Chapter I.
Good luck, darling—you'll need it
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Charles blinks blearily through the drugs, his head spinning as he tries to focus on the blurry form standing over him. He tries to sit up, but he's stopped by the metal—metal, and here he almost laughs, on the edge of hysteria—cuffs binding him down to the table.
"So. Erik's telepath." Sebastian Shaw's voice, easily discernible from so many of Erik's memories and nightmares, floats down from above. "I'm so pleased to meet you."
"Fuck you." Charles bites out hoarsely. His throat still hurts. Something is wrong with his telepathy. He can't hear Shaw—he can't hear anyone, for that matter, and he feels his heart rate increase as he begins to panic, his breath coming out in short gasps. No no no, calm down, can't panic, not here, think of something think of something thinkofsomething—
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"We can't stay here. They obviously know we're here, not to mention the fact that the ground floor would need major renovations to be livable again." Hank speaks calmly and matter-of-factly, something that took him three years to achieve. "But the mansion is compromised."
"Obviously." Erik states dryly. He's sitting behind the large oak desk of the study, and he steeples his fingers together contemplatively, surveying Hank, Alex, and Angel as they stand in various positions around the room. Hank appears calm—he's been hard to read, ever since he turned furry and blue five years ago—and Alex is wired, unable to sit still as he fiddles absently with a trinket on the mantelpiece.
Angel sinks down gracefully onto to the edge of the chair Erik uses for chess, crossing her legs. "We've got places we can go."
Erik nods. "I'm already considering the best course of action. Once we reach a decision, you'll know. In the meantime, Beast, start destroying your lab. Save what needs to be saved, but otherwise leave nothing that can be recovered. I'll be down later to help with Cerebro."
Without further word Hank turns and exits the office.
"Cruel and unusual, my friend." Charles says from behind him. His back is to the office, sharply silhouetted by the light from the window he's looking out of. It's the first thing he's said all morning.
"We're not leaving it intact for the humans." Erik answers dismissively, even as Angel grins. You'll get over it. I'll build you a new one once we move.
How romantic.
Erik rolls his eyes, but then dutifully asks at Charles' silent prompting, "How are the children?"
"They're fine. Sean's still with them." Angel reports. "We've kept them up on the second floor, had a little camp-out in the rec room and brought them all breakfast. They liked that. John was missing for a little while last night, but Kitty finally found him hiding in one of the closets. She won't stop calling him a scaredy-cat and he nearly lit the couch on fire."
"Keep them busy." Erik says.
"You got it, daddy-o." Angel hops up to her feet, and with a little half-salute and a wink she's out the door.
That leaves just Alex, and he's looking at Erik patiently, waiting for the next directive. Before anything can be said, Azazel teleports into the room with a cloud of black smoke.
"That's the last of the bodies, comrade." His once-thick accent has smoothed out around the edges.
"Did you put them where I asked?" Charles asks. His voice has gone from mild and absent to downright icy.
Azazel shows his teeth, amused. "Of course, Professor."
Erik gives him a nod. "Stay close. We'll call you."
Azazel flicks his tail in acknowledgement and then disappears.
"They're not going to like that." Alex speaks up, but he sounds neutral on the matter. "Stacking the bodies in Stryker's boardroom is going to infuriate him."
"I don't like when my home is invaded." Charles answers. "He can bloody well deal with his own mess."
Erik can feel Charles' slip downwards into blackness, so he casually spins in his chair, giving the telepath a nudge both mental and physical, reaching up to brush his shoulder. Charles' spine has grown stiff, but under Erik's influence he relaxes again, pulling back from the darker parts of his own mind.
Thank you. "We're hoping his retaliation will give us a certain clue."
Erik merely sends him a wave of assurance as he turns his chair to the front again. They have silent communication down to a science by now. "We think this is it, Alex."
Alex raises his eyebrows but he takes a step forward, as if he can't help it. "Really?"
Erik gives a deadly smile. "Yes. Such a bold attack, aimed straight for Charles…Stryker hates us, but he doesn't have the balls. It's got Shaw's signature all over it."
"Should I tell the others?" Alex asks.
"Not yet. Not until we're sure." Charles says. He turns away from the window at last, and steps forward to lean against the back of Erik's chair. "In the meantime, I have a proposition for you, once we're done organizing our move."
