Note: Not strictly following the First Class script, but there we go anyway. Sorry for starting this while writing another story-it's that I've fallen in love with the idea of Cherik. So obviously, this will be slash.
Summary: Charles believes every human is like Moira, and Erik believes everyone's like Shaw. Two men from two extremes of living. Will they ever get into a compromise? Or will they drift apart into two separate futures? AU SLASH, with some Halex and possibly Azazaven.
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men franchise or the characters. I just like playing with them a bit. Trying this out for size.
Prologue: The Blue Depths
Charles leaped.
He was mid-air for only a few seconds—seconds less than he had estimated since he had leapt not quite far from the ship, and not as high as he thought he'd make, due to his thick, restrictive clothing—and he had a moment to be able to think I had not thought this through before plunging into the cold seawater, not quite headfirst as well, since, as he had thought, he had not mulled over the predicament enough.
But anyway, he was already in the water, half-swimming, half-flailing towards the general direction of the mind that he had heard. A mind so piercing that Charles had picked it up without his conscious effort. Astounding.
Stop the submarine. Jam the propellers. Rupture the ballasts. Why isn't anything working?
Charles didn't think he had ever heard a more single-track mind in his life than this one here. A mind that didn't flinch automatically with his body, when Charles had wrapped his arms around the person's shoulders.
Dying. Charles felt that the strain of the man using his ability, compounded by the lack of air, was rapidly killing the man's brain cells. Setting aside the precursory skim he does with strangers' minds—the one he usually executes as a non-invasive precaution—he plunged right into the tumultuous mind, chaotic, but so very streamlined.
A very controlled chaos, Charles thought in appall.
:Enough! You have to let go,: Charles projected with his ability. At last the man regarded him—with still half his mind on trying to obliterate the submarine—and his thoughts churned in panic. Charles felt the twin sensations of both their minds processing the surging waters, pushed by the submarine's struggling propellers.
:Who are you? How are you doing that?: were his first lines of thought. Granted, he didn't know if he had imagined the voice, but he was pretty sure he had heard it—or rather, felt it ring in his mind, clear as a bell.
The response startled him, and his attention on the nuclear submarine decreased to a fourth.
:I know what this means to you, but you're going to drown. Save yourself. Try again another time,: was the answer. The seawater was dark, and the only indication that the man would not relent in getting him to the surface was his firm, unyielding grip around his shoulders, which, at the moment, he didn't think he could shrug off simply because he was getting really weak, really quickly.
:Trust me, Erik, please. Calm your mind.:
A name he hadn't heard said in another person's voice. It acted as an alarm that went through his head, and, as if a switch had been turned off in his mind, his powers shut off, and the submarine lurched forward, disappearing into the watery depths of the Florida coast.
They resurfaced, and after an instinctual gasp of air, Erik didn't waste a beat and turned to Charles, who was sputtering quite violently.
"You were in my head! How did you do that?" he repeated, in a raspy, strained voice half-laden with an accent indistinguishable to Charles at the moment. Charles also detected a hint of anger, presumably because his target had gotten away.
After a few gasps to regulate his breathing, Charles fixed his eyes on the man.
"My name is Charles Xavier, and I am like you," he said, breathing lungfuls of air open-mouthed, while treading the slightly turbulent waters. Charles chose his words carefully, and by the slight widening of the other man's eyes, and the small glint in them, Charles thought he had chosen them correctly.
Or incorrectly, depending on what that glint implies.
"Like me?" Erik asked, dubious. The expression turned from a momentary surge of surprise to that of caution. Charles watched the play of the other man's face with a slight frown. He is a very suspecting man.
"I thought I was alone," Erik said between gasps of air.
"Your ability, it's not uncommon. I mean, it is, but there are others like you with skills like that," Charles explained, in a rather hasty generalization that he hoped would get his point across. "You're not alone, Erik."
At the still-wary expression on the foreigner's face, he pushed past his skimming, and delved into Erik's mind, without agitating any of the surface memories.
:I can do this. I am a telepath, meaning I could read minds and project thoughts. You have your tricks, I have mine,: The look on Erik's face would have been comical had the circumstances been less dire, or had they not been having the conversation while treading in the deep sea.
