Title: "Time Doesn't Heal"
Author: Kat Lee, the author formerly known as Pirate Turner
Rating: PG
Summary: Time doesn't heal, but sometimes, if you're lucky, in your hour of need, it gives you what you need.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: 244. That's the number of stories that were sitting on my hard drive collecting dust because I lack the energy and time to take care of them as I once did. My betaing pattern has always been to write, then type up if written on paper, the story, read it aloud to my beloved Jack and our children, editing as I go, and then finally format and post. Sadly, this part is simply taking too much of my time and energy, and my beloved Jack and I have too little time together in person these days to be able to keep up with my stories. So what to do? Give up writing? I actually considered it for a while, tried to make excuses to myself other than the large number of stories collecting cyber dust on my computer, as to why I lacked the energy and Muse to write new tales. And then, with the turn of the new year, I decided to stop running and face the problem. The problem is, quite frankly, that once one gets so bogged down in formatting and editing that writing is no longer a pleasure but the actual posting of those writings becomes a hassle and - egad! - work, it's time to cut something out, and that will never be the writing process. So, in short, yes, there will be mistakes in this tale. Yes, it's missing about half of the header information I usually include. But I wrote it for pleasure and am posting it in hopes of sharing that pleasure with others. Do with it as you will.
He's heard it said many times over his many years that time heals all wounds, but he knows better than most that that isn't always true. It doesn't always return dead, loved ones from the grave. Jean Grey may have risen many times, but he's never seen his father or mother again, never been given ample opportunity to care for his first love interest or to hold his son again. He's lost many students without ever getting to see them again. Far too many children have fallen without seeing another sunrise.
Even the physical wounds are sometimes beyond time's mends. Time never returned his legs to him on a full time basis. Over the years, he's been able to walk for various reasons from new machinery to new bodies, but he's always eventually lost the use of his legs again. He's been crippled now, and again, for well over a decade, but he doesn't miss his legs like he once did.
He doesn't miss them like he misses Moira's witty jabs aimed to get him to do what they both knew he should. He doesn't miss them like he misses his first students, Scott and Jean, who were more his children than David, through no fault of his own or Charles', could have ever been. He doesn't miss them like an old friend or even a part of himself or a frequent visitor.
He hardly ever even thinks about his legs any more. He has too many other and more important troubles to woe his mind. He has too many other things he misses far more than being able to walk. He misses the sunshine caressing his face; he never ventures outside any more. He misses studying and learning new things. He misses paving the road for mutantkind, and humankind, to peace and training, leading, and caring for his X-Men.
The X-Men aren't what they once were. They haven't been for years. They still train students, but these days, they're more interested in fighting world and galaxy wars and making a stand for mutantkind, with or without humanity beside it. They don't need him any more. He suspects some of the newer children wouldn't even recognize him if they saw him, but he tells himself that that is the way it should be.
Time doesn't heal all things, but it does always march on. It doesn't wait for hearts to be mended or lives to be saved or changed. It doesn't wait for history to make itself or those who made it to be remembered. It doesn't wait for the Earth to heal itself or for its inhabitants to be ready for the next day, or the next chapter, of their lives. It doesn't wait to see who will win the war, or will die before the battle is finished. It truly doesn't wait for any man or woman, or mutant or human.
You can try to stop it, but it doesn't do any good. At best, it only delays the inevitable, and Charles is tired of being delayed. He's tired of the heavy weight always holding him down, crushing his soul like his legs once were crushed underneath the crumbling bricks of a falling building. He's tired of being unable to dream of hope for the nightmares that he relives every night when he shuts his eyes. He's tired of seeing the lack of hope in the world each time he turns on the television set and dares to turn to the news. He's tired of losing friends and other loved ones and never getting them back. In short, he's just tired, and he's ready to rest.
It is on the night that he's set to rest that one of his lost loved ones actually does return, but even then, time doesn't return him to Charles. Charles may have become a bitter, old man - he's certainly heard it rumored enough on the island -, but he knows the difference between something time or destiny sets into place and actions put forth by the acter's own choice. Time doesn't bring Erik through his window this night. Erik brings himself.
