A/N. Hello! Please enjoy this angsty AU one-shot about the relationship between Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr. Could be seen as romantic or platonic. I honestly couldn't pick while writing this, so I left it up to the reader to decide. Anyway, WARNING: Major character death. This also takes place about ten years after the events of DOFP but it's very vague about any and all events. So after DOFP I imagine that Charles and Erik went their separate ways to create their respective X-men and Brotherhood once again, but this time on friendlier terms. They don't really attack each other, they just stop the other from doing something too extreme for mutant politics and whatnot.

With all that said, I hope you enjoy the story :)

Disclaimer - I don't own the X-Men or A Tale of Two Cities or Charles Dickens or anything, really. Seriously. Nothing.

There comes a time… when everyone must make a choice.

For Charles Xavier, that time was now. It should have been hard. He should have spent precious seconds contemplating the pros and cons of each choice and then accidentally let time choose for him. That was not what happened.

Charles Xavier didn't even think. He braced himself on the arms of his wheelchair and sped forward as fast as he could. Magneto was only a few feet away. Charles rammed into him as hard as he could. The fact that Magneto hadn't stopped his metal chair from hurling towards him was a testament to how distracted the "villain" was.

Pain exploded in Charles' abdomen as he tackled Magneto to the ground. His chair rolled and crashed beside them as they impacted the ground together with grunts of pain.

Magneto looked up. "Charles, what are you doing?"

Charles laughed breathlessly. "What do you think?"

Magneto shoved the professor off of him. "You know better than that, Cha-" He saw the blood. Charles' leg was stained red and the blood was leaking outward in an ever growing puddle of life. Magneto's eyes widened. "How did-?" He would have sensed a bullet coming his way. Unless…

No. He tried to sense something within Charles, to pull another bullet out of his friend and enemy, but there was nothing. Plastic.

No, no, no! This couldn't be happening again. Not again. Please.

"Oh, man!" Sean whined, leaning back in the kitchen chair. He kicked his feet on the table, much to the discontent of the other mutants around him. "I'm so hungry I would eat anything!"

"I doubt that," Raven said dryly.

"I don't," Alex quipped. "I watched him eat a meal the size of a baby." He wrinkled his nose. "That was a really bad comparison."

"Ugh, can we eat it, please?" Everyone stared at Sean. He was, of course, referring to the beef, potatoes, carrots, corn, peas, Yorkshire pudding, and gravy sitting in the middle of the table. Charles had insisted on waiting until Hank arrived before eating, so here they all were, waiting not so patiently for their final mutant. Sean's eyes widened as he realized what he might have been misinterpreted as saying. "Not- not the-"

"Was that a modest proposal, Sean?" Charles asked teasingly over the rim of his tea.

Erik was the only one who snorted in laughter. The two of them shared a look and it was from that moment that they knew they had an appreciation for literature and the like.

Sean turned beet red. "Wha-? I-! No!"

Charles walked over and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry, my friend. It was only a joke." He shared another look with Erik as he sat down at the table. A joke between friends, he thought.

Erik smiled.

Magneto knew that there was no time to assess wounds. They were in the middle of a battle for goodness sake! It was a battle that had started out like any other. The X-men versus the Brotherhood. But then the human authorities had gotten involved with their plastic bullets and everything just went to hell.

So Magneto manipulated Professor X's chair to grab the Professor and get him somewhere safe. For the duration of the fight, Magneto forgot about his friend and focused on crushing anyone who attacked him. He was not above killing, never had been – but he did not condone needless death. Charles had influenced him that much.

Magneto had no idea how much time had passed before the mutants won. He wasn't even sure which mutants were on which side, just that the humans were fleeing. Good riddance.

Then he remembered Charles.

Of course the Professor wasn't where he left him. Of course Charles had to join the fight because he couldn't just sit and watch. Of course Charles had lost more blood than was seemingly possible in that time.

"Dummkopf!" He found Charles lying among the dead.

Something in him stumbled but it wasn't his feet. He was at Charles' side in an instant. "Charles? Charles?!"

Professor X groaned, breathing shallowly. He blinked and squinted up at Magneto, raising a hand to block the setting sun. He almost smiled. "Ah, good to know you survived, old friend."

Magneto was in shock. "How could you-? Don't you-?" Of course he didn't feel it. The bullet hole was in Charles' leg. Don't you know? And of course Charles couldn't hear him, he was wearing the goddamned helmet. And there was so much blood… There was an entire river pouring out of Charles, who now looked so pale and weak… Charles had always been pale, but not weak – never weak.

