Summary: "He dares to hope that the familiar curve of the helmet is who he thinks it could be." Spoilers for/slight AU of episode 1x16, "Badlands." Implied Magneto/Charles.
Welcome to the Jungle
He dares to hope that the familiar curve of the helmet, obscured by shadows, but peeking out above some craggy rocks, nonetheless, is who he thinks it could be. "Magneto?" he asks in hushed awe, his heart racing. A cape - his cape - swishes a little. "Erik? Is that really you?" Charles gets out, and then the figure steps into the late afternoon light.
"Hello, Charles." Magneto's face is lined and more worn than Charles is used to; but, he tells himself, so is his. Twenty years of harsh living would weather even the most steadfast being, and Charles can't believe that the past two decades have been anything but hardship for Magneto. He, on the other hand, has spent the majority of them on his back, he thinks ruefully.
With a wave of his hand, the Master of Magnetism unfuses Charles' leg braces from where he left them hanging overhead, setting them down with reverence on the ground. Instinctively, Charles begins to inch forward, but Magneto bends, still fluidly, in spite of his advanced age, and starts affixing them to Charles' lower limbs. "You're lucky you came here in the day time," Magneto says wryly, and Charles realizes that his old friend's sense of humor has not gotten any less bleak. "It can get pretty depressing at night."
"I'll keep that in mind." Charles looks around a bit. "What is this place, exactly, Erik?" He motions vaguely over his shoulder at Bishop and the others, still unable to reach him in the energy field in which they're encased. He suspects that it's Magneto's doing, and doesn't want to make any impositions yet. Still, he assumes the other man sees his companions.
Magneto's smile is bitter. "You don't recognize my legacy in all of its glory?" he asks. Charles blinks, a sinking feeling suddenly overtaking his stomach.
"This isn't ... Genosha?"
Magneto's eyes narrow. "The one and only." He finishes making some miniscule adjustments to Charles' braces, a fact which is obvious when Charles stands and finds them to be a smoother fit. "Thank you," he murmurs, and Magneto, also on his feet anew, inclines his head. It's strange, in a way, being able to reach the other man's shoulders. Magneto must be thinking something similar, because there's a bemused light in his eyes that fades when he refocuses on the severity of the situation. He watches Charles stare around at the ruins of his all-mutant homeland. "You might as well ask, Charles," he says eventually, and Charles tilts his head.
"I'd rather you showed me."
"Very well." The helmet slides off. The familiar prickling of Erik's mind nudging his sends a soft shudder down his spine. "Ready?" Magneto frowns, and Charles braces himself for what he has only to assume is disaster. Heartbroken, he watches a younger Magneto admit his defeat to his youngest daughter, watches her beg and plead with him to come with her below, where they will be safe from the flames already licking at Magneto's beautiful, hand-carved city. He watches Magneto hesitate, and then sees the exact moment that the other man changes his mind, allowing Lorna to lead him down below. Finally, the memories peter off with Magneto staring around at all that he's lost, his face dirty, his spirit obviously wounded. "I've made so many mistakes, Charles," he murmurs when their minds slide back apart. He affixes the helmet to his head again, and sighs at Charles' sympathetic face. Overcome with emotion, Charles blinks tears away and clears his throat.
"Where is Lorna now?"
"She is here, with me. We are the only survivors." There's another wry smirk. "If you couldn't tell, we don't get a lot of visitors."
Charles nods. "My companions refer to this as the Badlands. Even the Sentinels did not want to come here." He considers the ramifications of so many mutants having lost their lives amidst these very ruins, the notion that their spirits might still populate the area, screaming and writhing with pain and loss, and shivers again.
Erik's expression is far away. "This is all I have left. All that I've worked so long for, reduced to rubble. My dreams are gone, Charles. These are their charred remains."
"Well, when you put it that way." Magneto looks a bit shocked at the levity, enough so for Charles to quickly add, "Can I see her? Lorna, that is?" Magneto's eldest daughter had always been, by far, the most fragile of his children; privately, Charles wonders how she's fared in the wake of such tragedy.
Magneto nods slowly. "Yes. All right."
"You know, I can walk now."