He flies right in through Charles' open window, his cape flapping in the misty breeze from the sea. He flies straight in as once he could not have done for all the protection measures put forth that served the duel purposes of keeping Charles and his students safe and alive and keeping him away from the one man who he still yearns to see more than anything else save his dream come true. In a way, Erik is Charles' fondest dream come into reality.
He's left behind his own mission and joined Charles' at long last, but Charles knows he still doesn't exactly belief in his dream. Like him, however, Erik has lost too many and now aches for peace through whichever means may be necessary to gain it. Charles knows Erik would still gladly rid the world of humanity, if only he could, but he's given up his hopes of being able to do it by himself or ever having an army whom he could trust and who would still be powerful enough to turn the world over to him.
Charles would have once pointed out to his friend that that was the problem with armies: If they were powerful enough to overthrow the world, they were wise and powerful enough to keep from wanting to hand it over to another man and another dream. But, tonight, he doesn't say anything about armies or dreams. He doesn't speak of causes or their differences or what's brought them to where they stand, either physically or in their beliefs.
He does, however, smile when Erik comes through his window, but it's a tired smile on an old, old face. His blue eyes still hold a slight sparkle to them as they crack a little wider open so he can look upon his dearest and oldest friend for one last time. "Erik." His voice creaks, but they won't speak of creaking voices tonight, either, or of how distinguished Erik still looks despite the wrinkles on his face and the fact that his hair has all turned to white.
They remember when Charles teased him about his hair. It was once a source of vanity for Erik. Even now, what little white hair he has left is neatly combed in a style from the '60s. That was their time period, Charles reflects, watching the way breeze whistles over Erik's hair. They were in their prime then, but also at each other's throats, he leading the X-Men to protect the world and Erik charging the Brotherhood forward to destroy the humans.
Charles would give so much to have those years back, but he knows it wouldn't change anything. They would still each hold firmly to their beliefs, and those stances would keep them away from being close to each other again for just as many years in a new lifetime as they have in this one. Time won't change the men they are. It never has, and it never will. They'll always be the same at heart as they were back then. In a way, it's something of which to be proud, that no matter of time or turmoil or pain can change their beliefs, but Charles can't help wishing that things could have been just a little different, that they could have featured in each other's lives even more prominently, and far more often, than they did.
"Charles," Magnus speaks at last, having come forward and laid his hand upon Charles' withered fingers, "old friend - "
"Is that really what we are, Erik?" Charles speaks softly, his voice barely audible in the still room.
Erik smiles; it ghosts through his blue eyes in a way Charles would find most fascinating if only he could see his eyes better. "If ever we were," Erik replies.
"But were we?" Charles puzzles aloud.
"I think you know the answer to that."
Erik squeezes his hand; Charles grips his hand. Tears touch both their eyes, and then he wonders. Is this even real? Is Erik here with him now? They've both died, or appeared to die or thought themselves dead so many times that it's hard to keep track of who's been alive when. "Is this real?" he rasps aloud.
In answer, Erik lifts his hand and kisses it. Charles smiles his first real smile in weeks and lays back in his bed. He lets his eyes drift shut. It is real, and the time has come. Erik slips in beside him and wraps his arms around him in an embrace more tender and gentle than the world will ever think the Master of Magnetism capable of. He holds Charles with the unspoken love he's always felt for him, and at last, time really does give them both something. It gives them just a few seconds more.
"I love you, Charles. I always have." Erik grins as Charles' eyes flutter back open and he looks up into his eyes. "But, then, you've always known that."
"I have," Charles answers, "just as you've always known that I, too, love you." Silence passes between them for long moments as Erik holds Charles and both their breaths become slower. "Erik?" Charles speaks at last.
"Yes, Charles?"
"Hold me," is his last plea, and Erik's answer is as firm and solid as it always has been when he's spoken to him, leaving no doubt that he will hold true to his promise.
"Always," he says, and he does as time at last stands still for them both. He holds and loves him forever.
The End