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Out of their first class, Alex is best suited for leadership but this wasn't always the case. Erik knows an angry kindred spirit when he sees one, so he knows best how to put things in a perspective that Alex will best understand.
Several months after they pull Charles out of hell, the team is a mess and they nearly fall apart. The re-alliance with Angel and the newer alliance with Azazel and Janos is shaky at best, Raven—Mystique—has left them after she and Charles had their shouting match that shook the mansion walls, Charles is still barely past the point where he doesn't hate himself, and not for the first time, Erik himself is wondering what he's gotten himself into. He doesn't regret what he and Charles have between them, the almost symbiotic dependence, but Shaw is still alive and free, his crimes against Erik—and now Charles—unanswered to. Erik knows what he's doing here, for Charles, but he also doesn't know what he's doing.
Sean and Hank are helpful; they stay out of the way when they need to but they're always happy to step up as well. Angel is slowly readjusting even though Erik suspects she still feels guilty about Darwin, and then Charles, no matter how many times he's told her it's a moot point by now. Even Azazel and Janos are bearable, content to follow under Erik's orders at a distance, since Erik's gotten tired of having to peel Charles off the ceiling any time Azazel teleports in too close.
Alex, though, is something else. He's angry, and though that's a given, he's taken it to another level entirely. He's moody, talks back, picks fights, and what little tenuous control he's built up over his power has all but been destroyed; he's liable to go off like a bomb more than anything. Erik's patience with him has all but run out, and he's this close to strangling the boy with a drainpipe.
Unsurprisingly, it's Charles who talks him down. In one of his rarer—they're getting more common, at least, now, but it's still a long, steep upwards slope—calm moments where he seems most like his old self, he tells Erik that out of all the children they'd found on their road trip across the country, Alex reminded him of Erik the most.
Erik scoffs. "He's nothing like me. He's got no focus, he has nothing but—"
"—his rage to drive him?" Charles finishes for him dryly.
"At least I'm focused." Erik grumbles. He's gotten better at admitting when Charles is right, annoying as it is. It helps that Charles has gotten better at admitting when Erik is right, too. The perks of sharing minds—very little is lost between them. "Alex is just all over the place."
Charles sends him a wave of fondness when he picks up on Erik's train of thought. You have more than just rage driving you now. "Can you blame him? I'm all over the place these days, my friend, so can you imagine how a teenager feels about all of this? Quite a bit to swallow, isn't it?"
Erik hears the bleakness beginning to creep back into Charles' voice, so he gets up and sinks down next to the telepath on the couch, tugging him close. I have your serenity. "Then tell me, Charles, how are we to deal with him? He's going to actually slice someone in half at this rate, and then he'll be beyond repair."
Charles relaxes against him, turning his face into Erik's chest. He's quiet for a few moments, and Erik is content to be still with him, absently tracing slow patterns on his spine with one hand. Don't say that. You're not beyond repair.
"Hm?" Erik asks lazily, only half-listening and not quite following.
You've killed people, but you're not beyond repair. Charles elaborates silently. His eyes are closed.
"Yes, but I rather meant to, didn't I?" Erik drawls, amused despite himself. "Alex might act like doesn't care, but I don't think he actually wants to hurt anyone here."
Like you, then? Charles' lips haven't moved, but Erik can feel the grin in his voice.
Cheeky. Erik flicks his shoulder lightly. "You were proposing an idea, Professor?"
"Yes." Charles shifts, pressing closer sleepily. Erik hopes he can get more than an hour's worth of sleep eventually before the nightmares strike. "I might have done some shuffling through his mind and—"
"Stay out of his head, Charles." Erik growls, his grip tightening for a moment. Here is the difference between the old Charles and the one left behind by Shaw. "You stay in mine, alright?"
"He didn't even notice." Charles answers dismissively. Besides, I didn't touch anything. "But when I did, I found—"
"No." Erik pulls him back, so that Charles is forced to lift his head, opening his eyes to meet Erik's gaze. "You stay out of their heads unless they say otherwise. If you want to screw around in someone's mind, you come to me."
