A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first story about Charles Xavier. I have it set in between X-Men: First Class and before X-Men: Days of Future Past. I plan on continuing with the updates weekly but we will see how fast the writing really goes depending on time I have and the responses I get. I would love reviews on this story just to see what the readers think about it. I'm taking a bit of Charles from the comics as well mixed with the movie version of him but it is mostly about young film version Charles with a couple original characters thrown in. Thank you so much for reading! :)
Cambridge, London, England, 1970
Charles struggled to stand up near his desk. His stomach felt nauseous and he was growing anxious without the antidote serum he used to suppress the X-gene in his system so he could walk again. He had become an addict to numbing the pain. It didn't matter how much his correct dosage was or should be he would inject several vials even if it killed him. Anything was better than living with this madness he would say often. For this torturous life he was born with; he didn't always think of it that way.
In a world where life had evolved since Homo sapiens, mutants had become a reality; with history dating back to BC, Charles Xavier believed it was a possible for humankind to accept, adapt and co-exist with mutants if they are shown love, kindness, compassion, forgiveness, even for centuries of human eradications. Mutants would find peace in a world where there is little hope of a better tomorrow. He thought he could harness happiness for his kind because he didn't look at the school as just a safe haven, it was so much more.
Charles poured another glass of scotch on top of the somber ice cubes and bit down on his tongue before lifting the glass to his lips. He took a drink, wincing back at the taste, stomaching the sting for all its worth.
He thought back to his students. The very people born the way he was, his personal battles with depression pushed back for the sense of trying to understand another mutant onto the next. Charles never gave up hope. He wanted something more for his kind; Erik's words were reverberating in harsh vibrations like a boomerang of mind clutter. Deep down he knew his old friend was wrong. And yet it was so difficult to find the will to care anymore; especially when he had always lived in a world where he thought better of human beings.
For a long time he believed mankind was supposed to mirror compassion, love and loyalty in other human beings, even for ones born different than the next, not fear them.
"Charles, hello...?" A voice spoke from the doorway.
Charles obliviously gave a nod while dragging his body passed his personal housekeeper to the wash room to splash cold water over his face. His caretaker had to make sure he did even the most essential regiments to start his day. He lingered over his sink a few moments before reaching for the crisp, soft towel that lay neatly in the cabinet. Taking his time was an aberrant trait he wouldn't soon abandon.
This wasn't right; days shouldn't be longer than most. His days used to have meaning and purpose. He was motivated to do more with his life. He had the will to see the better in human nature. Not succumb to its cynical ways and become its lowly follower. He couldn't bear accept Erik's destructive way of thinking. Charles knew that much, and yet, during this moment, he began pondering, even considering the possibility his friend may have had a reason to utter such narcissistic but poignant words.
Perhaps there was an iota of truth to his friend's words: We already are better. Peace was never an option.
"I don't want to live in Erik's way of thinking. Look what happened to him. It's been nothing but pain and darkness...more than I can handle." Charles said to himself. He was getting used to speaking to himself when no one was there. Nobody judged him.
And this is what the world has turned into. Judgments. Blind hatred. Suffering. An undecided future for his species. Hiding was a way of living to a mutant. Xavier believed even in his state of mind right now that somehow life works in mysterious ways. But now, that word "mysterious" could be anything of detriment. Charles feared a prosperous future was an ongoing battle for his kind and he felt personally responsible for it. To take on the weight of everyone's suffering, their burdens, it was all too much for him. He thought he could find it within himself to persevere.
He lost everything. He knew he lost himself the more he stopped believing in life, in hope.
Charles finally emerged from the washroom, not entirely certain he did his entire essential itinerary for the day, he pushed that aside when he touched the chair in front of his desk. He came to sit down, almost in a state of utter exhaustion, collecting his bearings as he exhaled a tired breath.
He looked at his desk and noticed he had left his journal underneath newspaper articles and pulled the binder from under the shambles.
He hesitated before opening the book, he knew what was inside, going back to those memories would make it far worse, part of him didn't care and the other part felt like revisiting the personal demons again. The ones he refused to fix since no amount of doctor could help what he has; Charles still leafed through the binder to find the end of the last passage.
