Something old, something new

by naire37

Huge X3 spoilers, post-X3, Xavier, Magneto, Logan, Storm, Beast, New Mutants. Action/Romance/Humor/Friendships, with bits of angst and fluff. Might include hints of same gender relations, but nothing serious so far.

1. Chapter 1

Day 1.

It all comes back to him here, in those quiet hours right before dark, on summer evenings in a quiet square in New York, in the gentle rustling of leaves, the first ones to fall. As did they, many days ago, - he thinks bitterly to himself, thinking of his pawns. It's not that he is particularly regretful of most things. It is also not that he pays much attention to the surrounding. The chess pieces in front of him are assembled into the same position - didn't I tell you Charles we used to play mind chess memorizing the entire board? - as their last game. The last game, not as in "most recent one" but as in "the last game they would ever play". He moved the knight then, instinctively, as he always played, locking the position, setting up a most complicated confrontation right in the center of the board, putting their forces against one another. Did you know then, Charles? Did you know that game would mimic itself in real world?

Sometimes he almost believes Charles always knew. Although that is too comforting of a thought, to close to trying to shift a tiniest bit of responsibility for what happened to a dead men, who did not stop him when he had the chance. Not a good thing to do: to convince yourself someone else owned a piece in your decisions. Not worthy of Magneto. Not even worthy of Erik Lehnsherr.

The "cure" did not break him, of course. It's a small oath he swore to himself each time the Auschwitz nightmares came to hunt his unstable mind; a small one. I will be broken. Not ever again. Those are the words that marked all of his life. "Not ever again". He fought the noble cause, they both knew he did. They respected one another. I wonder if that respect would stay, he thinks, if he knew I was no longer "one of us". Then for a change he shifts the board and looks at it from the white's player point of view, trying to imagine at the same time if the respect he held for Charles Xavier would linger if Charles was no longer a telepath. He finds little comfort in wishing helplessly Charles Xavier no longer a telepath, but alive, and cuts the thought. They would have respected each other to the end. That is the only thing that matters.

- Would you mind a second opinion on this position? - a voice asks. Erik, lost in his thoughts, lifts his head, glancing over a passerby, in his early forties, looking at the board with a look of both amazement and genuine interest. He nods, gesturing to the empty chair across him.

- You are welcome.

The man sits down and takes of his hat. The air is just chilly enough, with that special summer chill that is not really a cold breeze, but just a change from a hot summer day into the ever so welcomed evening hours, with sun just above horizon. The hat would be too hot during the day, but seems a fine accessory now. He puts it next to himself and his hair is dark brown, not a single gray showing. He eyes the position with blue eyes and then makes a move Erik considered himself but did not make last time. A pawn moved forward.

- I would think this position was from a chess journal, - he casually states. - Was there a solution offered?

- Not as such, no. - Erik finds himself forced to explain, and his voice is slightly stiff from the long silence he has been keeping. There just has not been any particular need to talk for some time. - It is from a game I played.

In spite of himself, thinking this would be good time to make a bold move that would give him an edge and put his queen in danger, he settles for exchanging pawns.

- I do hope I did not interrupt, - his opponent states. - It seemed your partner was nowhere in sight for a while.

Erik feels sudden chill as he realizes the man has been watching him for a while, as the man makes his next move. Black bishop intrudes in on his defense line and he is forced to choose a rather defensive move, moving a rock to protect the vertical they both seem keen on taking over. He raises his head, quietly and quickly scanning the area. There are too many that would wish him dead now. The X-men, ever noble in their righteous ways, forbade personal revenge for their students as much as they could, after that ugly scene at Charles' grave. However, military and CIA, not to mention foreign leaders, would be nowhere as keen or forgiving.

The blue eyes watch him with caution. It looks that the area is not being watched and Erik relaxes a little, and realizes the men still awaits his answer.

- Not at all. That game was a long time ago.

They exchange moves. Somehow the stranger is forcing him to keep building up defense. Erik has not seen such an aggressive play for a long time.

- Who won, if you do not mind me asking? - a black knight joins bishop in their attack.

- White did. Though it did not go like this one. Not at all. - He finds his voice low, and his hands slightly shaky - a side effect of the "cure". One of a few. He only hopes it is non-permanent, after seeing Jamie's powers back at the Xavier's Institute, at the grave. It his powers do not block you out for good, neither should be cure.

- What changed?

- There is more space for maneuvering now. The last time the game all came down to one position, which one could either win or lose.

- This time it seems you are avoiding direct confrontation.

His opponent is very skilled. There are not too many he would enjoy playing a game with, but the man sitting across and putting hair out of his face - same as Charles did, before he was bold, no matter the students at his school think he was always bold! - the man is playing it much like he himself would play, and he is forced to play the opposite, well-thought, defensive style that white had set up.

- I had my share of direct confrontations; - Erik scans the area one more time, to be sure, and chuckles.

- And, forgive me if I may be too bold, you seem to overprotect the white king.

The man gloriously takes away a white pawn. Alas, it was a result of a long exchange, but still he is up one pawn. In the endshpiel it will mean victory. Yet this is not time to give up.

- Things as important as the king cannot be "overprotected". Without king, there would not be a game.

- Yet without other figures the kind is helpless and useless. - His opponent smiles. - I know, this is what they teach kids in schools nowadays.