Charles chuckled, eyes closed to the world as if he had a huge headache. Magneto knew he did. Charles had grown to be one of the most powerful telepaths Erik had ever heard of, but a battle like this one still took its toll. Not to mention all the blood still seeping from his leg. "I don't need my mutation to feel your anxiety, Magneto," Charles spoke quietly. "You should be happy. We won."

He said that as if they had been on the same side the whole time. It broke the heart Magneto often forgot he had. "You're dying, Charles." It was so painfully obvious, but at the same time so hard to believe because this was Charles. He could never- He had never- He should never…

But he was – and Charles knew it. Suddenly nothing seemed worth it. Not this battle, not the casualties, not the costs, not any decision Magneto had ever made. None of it was worth this.

"Have you ever read Dickens?" Charles asked without looking up. He moved his rook forward.

Erik did look up, grey eyes searching his friend's face for possible next moves. He sat back in the arm chair he sat in every night, one ankle resting on one knee, and one hand holding his chin as he stared at the board. Tonight, he sloshed red wine in his other hand, his elbow perched on the armrest. "Hm," he hummed in acknowledgement.

Charles knew that to be an affirmative. He grinned and leaned forward, resting both elbows on his knees as he peered at Erik, studying his face. "Anything specific?"

Erik shot him an unamused look. "I have read a couple of his books, if that's what you're referring to." He stared at the board, his eyes flicking from square to square.

"Would you mind if I asked which ones?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Simply searching for more topics on which to debate you, my friend. You seem quite well versed in literature. You also seem to be the only one who can find valid arguments against everything I say."

"Not everything," Erik protested, taking a sip of his wine. "Just when you're wrong." He slid a pawn forward two squares. "Which is almost always."

Charles grinned. "So tell me, Erik, the well-read and mature chess player…"

Erik snorted.

"… Have you read A Tale of Two Cities?"

Erik shook his head. "No. I saw it once on a bookshelf. It did not seem terribly appealing."

"Oh, I assure you, it's a good read." Charles shifted on the chair, crossing his legs regally and folding his hands in his lap. "In fact, I think you'll find many parallels with your life at the moment."

Erik raised both eyebrows. "Will I?"

"Mmhm." Charles removed Erik's knight with his bishop. "Ha! Take that!"

A smile was fighting valiantly to take over Erik's face and he hid it behind his wine glass as he took another sip. Charles felt a strange sort of pride at the knowledge that he could bring out this side of Erik, even if he was aided by the alcohol a little. His own glass sat empty on the coffee table to his right.

Erik uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, scrutinizing the board with furrowed brows. Charles knew not to interrupt him when he was thinking this deeply. So he sat back and waited. About a minute later, Erik nudged his queen to the side.

Charles nodded approvingly. "Good choice."

Erik looked up suspiciously. "What are you planning?"

"If I told you… that would ruin the game."

They smirked at each other over the board.

Magneto shifted so that Charles' head lay in his lap. It was almost comical how similar their position was to that time in Cuba. It seemed so long ago, now. Probably because it was. And again, it was all Magneto's fault.

Charles didn't comment on their position. If Magneto didn't know any better, he'd say Charles was enjoying it. The Professor raised his hand and touched Magneto's jaw gently, dragging his fingers along the only part of the chin not touched by that blasted helmet. "It is alright, my friend," he croaked. He was sounding weaker by the second. "I don't feel any pain."

No. No, no, no! Charles was admitting it! That was… it was confirmation and heartbreak and all Magneto wanted to do was deny everything. Charles wasn't dying. He wasn't leaving. He wasn't bleeding out in Magneto's arms all over again. They were just… lying on the remains of a battlefield, cradling each other.

Right.

"I'm so sorry, Charles." It slipped out before he even registered that he was thinking it. It didn't even cross his mind to take it back. "Not just for this. For… for…"

"For my legs?" Charles guessed. Magneto knew how much Charles hated guessing. The Professor laughed bitterly. "Oh, Erik, I forgave you for those a long time ago." Magneto had nothing to say to that. "For leaving me on the beach? For…" He coughed, "… taking my sister with you?"

Magneto still had nothing say. But he wanted to say something. Anything. Anything to make this at least a little bit better. But what could possibly make this any less horrible? "Charles…"

"I forgive you for that too."

Magneto was floored. He knew Charles had to have forgiven him to some degree at some point, considering their… complicated relationship at the moment. They weren't total enemies, but they weren't the closest of friends. They were somewhere in between. They played chess occasionally. They didn't insult each other. They held respect for each other. They never underestimated each other. But to have forgiven him for all of that? A long time ago?

…

"Why?" He whispered.

Charles's dry lips, caked with blood, managed to crack a small smile. "There's more to you…" He wheezed, "… than just pain and anger." Not this again. Please. It was too painful. Don't make me relive this again. "There's goodness and friendship and regret. I know you, Erik, better than anyone. And I forgive you."