Charles stares him down unblinkingly. "I've already had this argument with Mystique, Erik," he says, voice dripping with acid, "would you care for a rehash?"
"This isn't the same thing." Erik glares at him. "Only me. Do you understand?"
Charles holds his gaze for a few moments longer but then he blinks, eyelashes fluttering as he nearly sags in Erik's grip. "Yes—yes of course, you're right, my friend, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"I know." Erik relaxes again, allowing Charles to press forward again. "I know." He lets the silence sit for a few minutes, giving Charles some time to work through the emotions he knows are coiling in the telepath's gut—Charles hates his relapses. Eventually, he asks calmly, "What did you find?"
"Something that I think will help get Alex back on track." Charles mumbles, and shows him. "I just need a session with Cerebro once you and Hank finish building it."
Erik waits until the images Charles has shoved at him fade before speaking. "We're close. Give us another week and it'll be ready." He pauses. "That seems like it could work, though."
Charles nods, and then Erik gets the impression of a tentative smile. "Then in a week, my friend, you're taking Alex on a road trip."
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Charles listens to Erik's voice as he talks on the phone, following along with the other half of the conversation by listening in through Erik's mind. Contrary to what he knows most of the people who know them believe, he is not telepathically dependent on Erik. There may have been a few months, back in the beginning, when he may have forged their connection a little too deeply, but they've long since worked out the mechanics of their bond. Erik has the helmet for a reason, after all.
"No. We'll contact you again once we're en route." He likes the precise, clipped syllables of Erik's business voice. His accent gets a little more pronounced and he sounds every inch the calm, collected leader Charles knows that Erik was born to be. Being in control is Erik's ultimate shield, and he wears it very well.
Charles can vaguely recall having the same sort of…something. He used to...
Icily calm, he dismisses the thought. It's probably not important anyway.
Erik hangs up the phone without fanfare, glancing sideways at him and raising one eyebrow. Charles gives him an idle smile, absent and quickly gone. "Are your radical friends open to children?"
"They're not my friends." Erik says gruffly, standing up to stretch. Charles watches appreciatively, and doesn't bother to hide it. "There is plenty of space for us. You know there is, Charles, it's one of the reasons why I've wanted to move there for ages, now."
Charles does. He knows the argument well. He huffs out a breath in lieu of answering. He can practically feel the satisfaction that Erik is radiating at finally getting his way, despite the circumstances.
"I'll have Azazel take Sean and Angel ahead with the young ones." Erik continues, skimming over the argument a tad more gracefully. It hardly matters now. "You and I can fly with Beast and whatever equipment he deems necessary in the Blackbird."
Charles nods once. He can handle Azazel's presence, and doesn't flinch anymore whenever the red mutant teleports into the same room as him, but the mere thought of teleporting along with Azazel makes him break out in cold sweat.
Some things, it seems, are not so easily forgotten.
"Shouldn't you teleport ahead with the others?" He asks, clearing his throat. "I don't like the idea of sending the children alone."
"Azazel will come back for Alex once he's finished with the job you gave him." Erik says at once. "He'll be there. But, honestly, Charles," and now he's amused, "it's not like they're going to recruit the children at first sight. They know that they're mine—that they're yours—and that we do things differently."
At that Charles manages a better smile. "They're hardly mine. Alex, Sean, Hank, and Angel do all the work."
"You find them." Even Erik's thoughts are resolute with his conviction as he crosses over to Charles, settling his hands on the telepath's hips. "You're the one who rescues them. Even if they don't know you, they're yours."
Charles makes a vague noise of agreement, tilting his head back for a kiss. Erik isn't afraid of being rough, but today he's slow and languid as he works his mouth against Charles', dipping his tongue past Charles' lips, casually but firmly dominating. Caught up in the kiss and the feeling of Erik's hands sliding slowly up and down his sides, Charles doesn't realize he's being backed up until the back of his legs bump into the edge of the desk lightly, and he slides back to sit on the wood, pulling Erik forward so that they're pressed flush against each other, warm with body heat.
Erik's hands are just beginning to inch past Charles' belt when the telepath goes stiff, pulling back the barest of millimeters.
"Moira is here." Charles smiles. It is not a particularly pleasant smile.
