Xavier Mansion, June 17th, 1973, 4:30pm
Charles Xavier straightened the pile of student applications on his desk and let his mind wander. He had been busy. The Paris Peace Accords and Logan's bizarre urgency were indeed somewhat of a wake up call. It also helped that the dreadful, wasteful war had come to an end. That damned war had ripped him apart, but like everything else it had run it's course, and that brought certain comforts.
Alex returned, for one, as did some of his former students. They were all a little worse for wear, but all of them were eager to pick up the pieces of their broken lives. He also received an occasional (collect) phone call from Raven wherever she was infiltrating things. He had come to terms with the fact that she would never call the mansion home again, but the sound of her voice once in a while and the knowledge that deep down she was still his little sister allowed him some peace.
Besides, lately he'd begun to feel that prickling in the center of his chest, and the compulsive desire to jot down ideas for curriculum improvements, recruitment trips, and updates to cerebro. He hadn't yet dared call it hope in his thoughts, but his heart fueled the fire of his unspoken dreams.
He wanted the mansion to be every wayward mutant's home. He wanted to find and teach the people Logan, that ghost from the future, had rattled off in a panic, and live up to the old man in the wheelchair's quiet confidence.
"Professor?"
Charles started in his seat as Hank barged into the office, blue as anything and straining against the contours of a formerly well-fitted suit. He still wasn't quite used to his Vice Principal's "Mutant and Proud" exterior, but he supposed this too would be an adjustment he'd take in stride.
"Yes?"
"Uh...someone's here to see you."
"Well don't keep me in suspense. Did I have a parent interview scheduled today? I was sure I didn't have anything in that vein until July-"
"No. It's not that...you know what never mind, I'll tell him to make a damn appointment. He can't just barge in here and-"
"Beast, you're an impressive fighter, but this is an 18th century Gothic mansion. There's probably metal in the wood grain, and I'm not afraid to use it."
Beast growled, but stood aside, revealing Erik Lehnsherr, aka Magneto, lounging against the door jam. He was in one of his many "disguises," (although the only secret identity that came to mind when Charles thought on it was "Mossad spy," which wasn't very inconspicuous), in khakis and a white polo all topped with his Panama hat and dark shades. He also sported a new, ginger-colored beard that was getting mixed internal reviews.
"Now now Charles." Erik drawled as he gave Beast a sidelong glance and then looked very conspicuously at his own groin. "You've never been one to mind a little fur."
"That will be all Hank, thank you. I can take this from here. Why don't you make sure the science labs are up to code before the district inspector arrives? We can't have any accidents, at least not any human ones..." Charles rambled to diffuse his own reddening face and Hank's sputtering outrage, and wheeled the chair out from behind his desk in record time in order to shut the door.
They were alone. Erik chuckled, and Charles was free to unleash a distinctly unprofessional scowl.
"How dare you."
Erik crossed the room and took a seat in one of the hard backed wooden chairs across from Charles's desk. With the flick of a finger he seized the brass handle of the bottom drawer, and the metal-topped decanter of scotch floated effortlessly into his hands. "I'm not the one projecting like a radio broadcast. You used to be better at controlling that."
Charles let out a heavy breath and changed the chair's course in order to retrieve two glasses from behind a copy of "Hard Times" on the adjacent shelf. He had a feeling he'd need a bloody drink to get through this conversation.
"Yes well. I've been rather out of practice. And I certainly hope you didn't come here to critique my mutation. That would be rather tedious, coming from someone who is often rendered helpless without his glorified bicycle helmet. Now pour."
Erik's smirk faded, as was the object, but he filled both their glasses and clinked rims with Charles despite the other's lack of enthusiasm. "No helmet today, Charles. I could have brought it but I didn't. Don't I earn points for that at least?"
The telepath made a study of a spot above Erik's head as the metal bender took off his glasses, revealing his steely gray eyes. "You've never been interested in earning high marks with me, my friend. Now what do you want? I'm rather preoccupied at the moment."
