"Come now, Erik. Please don't do this. It will only result in—" Magneto smiled, almost demurely.
"Destruction, Charles? Victory? Freedom for our brothers and their equality?"
"We mutants will not be equals to the humans if we enforce ourselves as dictators and executioners." A scoff and Magneto readjusts his helmet, the only outward sign of the deep contemplation within. He was always in turmoil—since Adolf Hitler opened his mouth before a podium and an audience of millions—billions. He'd first seen the monster in the store at the corner. The owner had had a telly on the counter and always put the news on. And while Magneto continually became more powerful, he became no less wretched. He let his hands fall down at his sides.
"Liberty, Charles, is a nobler goal. Perhaps it is mutants' turn to take a seat at the throne atop the world?" There was silence. He couldn't deny the little flirt of emotion through the pit of his stomach. He hadn't seen his friend in a long time. Years. It wasn't fear; he hadn't felt real fear since the camps. Nowadays there was a goal then he strived for it and then he reached it. Clasped it in a single gloved hand and squashed it. Rarely was emotion involved.
Rage and serenity.
His hand went straight to his temple out of reflex. The words, echoes from all that time ago, came like specters sent by his old friend, sent even in his voice.
"Erik, this is not the way." Charles persisted through his possession of Sabertooth. "It will only bring pain for humankind and mutantkind." He paused. "Please, my friend. Focus. Find that place between rage and serenity." Had he sent the message? No, and Erik crushed the streak of paranoia. Shaw's helmet protected him from that sort of intrusion.
The irony made his lips quirk with humour as dark as pitch and his stomach coil with nausea.
Shaw… his mentor.
Prey.
But the bastard was already dead. Magneto had killed him on the last day that he'd seen Charles. Not that he'd known at the time that it would be their last day together. He could never have guessed that they would part on such terms.
Bullshit. How else would it have ended? He does not understand how the world works, for all of his ability to look into the minds of man. And you cannot coddle the humans as he so obviously wishes to do.
They hadn't seen each other in so long. So very long.
"Alright Charles. Then what is the right way? And please, don't give me all of that nonsense about showing the humans that we're harmless. I've heard that too many times." A gentle chuckle, which sounded strange coming from Sabertooth's snarling mouth, but Magneto's eyes were shut and it felt like talking to his old friend face to face.
"They are scared—if we calm them, convince them that we are good—" then his voice faded for a moment like he realized just how deaf his audience was to his insistence, "—please Erik! Don't prove them right in their hate, be the better man!"
"But Charles I already am."
"This world will crumble beneath its own hatred, Erik. Do not aid it in its fall."
Mystique steps up, nearly silently, from behind him and leans toward his ear to describe what she'd discovered.
"They've found this place." Then returns to where she is most comfortable, watching his back. Magneto doesn't react, but for a slight narrowing of his eyes. He was not used to such indecision. What to do about the X-men at his door? They were soft, idiot children blinded by Charles. Friend.
He turns back to look over his shoulder and shakes his head once, sharply, to Mystique. A command. Her eyes, too bright yellow against her dark blue face, narrow too, trying to puzzle out Magneto's strange behavior. Had something gone wrong? She doubted it, that helmet kept Charles out of his head. She doesn't shrug, but does shake off the confusion. She goes to the door, turns down a short hall, and faces the X-men.
"Magneto's waiting." She says, searching each of their faces. Then gives a short gasp.
Magneto stood with his back to the door, trying to regain his grip on his mind. To find his focus, what made him great no matter what Charles said. The door opened quietly, which was a surprise in itself, considering how immature and volatile their, his, students were.
"Why Charles, how wonderful for you to come and see my glory. Have you come to watch my success in bringing the world to its knees?"
"Erik, this won't help anything." He could almost hear the slight, disapproving frown in his friend's voice. He wanted to laugh, almost, at hearing the familiar sound. Charles was the friendliest thing that had ever happened to Erik. There must've been nice things before the camps, but he wasn't sure how much of his childhood then had been made up in his head whenever he needed to escape. To hear Charles' voice again inspired things in his chest that he'd let die. Things he hadn't noticed expire. He tried to grab the reins and pull, turn his grin into a dignified smile. He spun around.
"W-What? Why are you—" his friend, just as he'd remembered him, if a bit more tired, sat staring back at him with that same disapproving frown that Erik had expected. Sat, in a wheel chair. A tool of an old man to weary of the world to be able to stand anymore. Charles' eyes widened imperceptibly and he glanced away.
"The bullet…" no need to ask what bullet "hit my spine."
And ever wisp of serenity floating near him dissipated permanently from his reach.