- Speaking of which, - Erik says, looking at the position and, trying to figure a way out of it, starts advancing his pawns on the other side, shifting the focus of the battle. - The king is not always helpless and useless. Only the white king is. There *was* this game, - he continues, as if about to make a confession, - called "monster chess". White start with full set, black only have four pawns and king, but black are entitle to make two moves each turn.

- I would be very interested in playing it, if you had time, - the man suggests. The sun is halfway through the horizon, and Erik, looking up, becomes suddenly aware of cars honking on a road nearby, children laughing and all the sounds that make up the life in a city. There is a woman talking on a phone, passing buy, the kind of woman Raven - Mystique would be, given a chance, high heels and make-up and all. He is also aware that the men across him is watching him, waiting for a reply, with his distinctly blue eyes.

- I am an old man, - he says out loud. - I have time. Would you leave a game unfinished, though? - he glances at the board.

- I believe white will still win. - his opponent allows himself a smile. - Though I am surprised to see you would be protecting the white king so much. Does it bear any sentimental value to you, - he pauses for a fraction of a second, - Eric?

- Get out of my head, - Magneto hisses very quietly before he can stop himself. That hiss is full of fury, rage he cannot control. A chess piece shakes slightly. Black king. That does not make the matters any better. Dead men do not come back, - he thinks to himself. - Black king has no reason to be shaking!

- Of course he does not, - the man says. He puts his hand on Erik's and smiles that same, horrible, knowing smile of a dead men, coming from an unfamiliar face. To add to the horror, he then stand up and comes over. - It's me, Erik. I'm back. It is me.

- You can't... What did you say to the girlin Haifa, when you run into her with flowers? - Erik asks, in spite of himself. He is still shaking, just a side effect of "the cure". A side effect. Nothing more!

- How can you be lost in a library, being a librarian? - Charles looks right into his friends face and his handshake is warm and so are his fingers, and Erik hisses "Get out of my head" again, in his quietest voice ever, being too ashamed of the overwhelming guilt and shameful joy, all mixed together in a horrible knot. He did not realize how much he missed saying these words. He shakes Charles hand, deliberately looking at the board and not looking up.

- I am not in your head, my friend, but you could as well be screaming your thoughts at me, - the telepath says. - In short, my consciousness was transferred to a body that never had any higher brain function. In the meanwhile, it is getting dark, and I assure you, Institute still has guest rooms.

Erik grows cold.

- Didn't you read me? I'm "one of them" now.

Charles raises eyebrows.

- I did not. Not all of us abuse our powers like you do. Whatever do you mean by that?

Telling the story of X-men heroics does not take long.

- Jean's dead, Charles, - he finishes quietly. - I'm sorry for your loss.

It only takes a few seconds of silence and a familiar look on yet unfamiliar face for Charles to regain control over his emotions. He does not put the blame for Jean's loss where it belongs - with Magneto - but that does not make it any better, because they both know exactly what led to that chain of events.

- My offer still stands, Erik, - Charles says finally, rising to his feet. - I'll need to run some tests to see exactly how permanent is the effect of the "cure".

- Would you really have a "cured" living in the Institute, Charles? A war criminal, none the less. Sure, it would boost kids morale having someone like me to ridicule, but do insult me by considering me any less dangerous.

- I only ever considered you a thick-skulled step-brother like Marco, - Xavier replies. - It's the helmets, you know. - His voice gets more serious, without warning. - Erik, please, come with me.

Erik cannot still comprehend what it is in Charles' voice that makes him agree to the request. They both know this argument will take much longer to settle. It always does.

- How long? - Erik sits in the front passenger sits, eyeing his friend carefully. - How long have you been here?

Charles gestures vaguely to a leather suitcase on the back sit, which still has the airplane tags attached.

- I just flew in today. I was on Muir Island for the time being. As you would expect, it does take a while for a mind to get accustomed to a new, - he paused, determined to use the correct word, - vessel.

There is a part of Erik that is pleased to know Charles found him as soon as he could. There is also a part of him that believes that to be the case only because Xavier would be worried about one of the world most prominent mutant "villains" running loose. Would he hurry so, knowing Erik was "cured"?

- Yes, - Charles says and then makes a small apologetic gesture, as if just realizing the questions was not asked out loud. - I am sorry. There is something about controlling the powers when used from a different body. Maybe it is the DNA. It will be harder for me to control it for a while. I do hope you can put up with the inconvenience.

Erik crunches his teeth but finds himself unable to complain. The black Mercedes stops on a red light. The drive is smooth.

- Do they at least know you are coming back? - he asks, finally deciding to drop the subject of worlds strongest telepath not fully in control of his powers. He is somewhat delighted at the idea of a complete stranger coming up to the X-Mansion accompanied by the ex-Master of Magnetism himself. Something tells him that would not be a most welcoming reunion.

- I have been in touch with Ororo and Logan, - Xavier explains. - The have known it for a couple of days.

- Not being in control of everything for two months is not much like you, old friend.

- I had many things to think about.

The silence gets harder to bear. Luckily, the institute walls are already in plain sight. Xavier dials the correct code and the gates move open. Black Mercedes drives right up to the main entrance, where a group of younger mutants are playing ball with Ororo. They eye the stranger getting out of the car, trying to guess his purpose, but once Magneto steps out, all attention is on him. The looks turn outright hostile.. and suddenly Storm, gasping, flies directly into Xavier's embrace, almost crushing him to the ground, crying.

- It's good to see you, - she says in small shaking voice, trying to regain control over it.

- It is good to see you to, Ororo, - Charles says, hugging his old student and true friend. - Thank you for looking after this place. Now before they assume I am your long lost brother, I would have to explain myself.

