Forgive Us Our Transgressions 14/16
Erik would never admit to brooding, no matter what Emma accused him of. Still, he would admit that he was feeling a bit…off following the mission, keeping to himself in his office for the most part, to avoid the hopeful stares of Pyro, and the knowing gazes of his team.
He hadn’t been able to kill those people.
That’s what it came down to.
And not just because Charles had shown up, riding in on his metaphorical white horse to save the day. Even before, Erik had hesitated, holding back from shedding blood.
Why?
Because you’re not the man you were, he told himself. But that wasn’t quite right.
Because you might just be the man Charles always said you were.
‘Be the better man.’ It was what Charles had always asked of him. Erik had thought it was impossible, the pipe dream of an overly idealistic man.
And yet, when his memories had been stripped away, when his sadness, pain and anger had been forgotten…
Perhaps he had been a better man.
Had that consideration and calm been within him the whole time?
Charles had always insisted it was.
The water was cold, despite the mild Miami night. Cold enough to seep into his wetsuit, making him feel it in his bones. A cold that forced to the surface terrible memories, memories that made him all the more determined to kill Schmidt or die trying, to hold on to the submarine even as his lungs burned for another breath.
He didn’t hear the splash above him, couldn’t focus on anything but his dream of vengeance slipping inexorably away into the depths of the ocean. Until warm arms closed around him, and a voice spoke into his head.
You are not alone.
Charles refused to give up on him, holding him until he relented, until he watched Schmidt fade into the distance. And yet, it didn’t hurt the way he imagined it would. Not with Charles by his side.
Charles, telling him that he knew everything that he was, everything that he had been.
Telling him that he was good inside, despite it all.
It warmed him more than the blanket the other man threw around his shoulders, or the tea he insisted on making him. It warmed him more than the knowledge that he wasn’t the only freak on the planet, more than even a new mission could.
It was Charles’ faith that made him stay with the CIA, Charles’ faith that kept him tethered to the house in Westchester. Charles’ faith that drew him to the other man’s bed.
He reached for the phone before Magneto could talk him out of it.
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They met in a public place, neutral ground. Perhaps Charles thought it was just a bakery; he was less used to battle strategy than Erik.
“You need to be careful with those men you captured,” Erik said without preamble, taking the seat across from Charles.
“Arrested,” Charles corrected absentmindedly, eyeing the pastries in the case.
Erik barked out a laugh. “Under what authority?”
Charles drew his eyes from the danishes, shifting guiltily. “Arrested sounds better.”
“What does that matter, if it isn’t true?”
Charles shook his head. “Appearances matter. A difference in language can be the line between being an activist and a terrorist.” He gave Erik a significant look.
“I’m fairly sure bloodshed formed that line,” Erik scoffed. He wasn’t wearing his helmet-how could he in a place like this?-and he felt naked without it. Exposed and vulnerable. “And you’re changing the subject. Those men are dangerous.”
“I’m aware.”
Erik leaned across the small café table, insistently close. “Dangerous to you,” he hissed. “Their research was on mental abilities.”
“I know. Irene is a precognitive. Isn’t that amazing? She can’t control it, of course. But she actually sees the future.”
Erik knew; he had seen the documents. It was an impressive ability and he was not surprised that people wanted to study her, along with Blindspot and her ability to snatch memories from people’s minds. But what mattered to him was not Irene’s power, but the fact that she was only twelve years old-kidnapped from her home and imprisoned in a cage.
“They know about you now,” Erik insisted. “They’ve seen what you can do. If they were interested in a little girl who can’t control what she does, then think how much they’ll want you.”
“I can take care of myself, Erik,” Charles frowned. “This chair has not made me entirely helpless.”
“That’s not what I was implying, and you know it.” Erik sat back with a huff. “I was just as worried about you when you could walk.”
Charles looked at him sharply. “Were you?”
“Always,” Erik responded, seeing no reason to dissemble. Not with Charles, not without his helmet.
“Erik, why did you call me? Really?”
