So I love the friendship between Charles Xavier (Professor X) and Erik (Magneto), especially in X Men First Class, so here's just a little one- shot about their friendship going off X Men First Class and X Men the Last Stand. (Yes I know those two movies don't actually go in the same universe. But let's just pretend they do for the sake of I wanted to do this.) Also there's a tiny bit of symbolism at the very end.
Thanks for reading! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the X men movies or comic books.
In the middle of what little abandoned area that is left in North America, a mansion turned boarding school, proudly stood amongst the green plains the treetops formed. Students of all ages laughed and chatted with their comrades. The sun was an hour from setting, sending a specific orange glow across the many leaves which sheltered the little oasis from the outside world. It was a beautiful sight which, even for the oldest of students, the ones who had been there the longest, could never take advantage of.
The headmaster was no exception to the grand summer beauty, as she stood on the balcony of her old professor's office and smiled at the lengthy courtyard stretched before her, the lowering sun's glow bathing every blade of grass. Below, her young charges played while the older ones gossiped on the grassy turf.
It was a sight he always loved to see. A sight he always dreamed of seeing.
Her smile didn't turn bitter at the thought of her old friend; instead Professor Storm only smiled deeper, practically giggling to herself at the flash of him smiling down from the same balcony. The only difference was she wasn't sitting so her view had a much greater range.
Probably not, she thought to herself remembering how he always saw everything, even if it wasn't thought his own eyes.
It was nice to be happy at the thought of him, well that was until she was interrupted.
"Storm," a deep voice said hurriedly, causing the white haired woman to turn swiftly, her smile wavering when she felt the bad news on the edge of the Logan's voice. He gave her no time to respond before growling out and rushing out of the room, "We have a situation."
"Of course we do," she sighed and swiftly turned to follow her friend.
She caught up with him at the East wing exit where he was intently staring out the glass door. She stood next to him, furrowing her brow in confusion until she followed his gaze. Then her eyes widened, slightly shocked by what she saw.
It was silent for a few seconds, this side of the school being unusually unused, most likely due to the situation. Perhaps students saw him and ran away, knowing better than to approach such a man. Maybe that is how Logan found out; one of the students had told him. Logan kept his gaze for a few more moments, his body tense and fists clenched before he moved to open the door.
Just as he reached for the handle he was stopped by the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. His eyebrow rose as he slowly turned to see Storm's serious look replacing her previous one of surprise.
"Logan, wait," she said softly, moving her hand off his shoulder. She spared a glance to the little area of grass outside then bringing her full attention back to his confused and slightly impatient glare.
"What do you mean wait?" he snapped back a bit harshly, wondering what was possibly running through his friend's mind. "We are just handed a bad guy on a silver platter and you want me to just sit in the house? For all we know he is here to blow up the house!"
"He lost his ability, Logan," she responded softly. His brow rose higher as he turned to her fully.
"So?! He's killed people! He can still kill people now!" Logan practically yelled. A few moments went by as she stared into his eyes, trying to will him to calm down and he tried to get her to see his point. Unfortunately, her look was winning.
"I don't think he means us any harm," she said without emotion, glancing back outside once more.
"Why, wouldn't he mean us any harm, Storm?" he sighed, his hands reaching for his temples, a dull ache emerging from his brain. This isn't making any sense. She isn't making any sense.
"Just an old feeling. Trust me. I think I know why he is here," she replied instantly, returning her eyes to his.
"You think? You think!" his hands went down as he through them up, expressing his words with them. He was starting to get really aggravated by her lack of concern. "For all we know he's out there defacing the yard or burying mines!"
She did something which caused his aggravation to seep away and cower with fear.
She sent him a sad smile before looking back out at the window.
"I think he is just visiting an old friend," she stated, tilting her head slightly to the left.
Another moment of silence passed in which Logan sent her the most confused look he could muster and she didn't meet it. When she finally did she quickly responded with an answer that would hopefully quench Logan's hunger for justice.
"You can call the police if you wish, but let him say what he came here for," she informed before looking him in the eyes once more. "Please, do it for him."
"Do something for him?" Logan asked numbly before his voice filled with what can only be described as a lightning speed of intense rage. "Why the heck would I ever do something for h-," he didn't get to finish as she interrupted him.