- Children, - he continues mentally, making sure everybody in the mansion can hear him, loud and clear, and youngsters freeze in their tracks, hearing the familiar mentor voice in their heads. - I am back if you would have me. Also, Mr. Erik Lehnsherr was kind enough to consider a teaching position at the Institute, and I would be glad to see you extend you warm welcome to him as well.

The mental response that he hears is mixed from genuine and kind "welcome back" to sobbing to "Are you nuts, Chuck?" The last one is Logan's, of course. Erik looks like he is about to cough on something.

- I just said "consider", - Xavier repeats to his friend with that disarming welcoming smile that could change the world by itself. - Besides, that way you would truly be earning your stay. Please do consider my offer, my friend. I believe we have much to talk about and you staying here, even if just for a while, would allow us time to have a civil conversation.

There is a slightest hint of ice in his voice. There is indeed much to talk about. Like being responsible for your friend's death. Or like trying to kill all of the non-mutant Earth population. Or not being able to have a civil conversation except when one of them is locked up in a prison and unable to cause death and destruction wherever he goes. A slight hint of disapproval, at that.

- Indeed, - Erik chooses to agree and follows his friend into the X-Mansion. Much has changed since he has been here last time. Well, given that the place has been rebuilt a few times, he is only surprised at all the art decor pieces Charles keeps putting up, that end up broken or torn by youngsters playing in hallways. He is greeted with much less enthusiasm than the men he walks next to. Traitors to their own cause, he thinks bitterly, then pauses, thinking that they must feel the same way about him. Not that it really matters.

He spends the rest of the day evening inside, settling in, except for a short trip to gather his belongings from one of his hiding places. He goes there, unaccompanied, and toys with the idea of not coming back for about thirty seconds, before dismissing it as to close to "running away from your problems". He can almost hear a familiar chuckle of Charles's voice inside his head, but, of course, it is not the telepath himself, but one of the endless dialogues he is now used to having with himself, imagining what his old friend would say. Some time after supper, which he did not attend, successfully convincing himself he was not hungry, as opposed to avoiding everybody, there is a knock on the door. You do not have to be a telepath to sense a presence of one, especially one as obnoxious as Charles.

- Come in, - he says, and, ones the door offers, adds, before he is able to stop himself. - It is going to take time to get used to seeing you walk.

Xavier walks in, glorious and delighted.

- I take it, - he says, casually reclining in an armchair, - you have given thought to my offer.

- I would rather have you explain to me, - Erik's voice shows a hint of amusement, - what you expect me to teach them. Is it 101 ways to get into Cerebro without Professor ever finding out, how to blast a factory, or how to live under fake identities? I would assume those to be my strongest traits.

- Would you? - Charles asks. - I think better of you and you know it.

- Then why did I get a strange feeling you disapproved of my way?

- Because I still do.

Knowing them both, this conversation could take hours of going back and forth. Somehow neither would mind. There is a delicate balance in the ironical responses they exchange, as Erik still stands next to a balcony door, and there is a distant storm growling somewhere south of the mansion.

- More close to the point, though, my friend, I do want to give you an exciting opportunity to teach the young your point of view.

- Please, do forgive me for not leaping in joy, - then he realizes what he has just heard. - My point of view? You mean, you are not afraid of them going over to the Dark Side?

- I do feel they should have the best information possible, and, Erik, frankly, you would be ideal for teaching "History of Civil Rights movement".

Erik looks over at his arm, where, hidden by the grey sleeves of his shirt, there is an old tattoo.

- You *are* too bold sometimes, my friend, - he says, trying to think up a good excuse to refuse the offer.

- Do not tell me you would be afraid of young mutants in a class, please. You have seen worse than that.

- Sometimes, looking at how they level your school, Charles, I doubt that. However, I would rather expect nobody to show up.

Xavier stands up, walking over to the balcony and extends his hand, offering a handshake.

- I have put your class for 10am tomorrow morning. We will just wait and see.

Erik shakes his hand, feeling the comfortable grip, and looks at the clock.

- It is late, - he says, before noticing something else. The seconds hand pauses, wiggling desperately yet unable to move. It is metal and he can feel it. He can feel the smooth cold of a metal door know, the metal buckle of his belt, metal pen in Charles' pocket.

His face must give him away, as Charles looks up to the clock as well, noticing the same thing and walks up to it. Suddenly the surge of power is gone and he is left in the dark, again. The seconds hand is moving as expected.

- You will get it back, - Xavier says with determination on his face. - I promise.

- I thought you would rather have me without my powers, - Magneto cannot help but point out. - Powerless, at your mercy and ready for reeducation, redemption and anything else.

- I wish, - Charles replies. - Not that I mind you without them, but I know how hard it is on you. I'll help you get them back.

- You are digging your own grave, Charles.

- I already have one.

Those words are chilly. Erik stops short and looks away.

- You are right, though, it is getting late, and you do have a class to teach tomorrow, - it seems, Charles does get his way in the teaching argument. - Good night, my friend.

Day 2.

He wakes up close to 3 am, panting heavily, his ears still ringing from the screams of people tortured, gassed, left to starve in locked down trains... It's just another nightmare; just a vision of the past that he swore would never repeat itself. The room is dark, there is a slight breeze playing with the balcony curtains, and all is quiet. He manages to get back to sleep in an hour or so, only to relive the last moments of Charles's life. Jean Grey is fire on fire, levitating in a center of a room, dematerializing Charles, piece by piece, as if unsure if she really means to kill him, and he can only watch, in terror, the as the girl keeps reaping Charles open...