Erik's mirroring grin is slow to form, but he matches Charles once it does. He can probably feel the car that has just pulled up the long driveway. "Well, far be it from us to keep her waiting." This close, his voice is a mere breath across Charles' lips. He presses forward again, stealing one more kiss, this one not as gentle as the first—Charles has to seize Erik's shoulders to keep from being pressed all the way back against the surface of the desk. I expect to finish this later. He pulls back just as abruptly, but his thoughts are dark with promise.
Charles slides back down to his feet, straightening his jacket absently. His smile is downright wicked now, for more than one reason. Of course, love. Of course. His answer is about as sincere as he can be, but he's already moving for the door to the study. Erik falls into step behind him, and Charles can hear his thoughts—.
Because if there is one person who brings out the proverbial worst side of Charles even after years of careful rebuilding, Agent Moira MacTaggert is like a spark to a centimeter-long fuse.
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The first time Charles uses the new Cerebro, Erik nearly destroys it again when he has to yank the telepath back out.
He's holding a shivering and shaking Charles close to his chest with one arm and yelling at Hank to shut off that damn noise while his free arm is lifted as he tries to re-straighten the metal arm of the machine's helmet that he unintentionally warped a few seconds prior.
"Now get out." Erik says as soon as Hank's shut down the furious beeping of the machine. Not nearly as easily intimidated as he used to be, Hank raises blue, furry eyebrows, but he goes. As the door slides shut behind him, Erik adjusts the grip he has on Charles and uses his power to seal the door shut to prevent any kind of reentry. "Now. What happened."
Charles has stopped shaking for the most part, but his grip on Erik's shirt is knuckle-white and his eyes are squeezed shut. I couldn't…it was too much.
"Wrong settings?" Erik asks. He's not ready to blame Hank, exactly, but he'll certainly lay blame where blame is due. His nerves are still standing on end from the noise Charles had made shortly before Erik had decided to pull him out—infinitely worse than the sound Charles had made the very first time he'd used the original Cerebro.
"No, no." Charles shakes his head, opening his eyes, and he looks haunted. "It was…me. I couldn't…so many minds, defenseless minds, and I wanted—I wanted—"
He can't finish, but Erik suddenly understands with terrible clarity. His heart aches a little as he pulls Charles even closer into a real embrace; for once overriding the white-hot hatred for Shaw he usually feels whenever he has to watch Charles struggle to do something he used to love and do with ease.
"Next time I'll ride along with you up here." Erik says quietly, reaching up to brush Charles' temple. "We can do this, Charles."
"Oh, my friend." Charles murmurs, sounding drawn-out and tired, but he doesn't move away and he doesn't argue.
Erik lets Hank back in to do further checks on the machinery, and even then it's another two days before Erik lets Charles try again, and the whole time he can't help but think that Shaw really couldn't have picked a better way to utterly destroy the telepath even if he tried.
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Moira takes a deep, calming breath before knocking on the mansion's huge front door. She's going to need all the calm she can manage to get through this. They've corresponded over the phone several times over the past year, connection shaky at best, but after this morning, she felt like she needed to talk to them in person.
"Go on in, it's not like your buddies knocked last night." A gruff voice from behind her makes her jump.
"Jesus, Logan." She glares at the now smirking man. "You don't honestly believe that I would ever condone this?"
"No," Logan says bluntly, climbing the rest of the steps to reach past her and push the door open, "but you know that's not what Xavier's going to say."
Moira sighs. "I know. Is everyone okay?"
"No one was hurt." Logan shrugs as they step into the foyer together, and Moira truly is relieved.
"I'm glad." She can see signs of the raid, evident everywhere—mud, and in some cases, blood, tracked all over the usually pristine floor, burnt and mutilated tapestry, bullet holes embedded into paintings and walls.
"Moira." Charles comes down the stairs at a leisurely pace, blue eyes trained on her with the same lazy indulgence of a predator on prey. Erik trails him, unreadable as ever. "I was beginning to wonder about how long you'd be. They got our message, did they?"
"Hello Charles." Moira says, steeling herself. "Erik."
"Agent MacTaggert." Erik says in his low voice, appraising her silently. She actually doesn't know where she stands with him—before, it was easy and straightforward to recognize his intense dislike of humans. Now, though…
Someone has to keep Charles in check.