“You don’t know?” he asked sceptically, wiggling his fingers in the way that had come to represent Charles’ telepathy.
At least for the two of them. He tried not to think about what it meant that they had their own language, a wealth of looks and gestures and words that only the two of them count interpret. Even after all this time.
“Of course not,” Charles snapped. “I told you once that I wouldn’t read you without your permission.”
“But you did while I was staying with you,” Erik guessed.
Charles was an idealist, but he wasn’t a fool. And only a fool would accept an enemy into their house unconditionally.
Charles dropped his gaze. “I did.”
“I would have done the same,” Erik said, although he knew that wouldn’t assuage Charles’ guilt. The man had always insisted on being better than Erik, after all.
“I think you know why I called even without reading my mind,” he continued.
Charles merely looked at him expectantly.
“Fine. I miss you,” Erik admitted, hard-earned self-knowledge that came at the price of many a sleepless night.
“I miss you, too,” Charles said immediately. “And Erik,” he reached across the table, laying a hesitant hand over Erik’s. “I am sorry for what happened at the school. You had every right to be angry. I just…” he hung his head. “I just didn’t want to lose you again.”
Again, Erik thought. He had walked away from Charles twice in his life, and each time it had felt like the right thing to do, but also like the biggest mistake he had ever made. He had been sure that he was unable to turn his back on himself, who he truly was. He had been convinced that there was no compromise to be made with Charles, no common ground between peace and war.
But now…call it what he might, Charles had abducted those men and was holding them against his will. And he was happy to do so, in the name of the greater good. In the name of the mutants.
Isn’t that what Erik stood for?
“About what happened at the facility…” he began.
“I’m so happy you didn’t kill those people,” Charles interrupted earnestly, voice pitched low to elude the hearing of the other patrons.
“I don’t know why I didn’t. I would have, before.”
“You don’t know why?” Charles asked solemnly. Erik shifted under his gaze.
“I remember my whole life now-Schmidt, the Nazis, the CIA-but somehow I can’t be Magneto anymore.”
It was the hardest admission he had ever made, but somehow, the pressure of Charles’ hand on his eased the words from his throat.
“That’s because you’ve always been Erik. Underneath.”
“I meant what I said back at the school. I can’t be content to hide away in the countryside, and pretend there’s nothing wrong with the world. I saved those children from being experimented on.”
“Yes, you did. But you didn’t save St. John from killing his first man. You, of all people, should know what that does to a boy.”
St. John? Erik thought, loud enough for Charles to hear.
I believe he wants to think of himself as ‘Pyro’, Charles supplied. Just as you have been trying to hide behind the name ‘Magneto.’
Was it hiding?
He supposed it was, in way. Not the kind of hiding he accused Charles of, but still hiding, a way of not engaging with the world.
“I want to help our kind, too.” Charles said. “Rescuing those children was the right thing to do. Killing all those people was not. Those are two things we agree on.”
“I…suppose that’s true,” Erik admitted.
“I’d like you to come back to the school. The children miss you. Lorna asks after you almost every day.”
At that, Erik had to smile. “I won’t teach maths.”
A wide, sunny grin broke out over Charles’ face. “I’ve seen you do maths,” he teased. “I wouldn’t want you to try and teach it.”
“So, we’re really going to try this? Again?”
“I believe we’ve both learned an awful lot over the last several years, my friend,” Charles said with a sad smile. “We are not the men we were.”
“We can be better men,” Erik told him, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he believed it was true.
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“You’re doing what?” Mystique gaped at him, her form shifting minutely in her surprise.
“I’m returning to the Xavier Academy. I will run all our operations from there, with the help of the X-Men.”
“The X-Men are our enemies,” Azazel reminded him flatly.
“Not anymore. We’ve decided to embrace our common ground.”
“Which means?”
“We all fight injustices against mutantkind.”
“But?”
“Without unnecessary bloodshed,” Erik admitted. The one point of compromise Charles had always asked of him. The one he was finally willing to make.