You're wrong about that.The thought was faint, but infuriatingly sincere. Charles didn't even have the heart to make a return quip about projection. "With your school, yes. Charles, I don't think I've ever said this to you, but I think your school is a wonderful idea. It's...been a long year. A long decade. We're not all meant to fight in the same way. We all have our gifts..."
Charles bristled, and his left toe gave off a phantom tingle. "I said it on the airplane and I'll say it again Erik. If it's a fight you want, you'll find I'm more than up for the challenge, even like this."
"I don't." Erik answered, and sighed heavily before downing his drink in one pull. "I don't want to fight. You make everything so difficult. Have you forgotten that night in DC? I came to you before I went underground, and you let me in Charles. It was just like before-"
Erik's free hand had been creeping forward up the arm of Charles's wheelchair as he spoke. Their fingers were now a mere centimeter apart.
Charles drew away. "A moment of weakness, Erik." He rasped, his mind filled with memories of a heated embrace, the rickety ceiling fan in the motel room, the taste of iron on a hot, hard tongue, and every other manner of forbidden madness. "You'd do well not to look too much into it. We have different values. Different hopes, dreams, principles, and backgrounds. Out there," he pointed out his window, "You prove again and again that you are my enemy."
"And what if I wanted to change that?" Erik answered, and like a flash, he reached out and gripped the telepath's wrist, forcing his hands to his own head. "Read my mind, Charles. I'm not the man I was. I wasted ten years of my life behind bars, and all of my Brothers and Sisters are dead. I'm not stupid. Setbacks like that make you reflect on your methods."
Finally, self righteousness gave Charles the strength he needed for blue to bore into gray. "Really? Is that what your attempted Nixon assassination was? A new tack?"
"Please Charles. Just look."
Maybe it was the please. Maybe it was the tightness of the other man's grip against his flesh, or the desperation he sensed in his energy signature, like fiddle strings that have been wound far too tightly. Charles couldn't say. But before he knew it, he found all his promises to himself broken in the mind scape as he sank into the churning black sea of the metal bender's consciousness...
White walls. Rock. Sand. Glass. Endless hours with only himself and the sadistic guards for company. 'Hey I hear that blonde bombshell of yours bit it the other day in a botched bank heist. Isn't that a shame. Also no lunch today, sorry. I meant to get it from the kitchen, but then I got high.'
Rage and pain. His old friends.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Emma, then Angel. Azazel. Tick tock. Tick tock.
Mystique. Where was she? Tick tock. Tick tock. Charles. He missed Charles...
Peter running. Peter freeing him. He knew who Peter was. He knew that manic grin had a mother in a Krakow concentration camp, when his last name was still Maximoff. Peter and Wanda. His progeny. His legacy...his future...tick tock. Tick tock. Charles. The school; a refuge for the young. The Brotherhood; an army to protect the young, and the helpless, and the telepath.
Together. Secret. Together. Together.
The school and the Brotherhood. Magneto. Erik. Toad. Mystique. Peter. . Hank. Charles. Rage and pain. Fear and hope. LoveLoveLove Tick tock tick tock tick-
"...Alright, Erik. I'm listening. What exactly did you have in mind?"
The metal bender grinned so that all his teeth showed, and Charles fought to undo the knot in his stomach. "I'm going to Morocco tomorrow. To scout a potential base near Europe and find more mutants, preferably ones who speak some Arabic. It's always good to have one or two on hand. I need your help. It'll be just like old times...and we can vie for who we find fair and square. It's in both our best interests. I don't want children in my army, Charles..."
"No. And I don't want trouble makers in my school."
"Exactly." Erik replied. "Join me in this, Old Friend. And I'll show you a good time as well as good faith. Morocco is a beautiful country."
Charles cleared his throat, and wheeled backwards. "I've never been. But it's true, my potential roster for next year is a little...thin, and I could do with a vacation...your room is still-"
"The third door on the right of the second floor?"
"Precisely. Kindly leave me to do some packing and inform Hank...I'll be up for chess in an hour."