"We found the bodies. " She says, her voice cool and professional. "A real nice touch, stacking them up across the table." At least that's how the reports had read. She hadn't actually gone in to the room—the smell from the hallway had been bad enough.
Charles chuckles, but there isn't an ounce of mirth in the sound and his gaze is dead. "Azazel has an odd sense of humor." Moira can feel him brushing across her mind, his touch cold where it used to be warm. She grits her teeth and doesn't comment on the blatant intrusion. He'll kick up a bigger fuss if she does, and that will make her job here harder than it will be already.
He chuckles again when he hears her thoughts, and it makes her want to shiver.
By unspoken agreement, they move into the sitting room that's just off the main foyer. Moira still knows the way, and this room looks largely untouched, at least, by the battle she knows must have happened throughout the rest of the mansion last night. Despite the fact that Charles probably hates her his manners are still impeccable, and he offers her a refreshment as they settle into the room, Erik and Charles taking the couch while Moira claims the chair across from them and Logan situates himself by the window.
"No, thank you." Somehow being reminded even slightly of how Charles used to be hurts, but Moira controls her expression. It is how it is. "So. You know why I'm here."
"Of course I do." Charles says. He's sitting on the edge of his seat, posture straight. "You're here to warn us that Stryker's holding a meeting right now with a choice few top officials, the subject matter being us, of course."
"Well, what else did you think would happen?" Moira demands. "You stacked bodies of our men in—"
"Men that stormed my home last night," Charles interrupts her icily, "with orders to capture or kill the mutant freaks. This is still America, isn't it? It's within my rights to kill in self-defense. But I thought we'd moved past the quartering of soldiers in private citizens' homes."
"You couldn't have just wiped their minds?" Moira snaps, and damn it, she'd promised herself that she'd be calm. But there are forty-two dead men back in the office and she knows that all of this could have been avoided. "Put them to sleep, make them forget where they were?" Like you wanted to do to me, she wants to add, but it isn't the time or place.
Charles snorts, and somehow makes it still sound dignified. "That's a temporary solution at best, my dear," he says, "and I'm sure you noticed the helmets they were wearing. Is that the new standard-issue these days?" He's practically projecting his fury, and Moira finds it's a little hard to breathe under its pressing weight.
Unlike Charles, Erik lounges against the cushions, and it's a strange juxtaposition to see them like this; Erik relaxed while Charles vibrates with tension. Erik watches her struggle for a moment, before he reaches over to brush the telepath's thigh, murmuring something that Moira doesn't catch.
Charles deflates, shoulders hunching in slightly, and Moira can breathe normally, as the feeling of Charles' fury fades as he withdraws.
"I'm sorry," he says distantly, as if he's not even sure why he's apologizing in the first place.
"It's alright, Charles." Moira answers quietly. It really isn't, not at all, but there's nothing to be done.
"What does Stryker intend to do next?" Erik asks, watching her intently. For all that he appears relaxed, she knows he actually isn't. "If he's meeting with top officials, he must be planning another raid."
You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you? Moira thinks, and Charles huffs out a dry laugh that Erik ignores. Aloud, Moira says, "Well, with that little stunt of display, you've certainly highlighted yourselves for investigation. I'm not agreeing that it was okay for them to order an attack on you in the first place," she says sharply when Charles opens his mouth again, "but you could have at least kept your retaliation a little more quiet. Now even the President wants to know what the hell went on. It's not long before this ends up going public. Forty-two men dying here on American soil isn't easy to cover up and explain away."
"Mutant and proud." Charles mocks, and Moira flinches. She hadn't witnessed most of the events that led up to Raven's departure, but she knows the general gist of the matter. "Maybe it's time that your President recognizes that his species isn't alone anymore at the top of the food chain." Even as he speaks, he blinks, his mouth twisting.
"Oh, Charles." Moira says softly before she can stop herself.
Charles shoots to his feet. "Don't, Moira." He stalks out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Is there really no…cure?" Moira winces. Putting it like that makes it seem simple, as if it's merely sickness affecting Charles.
"I don't know." Erik answers, and she can tell he's being honest. "It's been five years and he still can't reconcile what he thinks and feels with what he knows he's supposed to think and feel."