Magneto burned – behind his eyes, along his jaw, in his arms, around his joints, around the bruises lining his entire body, but most of all… in his chest. He felt like he should be the one wheezing, not Charles. Not only should Charles not be dying, but Magneto was the one who couldn't breathe. "You…" He croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You can't possibly still… feel that, anymore."

Charles lifted his hand again, this time resting the palm against Magneto's chest plate – right where his heart should be. "Yes I can."

Erik pulled off his shirt and bunched it into a ball before tossing the clothing in the hamper in the corner of the bedroom. He ran both hands through his hair and sighed, walking around and around. He let the backs of his knees find the bed and collapsed on the mattress, bouncing on the luxurious rose petals that must be in there because Erik had never slept in a bed so comfortable.

He let his head loll and became dimly aware that the lights were still on. Verdammt. He was just about to flick them off with a brush of his mutation, but he spotted something that hadn't been there before. He sat up immediately, alert and tense. It was just a book, apparently, but you could never be too careful.

He reached for it, eyeing the cover. A Tale of Two Cities. He chuckled and relaxed. It was just Charles. He should be annoyed that the telepath had come into his room without permission, but he couldn't find it in himself to be.

He cracked open the cover, expecting to find the book perfectly immaculate and brand new. Instead, he discovered that it was old and a little worn and there were two inscriptions on the inside.

Dear Charles,

I know you're a little young for Dickens, but I know a smart lad like you can find more than one good use for this book. I hope this proves to you that someone DOES love you. You know your mother loves you too, right? She does. And so do I.

Happy reading!

Ms. Linda

Dear Erik,

I know very well that English isn't your first language, but I was thinking maybe the genius of Dickens could improve it. I think you'll really enjoy it; this novel in particular. I hope it brings you as much entertainment as it has brought me over the years.

Sincerely,

Charles

P.S. There's good in you. I felt it. Don't forget that.

Magneto broke like a goddamned vase. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. He ripped the helmet from his head and threw it away. It clanked against various debris before settling in the grass.

Charles eyed it with a sparkle in his blue irises. He was happy to see it go, that much was clear. "It was an ugly colour anyway."

Erik barked out a laugh, trying not to sob. When was the last time he'd sobbed? He couldn't even remember. He'd forgotten what it felt like. It was no wonder he'd tried to avoid it at all costs. "We've been enemies for over ten… years," he let out. Why? He projected as loud as he could. He wanted Charles in his head. He ached to have that connection that wound them together. Maybe if they were bonded tightly enough, Charles couldn't truly leave. Erik gripped Charles' hand so tightly that his knuckles were as pale as the Professor's.

Charles looked hesitant to try anything with his telepathy. Not scared, necessarily, just… wary. Erik loathed that wariness with a passion. He was very familiar with loathing. Charles spoke slowly, quietly. "We've been friends for even longer."

Erik clutched Charles to his chest. Nothing else mattered anymore. Not the mutants undoubtedly watching. Not the helmet he didn't bother keeping track of. Not the reputation he'd built for himself. The most important thing at the moment was Charles and he had previous little time left. "You idiot," Erik breathed into Charles' hair. "They need you. Your- your students."

"Your brotherhood," Charles argued back. He was fading with every breath he wasted on Erik, but Erik would not let anyone else steal this time from them. No. Erik deserved this much from life. He… He tried to convince himself of that. "They need you too." Oh Charles.

"Why aren't you reading my mind?" He demanded. It was louder than he intended but that hardly mattered.

Charles winced and suddenly it mattered a lot. "Because I'm not sure I want to know what you're thinking."

Erik gently grabbed Charles' two fingers and pressed them to Erik's temple. "Do it," he urged, softening his voice this time. He needed Charles to see. To know. Erik had never been a man of many words, let alone English words.

Charles searched his friend's eyes for a split second… and then he dove in.

A Tale of Two Cities was all about doubles, especially opposites, Erik soon learned. As he made his way through the pages, he learned about the comparisons between France and England, Charles Darnay (how fitting) and Sydney Carton, Lucie Manette and Mme. Defarge. They were opposites, but they were undeniably similar. They had opposing beliefs but they coexisted – for a time.

Erik soon understood why Charles gave him this book.

Dickens went into detail about France and its need for a revolution. Its way of living was unacceptable and something had to change, but his opinion on so much death was evidently negative. Dickens further argued this in the end because social order won out. Chaos cannot reign forever. One cannot change the cruelty of others by administering one's own cruelty.

There was one quote in particular that stuck out for Erik and he couldn't help but highlight it. He hoped Charles wouldn't mind.

"Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious license and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind."