Suddenly Charles breaks free and gracefully descends to the floor. The vision of Phoenix does transparent.

- Interesting, - Charles says. - I did not expect you to dream of this. Yes, Erik, this is just a dream. I'm alive and well.

- Get. Out. Of. My. Head.

- You meant to say "thank you", I presume, and you are welcome, indeed. - Xavier sighs. - I'm sorry, my friend, I could not help it. When I am asleep..

- It is harder for you to control your powers. I have heard this one before, some time ago. Now get out. - He is tired of nightmares, and he has one more to live through in the morning. - Charles, please, - he mumbles, as his sleep grows peaceful, and he can only vaguely assume it is Charles' doing. He sleeps till the morning, waking up early to beat the breakfast crowd.

He walks down into the large kitchen, wearing an old grey sweater and dark grey pants. To anybody knowing him well enough that is a discrete warning, almost as bad as him wearing his battle suit and helmet. He feels those would be helpful in case a student shows up to his class, but has to decide against wearing them.

Ororo is the next one to arrive. He is almost done with his oatmeal and coffee when she sits across him at the table.

- Good morning to you, my dear, - he says, and she winces.

- Good morning, - she replies. She pauses, thinking, and then nods to one of the kitchen walls. As it is customary in the Mutant Manor, there is art in the kitchen, as well. There is a metalwork landscape, framed carefully and hanged, depicting a faraway scenery from one of the hills near Haifa. - It is good to have you back, sir.

Storm is one of the oldest students, one of very few, who knows full well it is not the first time Magneto stays over at the mansion. He also recognizes the artwork immediately; after all, it would be hard not to recognize your own creation. It is strange that it survived through quite a few school destructions. It is hard to imagine someone looking through the rubble each time, scouting it for remaining valuables and rebuilding the whole thing, over and over again.

Before he replies with another seemingly calm remark, some nervous giggle is heard at the door. Bets are placed, and Wolfsbane, tail wagging, launches into kitchen, followed by other kids. Food is set on fire, boiled with bare hands, levitated and teleported across the kitchen and Magneto thanks his reputation for a small bubble of personal space youngsters do not invade. Not yet, at least.

He spends some time walking around the Mansion, admiring the art collection and getting used to the sheer size of the place. Finally, it is five minutes to ten and he has to face his demons. I.e. Xavier's dear little youngsters, if, of course, any of them will show up, which he still highly doubts.

When he opens the door, the rumors quiet down and the class turns silent. There are about fifteen of them, sitting there, watching him nervously. The chairs are assembled in a semi-circle, as is custom in Xavier's classrooms. Rouge is there, next to Bobby Drake, and so is Shadowcat, Wolfsbane, Magma, Sunspot and others. He had time to learn their names and faces.

- What's he doing here, - Bobby mutters to himself, looking at Magneto with a cruel half-smile. - After what he did to you!

Erik is ready to offer an answer to that, but Rogue - Marie - is the first to speak.

- Bobby, i'm not one to get offended. I've been in his head, ya knows. Heard things.

Last thing he needs now is to think what a young girl might still remember of the things he heard.

- My dear Iceman, - he says, and his deep calm voice takes the class over. - If you have doubts about Charles's choices, you should bring it up with him. Now, if you are here to learn, as opposed to expressing your opinion, I do ask you to be quiet.

Bobby mutters something to himself, looking utterly not convinced but being forced to shut up.

- Good morning to you all, - Erik continues. - As you know, I have been asked to teach the history of the Civil Rights movement. Now, who would give me example - mutants not withstanding - of civil rights movements from twentieth century?

Shadowcat raises hear hand.

- Yes, dear?

- Women's rights, - she says. - Women were not allowed to vote. Even today in America women earn lower wages and have to face sexual harassment and prejudice, and also, in many places around the world, - she looks quickly at Dust, - still are not treated as equals.

Muslim girl wearing black hijab and abaya lowers her head. She does not speak, but by class reaction Erik gathers she rarely speaks.

- You are correct, dear, - Erik says to Shadowcat. Kitty. The rest murmur accordingly, and in about ten minutes the history of the suffragettes is discussed and written down. - What else?

- Well, blacks, bros, - says a black boy with hair dyed some wild blond yellow color. He did not raise a hand, nor did he stand up to talk. - Ya know, the MLK and Malcolm X stuff. I mean, my gramps could be booted off a bus for sitting in a wrong place, ya know!

His dialect is that of New York ghetto slang that "bros" consider to be cool. He is relaxed, laid back and smiling.

- Yes, Evan. - Magneto smiles. He was waiting for that analogy. – We will talk more about it later on. Next time do raise a hand. Anybody else?

Magma looks sideways at one of the boys, who has pale green skin and no facial hair. She raises her hand, and adds another category:

- Gay rights. They are still not allowed to marry in many countries, and are plain right outlaws in many countries and religions. They are hunted in Iran!

- People with AIDS, - adds Jimmy next, very quietly. He is very young, but his voice shows a strong will as he speaks up. - They are treated like us because everybody is so afraid it is contagious. They used to treat people with skin disease like that, too, in Middle Ages. Sick people.

- Anything else? - Erik looks around and waits. A girl in strikingly green clothes with a liana wrapped around her neck as a necklace raises her hand.

- It is not exactly human Civil Rights, but what about animals and planet?