"I suppose that makes your life easier, in a way," Moira tries to say bitterly, but she can't quite get her voice to hold enough bite, "since he's onboard with your…ideals."
"Not a day goes by where I don't wish it hadn't happened." Erik says steadily. They've had this argument before, which is the only reason they're able to be so calm about it now.
It'd been a shouting match, one Moira can remember in vivid detail even now. She is fairly certain that Erik had come close to killing her—it'd be no skin off his teeth, after all; even when they'd been a team he'd never been particularly warm to her—and the only thing that held him back was the sole fact that Charles never would have forgiven him if he had.
Well. The Charles they used to know wouldn't have, at any rate.
"After today, we will no longer be in residence here." Erik says matter-of-factly, and it takes every bit of her CIA training to keep herself from gaping at him. "We're well aware of what our little stunt will provoke."
"Why are you telling me this?" She asks incredulously.
Erik smirks. "Because we still need you."
"I'm not following." Moira says slowly. She's aware that she's wading into dangerous territory.
Erik seems to debate on what to tell her. "We need you to keep an eye on Stryker. Find out who he's answering to."
"As in, say, the CIA Director?" Moira says dryly.
Erik shakes his head. "I mean off the record. Every single one of those soldiers last night was wearing a helmet similar to the one in my possession. The one I took from Shaw." He lets that sink in before continuing, "The CIA might know that Charles is a telepath, but they had no way of knowing how to neutralize him like that. They didn't know about the helmet. Until now."
Moira is sharp. She sees where the trail is leading. "You think Shaw's the one pulling strings."
"Very good, Agent MacTaggert."
She ignores the condescension—coming from Erik, at least, it's a norm. "But Shaw is still on our most-wanted list. There's no way Stryker would be doing any back-door dealing with—" She stops. Colonel Hendry hadn't had a problem with it. Judging by the look on Erik's face, he has no trouble believing the same could be true for Stryker. "But…he hates mutants."
"Just looking at me, MacTaggert, would you be able to guess what I can do?" Erik says in answer. "Not all of us are blue like Beast. We don't know the whole story here—Stryker might not even be dealing with Shaw directly, but someone who's been sent by Shaw. Emma Frost would hardly need to strain herself to run circles around you G-men. Maybe Stryker thinks he's dealing with someone who shares his mutual disgust of mutants." He sneers. "I know how Shaw operates, MacTaggert, and this has his name all over it."
As if she needs to be reminded. "It certainly would add up." She pauses, as if considering. In reality she'd made her mind up even before coming here. "I'll keep an eye on him."
Erik nods once, like she's asked him if he doesn't mind her doing something for him. Jesus.
"What's stopping you from grabbing Stryker yourself and handing him over to Charles?" Moira asks after a brief period of silence. "No doubt Charles wouldn't mind, ah…reading his mind." And then probably melting his mind.
"Charles should mind." Erik says, and that's the principle of it.
Moira looks at him for a long minute. "I'm glad he has you." She says at last. She gives a humorless laugh. "You know, before, I thought you'd be the one who we'd have to watch. And, you know. Keep from destroying mankind."
"I wouldn't say that isn't a possibility." Erik says idly. It could be mistaken for a joke but Moira knows that he's dead serious. "Perhaps once I destroy Shaw."
Of course. Shaw is and always will be the end goal. "Jesus, Lehnsherr. I was only kidding."
Erik gives her a smile that shows far too many teeth. "The only thing keeping me from sending Azazel from snatching Stryker out of his office is that he's connected somehow to Shaw. He serves me better right now alive than dead, but don't think for a second that he won't end up that way eventually."
Moira stays very still for a moment. "He has a son, you know."
"You're defending him now?" Erik is supremely unconcerned. "You came here to warn us, MacTaggert, so whose side are you really on?"
"Charles'." Moira says stubbornly.
Erik sobers. "And he hates you."
Moira offers him a faint smile. "Funny how that works, though."
Erik pushes himself to his feet, and Moira takes that as her cue to rise as well. "We'll be in touch, MacTaggert."
"Not going to tell me where you're going?"
"I don't trust you that much."