He took a deep breath before grabbing a pen before he could turn back. Writing what was wrong never really helped, it was a short temporary fix, like drinking, it numbed the pain until he sobered up and realized how worthless it was to confess secrets to a leather binder. What good did it really do him?
Nevertheless he found his hand moving to the top of the page to begin the familiar trajectory of pseudo psychological treatment.
December 1, 1970
I've failed everyone in more ways than one. The longer I think about what has happened to our kind, our existence, I feel I'm certain it's driving me to the worst of all my personal darkness can carry me. Was Erik right? That I really don't know. Erik was wrong about a lot. His path was never meant to be mine, and in the back of my mind I feel like it has gravely started to be. I'm pretending to everyone that it's not. My denial is stronger than my empathy. To a time when I was revered for caring about humanity. One human had showed me more, the only woman I personally felt strong with. Moira's memory had to be wiped clean so that meant she couldn't remember who we were, who I was, what we can do, though I feel like I regret that decision now every day. I needed her with me, but I knew I would have put her life in danger had she stayed. Dearest Moira. I have loved her and I continue to love her even as a man who has lost his way. No one, no human has shown me the common decency as Moira MacTaggert and no one ever will. I've abandoned my mutants, my brothers and sisters, my family. All because of fear, of Erik's words echoing their ugliness into my mind. Forcing its way like a virus wanting to spread. He knew how strong those words were and I never thought anything of it, because I was always in control. I believed I could push them out. I thought my fear was a dragon I was meant to kill. Now I don't know why life created someone like me. What for? I already despise who I am and what I am enough.
Charles abruptly stopped and closed the book on those final words. This is all he could handle. If he wrote anything, the writing stopped until he was too afraid to go on. And that is where it all connects to. His fear. His self loathing. His punishment for something he couldn't control.
"Mr. Xavier, may I?"
Charles didn't shake because he was startled; he shook because a human was speaking with him. He had gone so mad he was afraid of voices in real life now.
"What is it?" He voice came out in a barely audible scratchy tone.
He sipped his drink and turned to a younger caretaker, apprehensively standing in the doorway.
"Dr. McCoy has a letter delivered to you. Would you like me to...?" She trailed off as Charles forced himself to stand up and walk to her.
He touched the envelope and looked at his caretaker for a moment. She calmly nodded, knowing it was time to return to daily chores, plus she wanted to give him more time alone with the letter.
Charles sighed heavily. He didn't know what to expect when it came to Hank McCoy, his geneticist partner and good friend. But lately, he questioned Hank's patience; his mutant friend would appear less and less to his home, claiming he was called away for other scientific purposes. Hank invented a serum that made it possible to extract the X-Gene in mutations. Hank would utilize the injection whenever his insecurities got the better of him. But Charles, he would use it to the point of becoming an etherized patient. And the worst part was he knew exactly what he was doing no matter how much damage it did to his body. He became co-dependent on it; more compared to someone taking one too many sleeping pills in treating apnea.
Charles tossed the envelop onto the desk, wary of opening it, not because he was worried about what Hank might have written but because he already knew what was in there.
His thoughts got the better of him as he tore the letter with the opener, waiting to read what was expected.
Professor Xavier,
Yes, I will still call you my friend because that is who you are to me. You have done so much for me and for every mutant we know. I want you to know this so it may help you carry on with positivity from here on. I humbly wish you well and see to it that you don't become the worst version of yourself for your own sake. You are my friend and nothing will change that, but I can't find it in my strength to come by your home any longer. I am sorry, my sincerest apologizes are given. I don't know of the next time I'll return to you, but I believe with Ruth keeping you company in that expansive house, I am assured you will not be alone. Take care Charles.
Your Friend,
Hank McCoy
"Bloody thought so." He grumbled as he threw the letter on the ground, forgotten.
What was he going to do without Hank? For a long time he had thought Hank was someone that couldn't let him down, not even after all he personally lost.