"Nothim, Logan," she said pointedly, then with a nod towards the glass door said, "Him."
And at that moment Logan understood who she was referring to, ending the anger that was welding up inside him. What he didn't understand was why she was referring to him.
Seeing the confused look on his face, Storm sighed, realizing she was going to have to explain fuller.
"They were friends you know," she explained.
"Yeah, I know. He told me they were the best of chums before he went all dark side and metal wielding Hitler," he said his eyes shifting both with confusion and wary, still not quite grasping what she was getting at.
"No. They were friends to the end," she stated as a fact.
"I find that very hard to believe," he chuckled, but she took a few steps closer until she was inches from the door. She stood staring out at the three memorials in the middle of the little grassy area and he immediately followed her lead, crossing his arms as he stared out at the old man sitting on the bench. They stood there looking for a while, the man remained unmoving. Finally she smiled, which Logan put off to be odd given the circumstances, and spoke.
"They never wanted each other to die, they just wanted different things," she smiled, remembering her teacher using a similar strew of words when explaining his relationship with their enemy.
"Yeah one wanted peace for humanity and the other wanted genocide. Yep, sounds like besties to me," he rolled his eyes and took in a deep breath at the mere absurdity of the idea. Her face fell, slightly closing her eyes, causing him to regret whatever he had done to bring on such a reaction.
"He didn't always want genocide, Logan. A lot of people hurt him, that doesn't give him an excuse to hurt others, but it changed him, twisted his mind," her words were heavy, filled with a sad pity brought on by the old memories of the man in the wheelchair explaining another's actions. "A mind can only be pushed so far before it is corrupted beyond the most powerful of friendly advice."
"Is that what he told you?" Logan asked, the sarcasm somehow lost from his tone.
"Yeah," she humorlessly chuckled, "When I said his friend was a heartless, evil man."
They stood there standing for a few minutes, neither they nor the old man outside moving. Then she moved to leave in the direction from which she came.
"Keep an eye on him and call the police when he looks like he is about to leave," she informed straight-faced. Just before Storm disappeared Logan called out.
"They never really hated each other did they," suddenly he saw it on the old man's face, he remembered how, despite everything, they really weren't against each other, just against each other's ideas.
Storm only smiled over her shoulder before turning to walk away.
Logan returned to looking out the window, a contemplative look on his face, wondering if he should be reaching for the phone to call the cops anytime soon. He didn't move.
All he could see was the tired, reserved look on the man outside, a new light suddenly shining on him. He realized at that point that perhaps, just this once, he can just let the man go. He was no threat to them without any power to back him up, not to mention he looked far too frail to cause any real harm. Perhaps, in honor of an old friend, they could just let Magneto go just this once.
As Logan stared from the glass window, Erik sat on the bench outside, uncaring if the people watching, just staring at the small carving of Charles's head into the gray stone. He knew he wasn't actually there, his body had been destroyed by Gene, but still the old man had to do this. He had to at least try.
With shaky arms he lifted himself off the wooden planks until he was in a standing position, a few feet away from the stone. He had been sitting on this bench for at most twenty minutes, but it felt like he had been on this bench since he lost his ability, since Charles death, since their first real fight: since that beach in Cuba.
He had been sitting on that bench, waiting to say this, since the moment he put on that helmet and sealed his best friend away for good, finishing the package when he left him lying in the sand with a gunshot wound he had caused in the amidst of his revenge hungry ways.
Now it was time to get off the bench and say what he had some to say.
He took a few paces until he was standing a foot from the engraving of his brother's aged face. Then he spoke, his voice hoarse at first, but gaining confidence in the still evening air.
"C-Charles," he began then paused.
"S-Sure is a nice day isn't it," he said looking at the blue sky tinted with specks of orange as evening was beginning to seep in.
"I bet you'd love today. You and your weird mind powers always sneaking into happy memories and seeing what other people were thinking when they saw a sunset," he chuckled, a small smile and glance towards the stone. It quickly vanished knowing the statue couldn't answer. Erik swallowed heavily before he ran a hand through his thin, gray hair, the helmet long since gone, regretting he hadn't taken it off sooner, seen the errors of his ways: regretting ever putting it on.