Moira knows that it's probably better for all of them if she doesn't know their exact whereabouts. It still hurts, though, but the agent side of her tells herself to get over it. "Stay safe, Erik." She pauses on her way to the door. "And take care of Charles."
"Get out, MacTaggert." Erik rumbles, half warning and half something else.
Moira holds back a laugh that may or may not be on the edge of hysteria and lets herself out of the room before either of them do something they may or may not regret. The trip back through the foyer to the front door is quick, and she's nearly to her car before Logan speaks.
"You sure you're not getting in over your head, MacTaggert?"
Moira nearly jumps out of her skin, sputtering. "Shit, Logan, why the hell are you following me out here—" She breaks off, her heart still pounding. Some agent she is. She's practically forgotten Logan had been in the room the entire time—Erik and Charles both have rather dominating presences, but that's still no excuse. And the man moves noiselessly, to have made it all the way out here without her noticing.
Logan merely raises one eyebrow and waits, chewing on his cigar stub.
Moira leans against the door of her car. She doesn't know Logan very well, but if he's good enough for Erik and Charles, she might as well consider him family. "I don't know. Maybe I am. Only one way to find out."
Logan nods, accepting her answer. "From what I figure, this Shaw is a sack of shit and the world will be a better off place without him."
Moira appraises him. She's not sure how much he knows or doesn't know about everything. "Then you and I are in strong agreement. So you're going with them?"
He shrugs. "Haven't decided yet. Lehnsherr and I don't always see eye-to-eye—" he smirks, and Moira has no doubt that their temperaments grate on each other, "—but Chuck, well." He shrugs again, as if that's explanation enough.
Moira can relate. Sometimes she thinks that Erik and Charles got the wrong mutations—it's Charles who is magnetic, no matter what he's like.
"Good luck, Logan." Moira opens the car door after one last look at the mansion and slides inside, fumbling with her keys and the ignition.
Logan snorts as the engine starts. "Save it for yourself, MacTaggert."
She smiles, pulling her door shut. She gives him a jaunty wave and then with the crunch of tires over gravel she pulls away from the house. She's at the gates to the main road when Charles breaks his silence.
I wish that I could wish that Erik was wrong, when he said that I hate you.
Charles. Moira thinks back. Charles.
Good luck, darling. Icy contempt. You'll need it.
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Alex trades off between staring moodily out the window, demanding why he's been forced to go, threatening to blast the car to pieces, and telling Erik that his word means shit all throughout the day-long drive from Westchester to Omaha. Erik lets him seethe, and doesn't say a word, even when Alex starts trying to actively get him to respond by using every insult he knows. Better to let him get it all out now, Erik reasons. Besides, it's like an exercise of his own patience. Charles would be proud.
Erik drives straight to their destination, stopping only for gas. Alex sleeps with his face pressed against the window.
He's tired when they finally reach the dingy, overcrowded orphanage that is their end goal, but he's been worse off before, and on the plus side he gets to enjoy the pure confusion on Alex's face.
Every bit of attitude he's had to tolerate in the past 24 hours becomes worth it, though, as he watches Alex finally catch sight of the little boy with a ratty bandana tied tightly across his eyes.
Erik is sure there's a tearful reunion involved, but it's none of his business and he has to deal with the paperwork anyway. Charles has sent him with the right sort of documents for this so all he has to do is the mundane fill-in-the-blank that this admittedly terrible establishment requires, and by the time he's done all that's left to do is bundle the Summers brothers back into the car together and then they're off, driving straight back the way they came.
Erik waits until Scott has fallen asleep, excitement and adrenaline finally wearing off so that he's sprawled across the back seat with his head in Alex's lap before he says anything. "You know what this means, Summers?"
Alex tears his eyes away from his brother to meet Erik's gaze through the rearview.
"You're a role model now. Act like it."
Alex swallows but then he nods seriously, and Erik turns his gaze back to the road. Charles is going to be unbearably pleased with himself when he sees how well his idea works.
Sixty miles pass in silence before Alex says anything. "Thank you. Erik. I'm…I'm sorry."
Erik resists the urge to grin. No point in letting Alex think he's gone soft. "You can thank Charles when we get home."
Alex does, and then sets about fashioning himself into the best sort of role model Scott could ever have.