A dispute erupts. Pro-vegetarians and anti-vegetarians engage in a heated discussion, which Erik is happy to see.

- All right, class, - he says finally. - There are a few more you missed. First of all, there is a case for disabled people, it does surprise me how you never brought it up. Yes, it would be hard for you to see, having a successful role model in Charles himself, - he notices how it takes kids a flicker of second to realize he is referring to Professor by his first name, - but disabled people do face many discriminations in trying to live everyday life, or getting a job. Also, mentally ill, - he thinks of Wanda and his voice turns bitter. - Once one has a label of having a mental illness, it is very rare that people would actually stop and think that there are different kinds of illnesses. With such a label, it is nearly impossible to lead a normal life either. I am also surprised you forgot to mention religious prosecution, - he looks at Dust as he speaks. Her eyes are pitch black. - In some countries, a change of confession would means change in rights.

He pauses. The tension is building.

- Finally, there is one more. It is not just skin color, Evan, but race as well.
And it is very abruptly that the he is painfully aware of the fact that Charles may have mentioned his part to the students. The class still, as if they have been frozen in time, and Erik speaks very few very plain words that explain that the twentieth century had its share of race-based discrimination. Kitty raises a hand.

- If I may, sir, - she says. - I have overheard them mentioning you were in Poland at the time of Second World War.

In Mansion walls have ears, obviously; especially so if you are a young girl who can pass through walls. He did not wish for it to be well known here, but he does not intend to hide his past.

- I was.

- And you witnessed the discrimination against Jews.

- I was in Auschwitz, yes, - he says. The sweater is covering the tattoo, but some of them, like Rogue, may remember seeing it firsthand. Rouge, in fact, may remember much more than that, which is not the point.

- Then ... you meant to kill all humans there, on Alkalai Lake. Including the Holocaust survivors. - She does not ask a question, but there is a strain of disbelief in her voice, which translated into a very simple "how could you?"

Somehow he is saved the humiliation of trying to explain the answer to those children by a most improbable savior.

- Hey bub, did you kill them all?

Wolverine looks in with one of his most annoyed looks on his face.

- They have a survival session with me now they are late for. - He sniffs the air and growls quietly.

- Class dismissed, - Erik says. - For next time, read any speech by Martin Luther King save for "I have a dream". And any one on Civil Rights by Malcolm X.

Kids step out, running after Logan, and suddenly he feels really old. Being told off by a child. The truth it, it did not ever occur to him even to think about other survivors when he was making the decision. Too much time has passed. Israel was not the shining precious gemstone of new beginnings it once seemed.

He steps back to his room to finish unpacking and read a book and is not surprised at all when a familiar voice catches up to him.

- I told you there was nothing to be afraid, my friend.

- I was not, and you know it. - They make their way up the stairs.

- So, how did it go?

- You have a great new generation of moral champions on high horses growing up here, - Erik says. - Though I did not see a stable yet, I am sure you are hiding it somewhere. I am beginning to feel seducing them to the Dark Side would be harder than I expected.

Charles chuckles and follows Erik into his room.

- I told you I had faith in them. Erik, you seem visibly upset. What did you cover?

There is no hiding from those questions, and even to admit that you would rather not answer would mean to confirm your weaknesses.

- Young Kitty, - he finally hears himself saying, - has an apparent taste for history. She asked me what I thought about killing non-mutant Holocaust Survivors, at the Alkalai lake.

- Kitty is a very diligent student. - Charles walks up to him, and his blue eyes stay focused on the other man's face. They are standing and chatting casually, but the tension is building up once again. - What did you answer?

- I did not think about it, Charles! - he finds himself almost screaming, and quickly regains his calm, before Charles has time to carefully pat his hand. - I do think too highly of you to assume you would dare to use your talents to calm me down.

- I am not using them. But it was you, not me, who would have killed them. All of them. And now you have time to think about that.

Erik is half sure Kitty asked that question because she overheard another discussion, probably between Charles and Hunk. Though the moral high ground is always in abundance in this establishment, and it may have been Kitty herself coming up with the darn question.

- The world has changed. I thought Israel would be a place for be, but there was no peace there. Not ever. You know that, my friend.

The blue-eyed man holding his hand seems content with having him talk, even though he is almost screaming. There is metal in the mirror frame, and metal in the clock, and metal in the walls of the building.

- I had hopes for Israel! - he says. He is hoping it still counts as a loud voice, as opposed to yelling. - Hopes for us living in Israel. Hopes for us being accepted in the world. Hopes tarnished, ridiculed and destroyed! All the fighting I did, all wars I waged, it was for us, for a better tomorrow, for our kind!

- You have sacrificed "us", Erik, - Charles cuts him short and the feeling of their hands, still intermingled, and the feeling of metal around him gets almost unbearable.

- It was the worst day of my life, - he says, aware of the fact that the metal all around him is shaking, aware of many "blips" of a telepath unable to control his mind and projecting random images into his head, and, possibly, of those around. - Maybe not the worst, but one of them. I kept fighting for mutant cause because this is what you would do.

Next second there is a loud crack, and the door is flung open, and the room is full of sharp adamantium claws, dark blue fur and ozone smell of incoming storm.

- Is everything all right, Professor? - Storm asks.

They both step away from each other and Charles puts on his best Professor face.

- I would have hoped it would take you longer two months of my absence to forget to knock before you enter. Everything is fine, Ororo. What are you doing here?