"We should really get off this water—it's giving me quite a chill," Charles remarked in a chipper tone, and Erik gave him a look akin to that of a circus spectator.
"Thank you for seeing reason, Erik," Charles said gently but firmly, and Erik, for the second time in his life, felt absolutely defenseless.
x
Erik found it utterly bizarre that the younger man thanked him for letting him save Erik's life. Never mind that he should be returning the gesture, but he was at a loss for words, sitting in a bunk inside the cabin that he and Charles Xavier shared. No one with half a mind would consider asking permission to save someone's life. Although, Erik did respect that gesture, to some extent. He did not, after all, have his well-being at the top of his list of priorities.
Charles, for the most part, had whined about his wet clothing the minute he got off the water, and had received a positively vicious but enlightening reprimand from a woman named Raven. The way Charles brushed off her scolding and the manner of which Raven shifted from annoyance to concern only solidified their relationship in Erik's eyes. As introductions were made, though, Erik, who had initially presumed them to be lovers, found to his surprise that they were brother and sister.
They look nothing alike, he had thought, immediately glancing at Charles after his thoughts ran, wondering in suspicion if the younger man had picked it up. Charles, for the most part, looked thoroughly busy bearing the brunt of the scolds he was getting, not only from Raven but also from a woman named Moira McTaggert, a CIA agent.
He had half a mind to shove a floating shard of steel from the sea through her, and to jump off the ship and swim away, where the US government couldn't track him, but Charles, to his misfortune, had heard that instead, and shook his head calmly.
:That would only cause trouble, my friend,: Charles had projected. Erik scowled at him.
:I said I had half a mind. And stop rifling through my thoughts without permission!:
:I'm sorry. Truly, I am. It's just that, your thoughts, oddly enough, are even harder to block than the usual.:
Erik didn't know what to believe. Instead, he remained silent, and brooded over his strange new predicament.
Shaw had escaped. It was a thought that he frankly wanted to kill a few people for. Years of planning, turned into a stinking pile of dung. And he had been punched off a yacht by a telepathic diamond woman to boot. His pride could not have been more ruptured, but he still had some of it left, and that remaining sliver roiled in him, making him wonder if going back to a CIA headquarters with these people was the smart thing to do.
These people had a lead. If they didn't, they wouldn't be able to locate Shaw in the first place. If they had any other inside information about the doctor that Erik knew nothing about, then it was the opportunity for Erik to regroup and formulate a new set of plans—a more streamlined, fool-proof plan that didn't involve facing the man head-on, and getting punched off a yacht.
Charles turned to him, after fussing for a good half-hour over his state of well-being and dress. Erik wanted to shake his head at how vainglorious the man was, but once again chose not to say or do anything.
It took a second for Erik to realize that Charles was not staring at him directly, but rather at the silver coin twirling on his palm.
"Your ability is truly remarkable," Charles said in awe, sitting on his bunk and regarding the coin with intent.
Erik wanted to say that he found the same thing true for Charles's powers, but said nothing, betraying none of his emotions through his stoic face.
When Charles said nothing after a while, eyes fixated at the piece of silver that kept twirling restlessly in Erik's palm, Erik flattened it against his hand and glared at him.
"Don't read my mind," Erik commanded assertively. His voice hinted at what could happen should his mind be invaded.
Charles reeled back in bewilderment, before shaking his head and looking at Erik's eyes intently.
"I will put an extra effort not to, my friend," he said earnestly.
There it was again, those words. My friend. It was too trusting a phrase that it grated on Erik's nerves. What right did Charles have to call him his friend? What interaction happened between them that the other man had warrant to assume that calling him as such was alright with Erik?
Stiffly, Erik pocketed his coin and turned away from Charles, lying down on his bunk bed and resisting the urge to curl into himself.
Erik focused on the metal all around him, and tried to flush the thought of Charles Xavier possibly swimming in his brain at the moment, finding out all of his secrets, figuring him out with a few choice memories.
The two things that stopped him from killing Charles Xavier that night was the debt he owed the man for saving his life, and the memory of his starkly blue eyes, glowing with supposed honesty.
I will put an extra effort not to, my friend.
Erik, for the life of him, did not believe a word Charles said.
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