders. Together, they have built something unique.
Erik alone would have turned them into weapons, but Charles has added pride to that, trust and belonging. He’s made them a family of sorts, given them confidence, support, a home, and they have clustered around him.
He’s their center where Erik is their spear point. But now that the center’s lost, the ranks are faltering.
And as to Erik - he is painfully aware that he’s not the same man he was yesterday. Not really. He is still Erik, of course, with all his memories and wounds and scars and anger, with his acerbic humour and his low tolerance for fools, and nothing has changed that he could point his finger at and blame it on Charles.
But at the same time, he’s more aware of the other mutants (and the one human) around him than he has been of anyone for a very long time. Perhaps it’s just Charles's view of the world lingering in his mind, but suddenly he understands. He cares. And he wants to make it better. He wants to help.
Which is ludicrous, because he’s got more important things to do with his time than calm frightened teenagers (which is Charles's job, anyway), and because stopping Shaw takes precedence over emotional needs, always.
Not to mention that he has no idea how to do it.
And then he has to learn very quickly, because once again everyone’s attention is resting on Charles, and as the Blackbird soars into the sky, the telepath’s eyes snap open. They are not entirely sane.
“Just because I’m not talking to you doesn’t mean I’m brain damaged,” he bits out. Once again Erik is rather thankful for Charles's usually mellow temper, because this display is just disturbing. “And I would very much thank you if you kept your thoughts about my pending death to yourselves. Count sheep or recite the table of elements, for God’s sake.”
Raven looks exceptionally young and helpless, and also more than a bit hurt.
“But, Charles, I…”
“Yes, I know, Raven, more intimately than I would wish, actually, but believe it or not, I’m here to stop Shaw, not cater to your emotional needs, and I can’t do both in my current state. So pull yourself together, please.”
Erik doesn’t need Charles's powers to know what Raven is thinking - it’s written quite clearly on her face.
She’s hurt and confused, but above all she’s worried, because this is her brother, whom she knows better than anyone else, and her brother would never act this way. Charles isn’t Charles right now. Something is wrong.
“No, I’m not well, Raven, and I know it, but I’m not up to a detailed discussion of my mental state, either,” Charles snaps, fingers drilling into his temple. “Thank you Alex for pointing out the unflattering colour of my skin, yes, Sean, every mother would be worried if their son called her at six a.m. for no reason other than to tell her he loves themher and, I swear, Hank, if you think about kissing my sister one more time, I will…”
“Right,” Erik interrupts him in midsentence. “This is what we’ll do. I’ll go over the information I have on Shaw and his team again, and you will all listen to me carefully. I want your full concentration on this. No stray thoughts and no diversions, or those metal seat belts will get very uncomfortable very quickly. Do you understand?”
It’s easier after that. Charles is still twitching and his face looks more haggard by the minute, but he recovers enough to send Erik a thankful nod. Erik may not be good at calming minds, but he can certainly frighten them into submission.
xXx
They know they’ve reached the position of the fleets before Hank can tell them, because Charles suddenly sits up straight, and tilts his head sideways, and presses his lips together to stifle a painful moan.
“3538 men on those ships, and every single one’s frightened for his life,” he whispers.
Before yesterday, Erik would have been awed by the precision of Charles's power, but now he knows what it feels like to have that many voices in his mind, and he suppresses a shudder.
A glance out of the window shows them the ships these voices stem from, the lines drawn on water by powerful humans. Of the mutants that have caused all this, however, there is no sign.
Charles gives himself a shake and sits up even straighter, straining forward as if towards an invisible goal.
“Right,” he says quickly, feverishly. “Right, what do we have here. Destroyers, Cruisers… the cargo ship Aral Sea… yes, thank you Moira, I’m quite aware what an embargo line entails… but there’s just one person aboard… right… they’re all dead, it’s just Shaw’s teleport… the Americans aren’t buying the Russians’ story, so I’d better … yes, Commander, be so kind as to press that button… evasive maneuver, Hank, there’s a rocket coming this way any moment now… but still no sign of Shaw… yes, there goes the Aral Sea…”
Charles's eyes are closed, clenched together in the effort of keeping atop the situation, so he can’t really see their disbelieving looks and the awe that is turning to fear slowly but steadily.