- The metal, - Wolverine growls, his claws dangerously close to Magneto's neck, the later seemingly dismissing them entirely. - It's not my idea of fun, bub. Next time you control me, and we will have a talk!

- You would have to bring a dictionary to look up long words, I am afraid, - Magneto says, looking fully unimpressed.

- It has stopped, - Hank walks up to the clock, feeling that the floor is no longer shaking. - Sorry, Professor, it was felt through the entire school. Like he was trying his powers. We assumed…

- You assumed we were fighting?

They look at each other.

- It was a very civilized discussion, I assure you, - says Charles.

- Fighting? Me? I am an old man and "one of them", I am afraid, - Magneto protests. - The "cure" worked, thank you very much. Or are you going to put the blame for anything your youngsters do on an old helpless man from now on? I am sure it was one of the young ones. You would not think I would be the only one with power to control metal, would you?

Storm, Wolverine and Beast clear the room shortly thereafter. So does Charles, in a few seconds.

- I do feel enough has been said for one time, my friend. We shall continue or discussion later.

- Stop. Psychoanalyzing. Me.

It is disturbingly similar to the conversations they used to have when they first met. And that does not help the matters at all.

He deliberately chooses to join others for dinner. There is children laughter, much as you would hear it in the city, and his kind – traitors to their own cause, of course, but still young, still fresh and innocent, - are roaming around the kitchen, on their feet, on their hands, using tongues, tails and claws to move around, phasing through and levitating in the air. He joins the oasis of the teachers – Storm, Beast, Wolverine and Charles and settles down with a plate, overlooking the kids.

- You like them, - Charles point out.

- I never said I did not. They are the future, Charles, - he pointedly emphasizes "they" and looks at Hunk and Logan, as if making a slight nod to their latest act of heroics: injecting him with the "cure". – They deserve a happy one.

And with that said, they are at it again. There is irony, sarcasm, seemingly calm statements, accusations like "four-wheeled false saint with a God-complex the size of Empire State building" and "bucket-wearing false prophet with communist slogans". They even manage to make small pauses, politely thanking Ororo for a delicious meal and taking turns passing the tea, which adds smoothness to this "Greek tragedy, as you always loved your Aristotle", which, in turn, makes way to a claim that someone "also always enjoyed a good monologue, especially his own". With that, they both pause to catch a breath and suddenly find the kitchen has gone surprisingly quiet, and, moreover, Kitty, as diligent as ever, is scribbling down frantically in her notebook, and so is Magma, sitting next to her.

- So, how long have they been married? – Logan, having best chances of survival after asking the question everybody is clearly thinking, pushes his claw through a piece of an apple pie and starts chewing it enthusiastically.

The kids continue their conversations quietly, giggling and looking at Magneto with even more caution now.

- Erik, I am sorry to say, but it seems they are placing bets on us now, - Charles says in a low voice, which nevertheless betrays a repressed laughter.

- My, oh, my, Charles. I really though you did not approve of the gambling. What were they betting on?

The Professor smiles.

- How long we have been married, of course. They really underestimate your age, I must say.

Erik notices a simple card stuck on the balcony doors. An ace of clubs, and it seems to be almost glued to the door, and glowing in the daylight.

- Everybody DOWN! – he shouts, praying the young mutants know the drill.

With a loud "zing!" the glass breaks in a thousand pieces, sharp as ever, flying into the kitchen, full of people, and all hell breaks loose. There is blood. There also is Logan, growling and sniffing the air outside, and the Beast is juggling ten bandages at once, applying them and asking for someone to be moved to the infirmary straight away, and Storm, already outside as well, high up above, ready to hold the intruder with mighty winds, all to no avail.

He looks at Charles, at his face, grave and focused, and notices a small cut right above an eyebrow. One of his own shoulders also feels surprisingly warm and wet. This is bad, because it was one of his favorite sweaters.

- He is gone, - the Professor announces shortly thereafter. – Ororo, Logan, come back. Hunk, anything serious?

- No, we were lucky, - Beast looks around. – You have a cut and Magneto, erm, Mr. Lehnsherr does too, from the look of it, and Freya's hand I will have look at, but it does not seem the glass got through the bone.

Logan walks in, gloomy as ever, wearing his best i-m-in-a-horrible-mood face.

- He's gone, - he confirms. – But I'd tell that Cajun stink from a hundred other. It's Gambit.

Pyotr, Bobby and Kitty are told to look after the younger kids, as the teachers witness Beast taking care of Freya. There is green blood, but not a lot of it, and the girls' face is pale, but she does not appear to be in pain. There is a band-aid for Charles (Hank tries to give the Professor an innocent-looking nude-colored one that actually has small rabbits on it) and a bandage for Erik's shoulder.

- Now, - Charles says, - Logan, please do explain what you know about the mutant who attacked us.

- I don't mind telling it to you, Chucks, - Wolverine looks at Magneto with obvious contempt, - but I'm not up for sharing information with someone who will use it against us.

- Logan, - Professor says. – This is not the time and not the place to question what Erik will do. For now I ask of you to trust me that I know what I'm doing.

- You said it last time. – Logan's eyes are gloomy, but one can see the shadow left in them by beautiful Jean Grey.

- And you disobeyed me, and we all know the results of that. Now, Logan, I want full information. Hank, please pull up his profile from Cerebro, if we have one.

Ororo helps Erik put his sweater back on, as he realizes he is unable to raise the wounded hand.

That Gambit, - Logan spits. – Nothing but trouble. A thief, a good one. Always messing with some shady people. But he does not work unless he gets paid.