Emma snorted. “I thought it was all necessary?”
“I’ve…re-evaluated.”
“I thought compromise was for the weak,” she asked, arching one perfectly shaped brow. God, Erik found her annoying sometimes. “Or have you re-evaluated that, too?”
“Unnecessary bloodshed ruins the reputation of the mutants,” he said, uncomfortably aware that he was parroting Charles’ words. He believed them, though. “Look, no one cares about three kids in cages if they have dozens of dead bodies to focus on. That’s something we should have realized a dozen missions ago. It’s why we’re getting nowhere, no matter how many humans we catch exploiting our kind.” He frowned. “It’s been brought to my attention that playing to people’s sympathies might be more effective than triggering their fears.”
“Brought to your attention,” Mystique snorted under her breath.
“He misses you, you know,” Erik said mildly, almost enjoying the way she flinched back from the words.
“Yeah, well…” she refused to meet his eyes.
Erik knew it would take more than that, knew that she was still so angry and hurt, the time and distance making it worse instead of better. Without Charles’ warm smiles to ease the hurt, without his gentle acceptance to remind her she was loved, all she had was the memory of being forced to hide, her pain at Charles’ rejection, her broken heart when she realized he would never care for her the way she wanted.
“You all are welcome to come with me. My mission hasn’t changed. I still want to protect all mutants from humanity. I still believe they want to hurt us, and will do everything in my power to stop that. I’ve just begun to hope there’s a way to do that which doesn’t involve genocide on either side.”
“Sorry, sugar,” Emma said, pursing her lips. “I’m not one for compromise. I’ve got my sights set on a bigger goal than just being accepted.”
The memory of Shaw’s plan as he had seen it in Emma’s thoughts, the destruction, the devastation and Emma’s delight in it, flashed through Erik’s mind. “Fine.”
“I stay with Miss Frost,” Azazel said seriously. “Integration will never happen for mutants who look like me.”
Erik sighed, shooting another glance at Mystique and her beautiful blue skin.
Riptide, ever the quiet one, merely shrugged and stepped closer to Azazel. His allegiance was clear-it had been from the very beginning.
“Mystique?” Erik tried.
“Don’t,” she said sharply, taking a step back. “I can’t. Not yet.”
His eyes drifted to the last remaining member of his team.
“Sorry, daddy-o,” Angel laughed, shaking her head as she joined her teammates. “The X-Men and I never did get along.”
Erik sighed. He hadn’t had high hopes, but he thought perhaps the girls would understand him. Charles had also rescued both of them, after all.
“Well, I’m certainly not going the peace, love and happiness route,” Blindspot snorted from the corner, where she had been watching the proceedings with disinterest.
And that was that. Erik refused to show his disappointment, merely nodding at the people who had stayed by his side for three years.
“I hope we never end up fighting against each other,” was all he could bring himself to say.
“For your sake, darling,” Emma laughed coldly, and left the room.
“We can keep the headquarters?” Azazel asked.
“They’re still in Shaw’s name,” Erik shrugged. He wouldn’t miss the barren safe houses they had been calling home for the last few years.
“Excellent,” the red-skinned man nodded. “Goodbye, Magneto.”
The remains of the Brotherhood slowly filtered out of the room, leaving Erik staring after them.
“I’ll-I’ll come with you,” a hesitant voice said. Erik turned, seeing that Pyro still hovering in the room. “If that’s okay with you.”
Erik thought about what Charles had told him-the boy that was St. John underneath-and smiled. “I’d like that,” he agreed.
It was more than bittersweet, disassembling the Brotherhood, the culmination of what he had thought of as his life’s work. He had been a leader, a force to be reckoned with. He had been making his mark on the world.
But he had come to realize that perhaps it wasn’t the mark he wanted to be making, that blood and tears weren’t the legacy he wanted to leave behind.
He knew what it was like to feel peace, now, and he wanted that feeling back. No matter the sacrifices.
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Chapter Fifteen