Below them, fire blooms on the water as Charles's mind destroys a ship that could have determined their future, and he could just as easily have destroyed the Russians or the Americans or them.
Or the world.
This is true power, Erik thinks, invisible and yet displayed right before their eyes, and Charles isn’t even bothering to look at what he wrought, is already busy relaying courses and tactics and orders to them, because nothing is secret from him, nothing is safe.
Moira has stopped even pretending to be in control of this situation, she is just staring at Charles like the rest of them, and thank God that at least Hank is concentrating on what he is supposed to do, though Erik isn’t sure if that matters at all or if Charles would just slip into Hank’s head and take over piloting with the same ease he’s taken over the rest of the conflict.
“No signs of the other mutants… there must be some kind of shield on the submarine, or perhaps Frost has put a permanent shield on them … she’s quite good at shielding, or at least she used to be…”
Erik is aware that Charles is not talking to them at all right now, although words and sentences pour forth at an alarming rate. They have ceased to exist in his mind as separate beings, and as he continues to simply snatch information from their heads and use it to further his trail of thought, as he does the same with the Russian and American Captain and every single soldier aboard the ships, Erik realizes that Charles's shields are barely shielding at all.
They are still no more than that single barrier of glass keeping him separate, and that is not enough to make him understand them as individuals that should be beyond his grasp. They are merely threads in his net of information, extensions of his senses, and in the urgency of the moment he uses them ruthlessly.
“The military have no location for them, either… though one of the young officers picked up a blip on the radar half an hour ago… might be his submarine… but the sonars of the ships aren’t fine tuned enough to place him… right you are, Hank, but Moira can’t find anything in the readings… we’d need sonar… brilliant idea, Sean, and no, Hank, I can’t simply sense for Shaw, not with his helmet on…”
The others are staring at each other, now, overwhelmed by Charles's monologue that is interspersed with thoughts they haven’t even formulated yet, and completely unaware that the fact Charles is talking, is actually using his mouth instead of projecting directly into all of their minds is the biggest sign of how very much in control their telepath still is.
Erik remembers the chaos of thoughts and emotions, and his respect for Charles deepens, even as Charles gives an abrupt and very girlish giggle.
“Sorry, sorry… one of the midshipmen is a mean composer of limericks… I wonder why the Russian Captain hopes they’ll fail, though… oh, poor man, and such a beautiful girl it was…”
“Charles,” Erik says, both to stop him from spiraling away from the problem at hand and to regain control over the situation. “Calm yourself. You’re frightening the children.”
The children are, in fact, frightened enough to not even protest that they’re fully grown, thank you very much.
With obvious effort, Charles rips himself away from the cacophony of minds. He opens his eyes again.
“Sorry, everyone,” he says. “Are you ready, Sean?”
Sean doesn’t look ready.
He looks as if he wants to run away and hide from the telepath, and he actually steps towards Erik, as if the notion of being thrown out of the airplane is less worrying than Charles's manic monologue, but he does his bit, and as soon as he hits the water Charles twitches again. He probably isn’t even aware that he projects Shaw’s location into all their minds, that he directs Hank to lower the landing gears and nudges Erik towards them.
And then Erik is lifting a submarine, a submarine, and it’s so exhilarating and frightening and bloody exhausting that he doesn’t even notice Riptide attacking them until the mutant suddenly slumps over and threatens to slide off the ship’s side.
“Catch him, Erik, there’s a good chap,” Charles shouts over the roaring wind. “We don’t want him plummeting to his death, do we?”
All in all, it’s rather anticlimactic.
But that will change.
xXx
A/N: Assuming that the events of this story have thrown the last evening at the Mansion off course, I also assume that Hank has not brought the serum to Raven (who has other things to worry about and probably doesn’t feel as conflicted about her brother, either), nor has he taken it himself. He’s therefore still the same old Hank, but with full use of Beast’s abilities.
Concerning the number of soldiers aboard the ships: I’ve extrapolated the numbers (which are just an approximation) from the usual complements of the 1960s’ US and USSR destroyers and counted the number of ships shown in the film. Don’t quote my maths, though, I might be quite wrong.