- How did you meet him, Logan?

- He was part of the same mutant experimentation program I was, - Wolverine turns his back to the others. – Helped me track it down. I destroyed it and have not seen him since. Yes, *that* program that Striker was working on.

Hunks looks up, or, rather, down, as he is hanging upside down with an iPad in one of his hands.

- There is not much. There are five mutant signatures that could match the abilities we have seen, but they all lack name and contact information. It's been a while since you used Cerebro, Charles.

- I can locate all of them, - Charles says, rising up. – He could not have gone far.

Ororo protests immediately, similar to how Jean would, saying the Professor is still getting used to the new body, maybe he should take it easy and all that small talk that never seems to stop Charles. Erik follows him into Cerebro.

- The room brings back memories, - Charles says casually, twisting a knife in an open wound, as his words really mean "yes, we both remember that you tried to kill 5 billion people, myself included".

- Indeed, - says Storm.

The only memory Logan can bring is the one where Chucks tells him not to smoke in Cerebro, otherwise he will end up thinking he is a five year old girl. "Jean would braid your hair", he says. Aw, shucks, why did it have to be Jean…

Charles stands on his knees in front of the Cerebro terminal, puts on the helmet and they wait.

Erik looks around. The room has been much upgraded from the fist version that they have built together, many and many years ago. He was the Master of Magnetism then, but he is powerless now. Temporarily, he thinks, recalling the two surges of power he has experienced over the last two days. There seems to be a pattern that he cannot seem to pinpoint just yet.

After what seems to be the lifespan of a well-off Universe, Charles takes off the helmet, looking exhausted, and Erik places a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. The other look up.

- Four signatures, - Professor X says. – One in Singapore, one in Vladikavostok, one in Santiago and one in Barselona. Whoever Gabmit is with now, he somehow managed to hide himself from Cerebro.

All of them look at Magneto, the only one so far known to be able to do so.

- Not my doing, - he says. – But if Striker was able to mimic Cerebro, it would only seem a logical conclusion to those of us who can comprehend logic, - he looks at Logan, pausing, - that he may have invented ways of blocking it.

- The only problem, bub - Logan says, with a troubled smirk, - Striker's dead.

They are walking out of the Cerebro then, per Ororo's suggestion to move upstairs and discuss it somewhere she can drink tea. "And smoke", Logan adds. "And hang upside down" Hank sums up, as they make their way to the teachers' lounge, a beautiful corner room overlooking the front entrance. Xavier manages to give out commands as he walks.

- Hank, I need a list of those who worked with him on either one of the bases. First, the scientists, then the rest of the stuff. Logan, I will need to you track Gambit's last deals. Ororo, I have come to depend on you too much, but I need you here, with the children. You will have to tell them no trips to town until we sort this.

- They are going to be so happy you came back, - Storm smiles gently. – You come back and the next day they are grounded. Wait a minute…

- It's as if they knew you would be coming back, - she says and gasps.

Erik looks at his friend with a measure of respect. When it comes to organizing teams, he always knows who to sacrifice, but Charles was able to play off the strengths of his students to minimize the number of sacrifices. Seeing him deal with a new threat brings back memories.

In the meanwhile, Logan heads down to the X-jet, taking out a cigar on his way, while Ororo steps out to check in on the kids.

Hank, Charles and Erik gather on the couch, as Hank presents the list on his iPad. They study the list in silence, page by page, most of the name being gray and crossed out "confirmed deceased".

- Hold it, please, - says Erik Lehnsherr, looking at a familiar name, grayed out but not crossed out, which is "deceased, but not confirmed". - I believe I have seen this name before.

He points at "Nathaniel Essex, scientific officer".

- Then again, maybe not, - he says in a minute. – I really cannot remember. It seemed so familiar at first.

Next second he knows he just set himself up. You don't say things like "I cannot remember" around Charles. He would never be able to resist helping you.

- May I help you remember, my friend? – Professor X asks in his most caring voice. They both know that "no" would not be an answer, and after a small polite exchange of words ("please, do not trouble yourself so, my old friend" and "I insist as this may help us understand who was behind the attack on the school"), during which Beast quietly steps out "to help Ororo", Erik agrees, sitting down and lowering his hands to his knees. Charles is sitting next to him, lifting his hands and almost touching his face.

- Concentrate, - Charles says.

A vast array of images, mostly from Israel post-war period, emerge. There is a paper listing war criminals convicted in the Nuremberg trials, and many others, still escaping the justice. Nathaniel Essex is not on that list, but there is a memory, linked to this one, a lingering one, long suppressed.

Colors are grey, and there are people shouting, and more, moaning and begging, and screaming. There are people in Nazi uniforms, and in white lab coats, and there is an awful smell of human flesh rotting, and burning, the stink of torture, and he is skinny, and his tormentors are all around, one of them, with something so horribly wrong about him, proudly presenting a paper to another. He almost can't make what the title page says, but then, Charles amplifying his memory, he makes it clear:

Josef Mengele, Nathaniel Essex, Eugenics and its applications in creating the next generation Aryan people.

It takes him a while to come back from that dream to the real world and to discover Charles look of genuine concern. They sit in silence, the silence that young Dr. Xavier learned back in Haifa when talking to Mr. Lehnsherr, a man with horrible nightmares and an unbroken spirit.

Erik looks up, aware of the metal around him once again, and of Charles hand on his face. He moves away, breaking the physical contact and with grim satisfaction of a true masochist realizes his powers are gone. He touches Xavier's other hand, as if to attract attention, and feels the metal once again, then lets go and his worst nightmare up to date is confirmed.