"Listen," he tried to start what he was going to say over again, but his throat seemed to dry out, causing him to stop. Instead he pursed his wrinkled lips and looked once more at the carving of the older version of his friend. Sometimes he forgot just how old they really were. How did they get to be this old? It seems like yesterday that they were out searching for mutant allies and playing chess on the steps of old libraries, trying to save the world and laugh while doing it.
Suddenly a memory flashed through his mind, causing him to smile. It was of Charles. Not the old Charles he put in a wheelchair, the young Charles. The one who saved him countless of times, who tried to save him in the end and lost his legs because of his friend's thick headiness.
"Are you up there somewhere?" he asked with a small smile, glancing towards the sky then back at the stone. "I bet you like it up there. I bet you can even still read minds, can't you? That's probably how you are hearing me right now, right? Just like when we were younger, maybe you're even looking down on me with pity, at least I hope, instead of hate. I hope you are happy up there, finally at peace."
His knees began to shake and his eyes began to fill with tears as the next statement formed on his lips.
"I b-bet up there you can walk can't you," he chocked out, his knees seeming to buckle. His hand had to reach out and hold onto the memorial for support. That is when he no longer had the strength or the want to hold back the tears.
"I'm sorry Charles!" he shouted, hoarsely so it really wasn't quite that loud, towards both the stone and sky, tears flowing down his wrinkled face. "I'm sorry for the people I've hurt! For the mistakes I've made, the lives I've destroyed, the hearts I've broken! I'm sorry for those you tried to help. For starting a war between humans and mutants, for interfering with the peace you were making. For…Raven. For Cuba. For turning on you. For costing you your legs. For hurting you, Charles…I'm sorry Charles. I'm so sorry."
He lowered to a level barely audible as he gazed, teary eyed, at the stone, emotionless face. Then he just stood there, staring at the grass and letting the tears freely flow from their ducts as he thought of all the mistakes he had made, the friends he had hurt, the family he had lost, and the monster he had become. He truly had become the man who killed his mother all those years ago.
After it seemed like his tears had been spent, he finally built up the courage to look at the stone face once more. He stared at it for a few moments before he broke out into a small laughing fit and chuckled out the words.
"Ah, Charles," he said with a smile. "When did we become such old, sentimental men?"
He stopped laughing when he once again received no response, but kept the smile. He sighed and the smile turned into one of sadness and loss.
"Charles," he whispered softly, another small chuckle escaping his lips, this time it was one of sorrow. He put his right hand in his trouser pocket, grasped his fingers around the small object and just kept the hand in the pocket, holding the object. "I know I can never be forgiven, my friend, but I want you to know. I want you to know that you were right; you always were right and always will be. You, Charles Xavier, were the better man that I couldn't be, the type of man you tried to make me and I only pushed you away."
His grip on the object tightened as he swallowed the lump in his throat and continued.
"I- I've just come to try to make amends, to make peace. You always did want peace for everyone right? Or…perhaps you grew to hate me with age. I can understand that, I don't blame you. But, I just wanted to let you know that I am back, the old Erik is back. Not the one you knew. You saw a glimpse of the real me through all that rage I had, the rage that corrupted me. I am here, the man I was meant to be, the man you tried to help me to become and I promise I will do right by you with the little time I have left. I don't know if it is because of the loss of my power or your death, maybe it even has something to do with the regret that hit me like a nuclear war head when I could see clearly… after I took that darn helmet off."
With a short pause he looked towards a nearby tree then back to the stone. With another deep intake he continued.
"Thank you for being my friend, Charles," Erik whispered with the same sad smile as he took the small object out of the pocket, looked at it with a glimmer of horrible remembrance and set it on the flat top of the stone.
After that the old man walked away the same way he had come into the area, looking over his shoulder once then continuing, and he was not approached by anyone. He did not notice the protective mutant watching from the glass window, waiting for any signs of attack. Yet none came as the old man left the memorial sight.
On the flat top of the stone was the object he had carried around with him since that day in Cuba. The crushed projectile he had pulled from his friend's lower back had been a memento, at least that is what he told himself, that encouraged him to fight for his cause. But he knew in truth it was so he could remember the friendship he had lost that day.
And when Charles passed away, in an emotional fit, he altered the object for he could no longer stand the pang of guilt that sprang through him when he saw its fractured appearance.
On the flat top of Charles Xavier's memorial was the bullet, brought back to its production state, which had paralyzed him from the waist down all those years ago.