Another surprised, crooked smile is affixed on Magneto's face. "I'm aware of that," he goads, but tightens his grip around Charles' smaller frame as he says it, floating them through the thick air. "And as you know, I can fly still." It's still there, Charles thinks absently as Magneto spirits them where Charles has asked to go; there's still that spark, that elusively defined, sometimes damnable thing between them. In their close proximity, with Charles practically wrapped in Magneto's arms, it's difficult to keep old, long hampered emotions tapped down. And yet, Charles recognizes the necessity of doing so, and so he tries to concentrate on why he's really here.
Lorna, as Magneto has already explained, spends most of her days (and nights) in the upper levels of the remains of the palace. Back when Genosha thrived, Lorna had loved nothing more than to stand atop tall balconies, looking out at the world her father had created ("for you, always for you," he had told her repeatedly, and she had believed him wholeheartedly). As Magneto levitates through a large open space in a wall, Charles can still see where the majesty of Magneto's home once was. It sends yet another pang through his heart as he thinks about all that has been wrought here.
Lorna, as it turns out, is not particularly happy to have a guest. "You," she hisses, eyes narrowing, face pale and hair dull and, as Charles winces to notice, unfortunately and unevenly shorn. "How dare you come here," she continues, advancing on Charles, and he puts his hands up in supplication, not wanting to use his telepathy to forcibly calm her down, but willing to do so anyways if she cannot manage it of her own accord.
Fortunately, Magneto intervenes. "Lorna, there is no animosity to be had towards Charles. He is a dear friend of mine."
"How can you say that?" Lorna nearly shrieks, fists balling furiously. "He hated everything you stood for." She gestures around wildly at the remains of the palace. "He never wanted you to have this."
"That's not true," Magneto insists, though his voice is soft, lulling, and it's readily apparent to Charles in that moment how much Erik cares for his offspring. "He requested to see you, Lorna. He is concerned about your well-being." There's a pause, and then: "He wants to try and help you; to help us."
Charles nods and steps forward. He reaches out a hand to place it tentatively on Lorna's shoulder; the young woman flinches, but does not pull away. "It's true, Lorna. I am so, so very sorry for what you've endured, but perhaps I can try to make it right again. You see, I've made some friends here, in the future, where we are, and ..."
"No." Lorna shakes her head vehemently, and then says again, "No. It won't help. Nothing you do can help."
"But it can," Charles protests, though it appears that Lorna has already made up her mind on the matter.
"No!" she shrieks, and Charles sees a few pieces of scrap metal dance out of the corner of his eye. To his distant right, Magneto appears suddenly frozen. Anxiously, Charles raises his fingers to his temple and clamps his eyes shut momentarily, seeking out Lorna's mind. It is not difficult to find, given the lack of proximity to other people, and also its chaotic nature. Hurt and loss and devastation lace her every thought; Charles fights his way into the maelstrom, and tries once more to comfort her.
"Lorna. Lorna, I can help you. I want to help you. You have suffered terribly. The loss of your home and your family has caused you terrible pain. I want to take that pain away." In her own mind, Lorna is still a scrap of a girl, surrounded by ringlets of hair, her face delicate and hopeful. Charles moves towards her, trying to make her see. "Let me help you," he urges gently, reaching out his hand. He thinks of Erik and adds, "We can make everything like it was. You'll see." He looks down at their fingertips, nearly touching, now, and then up again at Lorna's sad, resigned, and suddenly much older face.
"Nothing you do will make any difference," she murmurs, but there is no malice in it. Her arm drops to her side, then, and Charles screams and covers his face as everything around him is suddenly drenched, for the second time, in flames.
He comes to whilst sprawled on his back, his leg braces lying nearby on their side. "No need for those smelling salts after all, I think he's back," he hears Marrow quip, though there's concern in her voice. He opens his eyes and stares up at Bishop and the others gratefully.
"Charles, what happened?" Bishop's own voice is deep and gruff, but Charles knows how much he cares about keeping all of them safe. Still, as he glances around at the barren stretch of field, no longer decorated with the remains of Magneto's mutant paradise, he realizes that he doesn't precisely have an answer.
"I'm not sure," he finally says. He's helped into a sitting position by Julian, who then hands him his walking accoutrement. "I thought I had run into an old friend here," he adds eventually, "but it must have been my mind playing tricks."
The others reluctantly accept this, and Charles idly wonders how long he's really been 'gone.' "Tch, Badlands, who needs 'em," Marrow finally mutters, and with one last lingering glance and a simple peace offering to Lorna, wherever she may be, now, Charles turns and follows the group reluctantly away.