Erik never forgot that quote. He dog-eared the page and he read it over and over until he had it memorized by the first day and then he read it some more. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to change his own opinion on anything. But he always kept the quotation in mind.

That was literature. This was reality. Dickens had fabricated his own world to reflect his own views and values.

Erik would do the same.

Charles gasped. Feelings and thoughts surged through his fingers and zapped up his arm, through his shoulder, past his throat and to his mind. At least, that's what it felt like. At first, all Charles could understand was the anger, the pain, the hate, the resentment- This was what he'd been afraid of. But then he dove deeper, read between the lines. There was the overwhelming guilt, the fear, and the stinging pain of loss that had Erik on the brink – of what, he couldn't be sure.

Erik was more emotional than Charles had ever seen him.

Charles' features softened and he flattened his palm against the side of Erik's face. "I do miss our chess games."

Erik barked out some sort of pathetic laugh and pressed his forehead to Charles'. "Me too." A thought occurred to him that was so startling- "There's a mutant," he blurted. He'd forgotten her name already. She was relatively new to the Brotherhood. What, two weeks? That was probably why she'd slipped his mind. "She can heal. She-"

Charles pursed his lips and shook his head. "She's dead, Erik."

That brought him up short. The little flicker of hope he'd felt before? Dead. Gone. But Charles was still here. Still here. For how long? "Y-you can't know that." Denial. Please, no, stop. Don't die, Charles, please! PLEASE!

Charles' eyes began to glaze over. "I do. She was a… a…" He coughed and spluttered and spat out blood. She was a good girl.

Charles' voice in his head was so familiar and comforting… and it had taken so many years to get it back. Why hadn't he taken that damn helmet off earlier? Why?

Because you're a stubborn idiot.

Erik just pulled Charles closer. He felt totally drained of energy. Of life. Of Charles. All those years wasted fighting each other, Charles…

Shh… Charles was barely moving. His chest lifted and fell so slightly that Erik could only tell because he had a hand by Charles' ribs. Time is running out.

Everything blurred together and Erik couldn't see through all the tears. I don't need another fucking reminder! He snapped. Anger was his default. It was what he knew best. He didn't know how to deal with all of this… sadness. This aching hole in his heart that barely beat in time. He floundered with his feelings. I'm sorry.

Charles quirked his lips in a not-quite-a-smile. As am I, my friend. As am… I.

Erik slipped on the helmet for the first time. That was the day he became Magneto. It was the day he shut Charles out completely. It was the day he decided to mould the world into one he thought was right.

After the red-skinned one with the tail (Azazel, apparently) teleported them all to safety, Erik- er, Magneto asked to go back. Just for a second. There were some things at the mansion he would rather not do without. But he couldn't bring himself to reveal the location of a mutant safe haven to Azazel and the others. It didn't seem right.

Erik always tried to do what he thought was right.

Azazel dropped him off a few miles out. Erik used his new favourite ability to fly there. He broke into the mansion with ease, replacing everything the way it was when he left. He levitated back to the spot at the exact time he said he would be there and Azazel appeared in a puff of smoke to take him away. Punctual. Good. Maybe these mutants would be more professional.

A pang in Erik's heart reminded him that he shouldn't compare the two "teams" – couldn't. Not really. They were too different.

They settled into a hotel in the middle of nowhere. They would break Frost out the next day. In the meantime, Erik- Magneto wanted to be left alone.

He set a book on the nightstand, much more worn out than when he'd received it. He hesitated before reaching up and pulling off the helmet. There was no trace of Charles anywhere in his head. He felt strangely empty without a reassuring presence to remind him of the "good" in him.

Magneto would not admit to missing anything, let alone a person. But there was definitely a sort of… feeling that he was unaccustomed to. It urged him to open his book.

So he did. He would continue to open it at the urge of his heart for many years to come.

I do hope mutants will be accepted one day, Charles mused, breath hitching.

Erik could feel the Professor's mental voice fading, slipping away. He tried to grab hold of it with everything and anything he could, but it wasn't possible. He frantically pulled and yanked and scrambled to force Charles back – come back to me – but it was no use.

You'll keep trying for that… at least…? Acceptance?

Erik didn't even catch the middle part of Charles' thought. So little time. So much to say. Not enough words in any language to say it. He nodded. Yes. Yes, of course.

Good. Charles sounded so far away and so… satisfied. It was maddening. Good luck, my friend.

What? No. That wasn't it. That couldn't be it! No! Charles?

Charles?

CHARLES?!

There comes a time… when everyone must make a choice.

For Erik Lehnsherr, that time was now. It should have been hard. It wasn't. He didn't even think.

A/N. Before you ask, yes I left that ending open on purpose. I seem to have a fondness for endings without full closure. What do YOU think happened?