It is Charles who breaks the silence.

- I am sorry, - he says. – I should not have forced you to see it again.

- It is for the Institute, - Erik replies. He has his powers and it is gradually getting easier to regain control over them. The hands are barely touching. – It is for the future.

- One thinking about the future all the time never really lives, because present is all we will ever have, - Charles reclines and closes his eyes, either to think or to avoid getting an answer.

Hank walks back in and positions himself comfortable upside down, using a tube that seems to have been put there for him. Ororo joins them half a minute later, and the shortened version of the story is retold. They think in silence for some time. Beast is running more searches, on Internet, on government files he has access to and on files he should not technically have access to. Essex comes up every now and then, barely there, vaguely mentioned, if ever, at all, dating all the way back to the beginning on the century.

– You mentioned he was an adult at that time, - Beast says with a truly apologetic face for bring that nightmare back to be discussed. – Which means he would be quite old by now; he at least has some regenerative powers. That would explain the prolonged lifespan as well.

- A mutant performing experimentation on mutants.

After those words are said, their conversation dies out once again, as four great minds try to gather more information on the unknown threat. It grows dark outside. There are children coming up to the teachers' lounge, every now and then, with some made-up questions. Magma and Kitty drop by, claiming they wanted to confirm they speech by Malcolm X they selected is a good one. They do seem slightly more agitated than what would seem appropriate for students studying such historical matters.

- The sight of us being here is reassuring to them, - Ororo explains. Somehow Erik has doubts believing that to be the full truth either.

Half an hour later, a phone call comes from the X-jet destroying whatever hopes one may have held for an uneventful evening. One can tell Logan is panicking.

- Hank, I need infirmary ready right away! He might not make it!

The X-Jet crash-lands three minutes later, when they are gathered in the hangar, and Logan carries out a bloody mess of a human body with some leftover tubes sticking out in many directions, and Beast helps him lower the men onto the stretcher and gets IV set up. The men appears to be breathing on his own, which is always a good sign, but he only thing that is familiar on the blood-covered face are dark red glasses covering the man's eyes, with raw power burning behind them.

There is more helpless running around and worrying if the men wearing Cyclops's visor will leave or die, and then if the men is, indeed, Cyclops himself, and the story of Logan finding an abandoned lab with nobody but Cyclops in it and detonators planted all around is told, and the circus that is X-men live cycle dominates the Mansion for some time, with kids somehow learning the news almost straight away, and it is only a matter of time until Xavier feels his patience has run thin.

- All right, - he says, and his soft mentor voice carries on in the minds of everybody else in the mansion. – I feel this is quite enough for one day. If I may remind you all, sleep is essential to one's well being. Hank has assured us he will recover in due time, and I have no reason to doubt him. I may also assure you the men has all memories of Cyclops, as I did a non-intrusive top-layer scan of him, and for all we can tell *is* Cyclops, which begs the question of postponing telling him what happened to Jean until his condition has improved. Now, I believe, we can all take a break from this eventful day and reconvene in the morning. And if an intruder shall come to the mansion, our defense system will be put on maximum alert, so, please, do not step out tonight.

With that, they walk off to their rooms, and Erik is not the slightest bit surprised to hear a knock on his door ten minutes after saying "Good night" to everybody. He hates to admit it, and something tells him Charles would be uneasy about that too, but they do think better together, knowing each other so well and relying on each other's strength.

Charles extends his hand and touches his.

- You knew, - Erik says meekly.

- I most certainly did not. But I saw the pens shake slightly. - The devious sheepish smile that accompanies those words suits him well. – Erik, think of it as a temporarily solution. We will think of something.

Yes, my friend. What would be a better way to keep me on a leash at all times?

Charles looks stricken.

- And you are reading my mind. Again.

- And you are too angry, I simply cannot help overhearing your thoughts.

There is a slight pause.

- What a shame, - Magneto says out loud, nonchalantly. – My powers are literally at my fingertips. Almost. And my fate is in your hands. Do you have any remote idea how many bad puns one may base on the inconvenient fact that my powers now only activate when we are in direct physical contact?

- I believe I am about to find out, - Xavier sighs. His index finger quietly caresses aged skin. It must have been an eternity, since Mystique was shot with the "cure", that Erik felt a touch as comforting as this.

Magneto steps back. The taste of metal is gone.

- Charles, I'm an old man, - is all he says.

There is something in Xavier's eyes he still cannot completely make out. In about a second, it manifests itself as a sly smile.

- Well, there was this Rebirth project, last copy of which should *really* be destroyed. We should see to it sometime soon, once we settle Gambit and Nathaniel out.

Erik waits to hear the rest of that train of thought, patiently. The strategy pays off.

- It would be unfair to you if it was only my lifespan extended and not yours, - Xavier gives in. - The "Rebirth" can give mutants long live, or do many other horrible things, which is the reason it was destroyed. However, Hank got a word that there may be a copy on an abandoned base somewhere. Also, Erik…

He pauses. There is metal in the window frame, and metal of the bed carcass.

- We both know that what Logan said in the Cerebro control room may be true. You may use this information against us later on. But I need you to stay. I really do. Trust me, I would have never thought about either using your powers or promise of "Rebirth" as of tools to control you. I need you to stay on your own free will.

The door opens and Charles steps out.

- Good night, Erik.

- Good night, my friend.