Now he didn't know where to turn, who to confide in. He had his drinking, binge-happy attitude, long sleep-filled nights that lasted well into the afternoon.
"Charles..." a familiar voice called out, he knew Ruth's voice would be louder than his own thoughts."Dinner is ready in half passed 8 tonight."
Charles hesitated before gulping down his potential reaction to Hank's letter. He hated feeling this way. Ruth would be forcing him downstairs if he didn't comply, he nodded in spite of himself; remembering the last time he put up a fight.
"Very well."
Ruth, a rotund middle-aged woman herself, wisps of grey streaks sprayed in her brunette hair that was tightly bound with a clip. It was the same look she had whenever she worked. Charles was used to her stern and sturdy demeanor. She had devoted more time and energy to go above and beyond for Charles than any of his friends could give. She was a sort of surrogate mother, a second kin to his growing up through his early mutant years.
"Get proper washed and dressed. I don't want to come by this room again seeing you in dirty rags. I expect better." Ruth said, her take no prisoners attitude boomed louder than Charles expected.
"Yes." He said, forcing his body to completely compose before nodding to her. "Of course."
"Go to it." Ruth ordered and left without another word.
Charles stripped off his clothes, taking his pace as slow as he could, he really didn't want to do anything right now.
To be the one who abandoned everyone you promised to protect is something he wasn't ready to face. But those thoughts came back before he could force them out. Being this scraggly waste of a human was the best he could do under the circumstances. He can't help but think how many mutants he failed. Taking care of himself was the least of his worries.
After showering, more or less and eventually stepping out of the warm water, he came to his bedroom to see formal clothes already laid out. Ruth had taken it upon herself to force him to continue on with his life, her will was too strong and his was non-existent.
Charles stumped downstairs, robe discarded, dressed more formally than he would have wanted. He stopped mid-step when he saw Ruth place dinner on the table.
He almost said something but she held her hand up before he could get a word out. She knew his rituals too well.
"Sit down." she ordered.
He sat at his usual seat at the head of the table in silence as she finished bringing the last of the full course meal.
"You skipped lunch, supper is extended for tonight. No refusals Charles." Ruth commented briskly, filling his glass with the ice cold pitcher. "Sit up straighter."
His meal was silent for the most part, that was until Ruth took it upon herself to divulge something unexpectedly personal.
"After everything I've finally decided to invite my granddaughter for an extra hand." She said, eying Charles before continuing. "She will be to the home at half passed 10 tonight. She is to assist around the house to the items and places I cannot be. If you plan on falling asleep in the study once more, greet her with the same respect you do me."
He focused his attention on his plate, absentmindedly paying attention to what his caretaker said. Another person will join the apathetic mood in this house. Charles wasn't sure if he felt less lonely or that another person, seemingly just like Ruth, will be watching his every move. A slight panic sprung up in the pit of his stomach. He swallow carefully before calming down.
"What is her name? The girl?" Charles asked, with a soft hint of gentle curiosity.
"Oi, you can't charm this one I'm afraid. She's a baby, barely 21. Her name is Aura, it suits her." Ruth said proudly as she took Charles' and her own plate to clean up.
Charles was left alone for a few moments with his thoughts. Perhaps he was only being paranoid at the notion of having another person, more to the truth, his peer to come live with her Nan and sharing the house, he didn't know what to think. The last he had been around people his own age he founded the school for mutants. He had wished she was the silent type, not so much like Ruth.
"Wipe those thoughts away Charles. She'll be close to me the majority of the time. Don't get cheeky now." Ruth spoke from the kitchen over the clinking of the dishes; she was ever the moment killer.
Charles stood from the table, trying not to roll his eyes in her faux concern but failed. There was nothing his caretaker needed to worry about. Even though Ruth had qualities where she was a super woman, he sincerely doubted he'd be around somebody like him. No more mutants. He had failed all of them. It was over. Moira, the life he had tried to dream into a reality. Peace of mind, hope. Tarnished worries were a far off fantasy.
This was what life was really like. Charles embraced it for all it had to be. This girl, whoever she is, was just another person. She couldn't possibly understand what it means to be born different.