The Knight

Moving: Knights move in a very different manner from the other pieces going two squares in one direction, and then one more move at a 90 degree angle, just like the shape of an "L".

Knights are also the only pieces that can move over other pieces.


Knights of the mutant realm. But Erik and Charles did not belong, or owe allegiance, to the realm in the same ways. Nor did they become knights following the same path.

Knights like he and Erik needed to fight the fight-even if Charles himself saw it less of a physical fight and more an ideological one. It was still a battle, an opposition. Charles didn't have to look any farther than the Civil Rights Movement in the U.S. or the class system of the 'Empire' to see examples of people who were treated differently based on trivial differences. Now he knew Erik's experiences as well-nearly first-hand.

Charles' knighthood had followed the path of the rich and powerful. Educated and trained as a matter of course. When he looked around his opulent bedroom in his family mansion, he didn't see himself. He hadn't decorated the room, but that didn't excuse its unnecessary grandeur. Charles' personal items were a small fraction of the items in the room. He wondered why he hadn't ever cleaned out the rest. Inertia probably.

Growing up with money, being white and intelligent, in the West, Charles hadn't known the kinds of prejudice that most other people in the world had encountered at least once in their lives.

When his mutation became public knowledge, he knew that could change drastically.

But he had his knight's armor to protect him. Would other mutants like Raven or Hank feel as strong as he in this brave new world? How could he help them become knights and acquire their armor in such a short time?

Erik had been forced into knighthood by necessity. Schmidt had ensured that. Hardened by the years of torture, yet Erik never quite gave up. He had his rage to mold him into a soldier, to propel him to train, and to engage the enemy. And to fund this quest to knighthood, he sacked any Nazi he came across.

Erik's armor was dented and patched together, but it was strong. Forged over the years, forged over old scars. Created by sheer will-his will to fight.

On their knight's quest to recruit other soldiers, Charles had finally seen Erik loosen a little in his presence. They had come to a mutual agreement to set aside their armor at times. Those times were brief but very important to Charles. He needed to understand Erik's struggle and path.


"And this one?"

"I can't recall. Why?"

"It's deeper than the rest." Then he proceeded to lave said scar until the man beneath him was shivering in ecstasy.

"Now it has a pleasant connotation that you do remember."


"That's a very groovy mutation," Charles intoned again.

Erik looked at the girl sitting on Charles' other side at the bar. She was forgettably normal and human. Erik didn't know why Charles bothered.

While his recruiting partner continued prattling on about mutation and genetics-in a bar, for pity's sake-Erik looked around. It had been a long time since he had let himself do such a normal thing as sit and sip a drink casually in public. It felt almost . . . good?

Don't let your guard down, Lehnsherr, he reminded himself. That's when you get ambushed. He took another sip of his ale and tuned back to Charles.

"Well, if you really have to go. Remember I'm only in town for the evening," Charles said, obviously still trying to make time with the blonde. "Pity," he remarked, this time to Erik.

"What is?" Erik inquired, not really caring, but interested in filling the air with noise that wasn't as annoying as the humans. The music, the chatter were all grating on Erik's nerves especially tonight.

"I think I was in there," Charles answered him. "But c'est la vie." He looked at his companion and lifted his ale in a slight salute.

Erik rolled his eyes to the ceiling and said in a controlled voice, "Contrary to your ego's belief, your mutation is not super flirtation. Nor is it irresistibility to the opposite sex, Charles." He trailed off in an amused huff, downing more drink to stop him from continuing to berate his friend.

Charles regarded him thoughtfully as Erik wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and scowled into the glass. The telepath laughed lightly.

"No, no, nothing of the kind, I am well aware," he said. With a flip wave of his hand and a swallow of his drink, he continued, "I think-I think I flirt in bars as almost a reflex anymore. I'm far too tired to entertain anyone this evening."

"Whatever," was the muttered response of his German friend. Erik's whole demeanor was becoming rigid and controlled again. All of a sudden, Erik realized that he was jealous of Charles using charm on anyone but Erik. And that infuriated him further.

Charles, for his part, regretted his choice of words because he had been enjoying the more relaxed camaraderie of their interaction lately. I shouldn't have dragged him out here and then virtually ignored him, he thought to himself. I know that Erik doesn't particularly like humans anyway.

If Charles were honest with himself, he'd rather have stayed at the hotel this evening just the two of them. Relaxed. Prepared for the next day of 'mutant seeking'. But he had sensed that Erik was a little tense after their failed attempt at recruiting today and had thought a drink would be good for him.

Charles even thought Erik might want the companionship of someone other than his constant companion of the past week.

But it seemed that Erik wasn't going to be good company for anyone this evening. Charles believed it was probably due to their lousy day.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have tried to restrain you," he said in a low voice for his companion's ears only. "It's not my place to dictate how you react to people who treat you like that."

Erik grunted an assent to Charles' apology. Said mutant had been particularly resistant to their sales pitch today. Particularly scathingly self-hating and not interested in anyone else who might draw attention to his 'deformity' as he called it. He certainly didn't suffer from a lack of verbosity when it came to his refusal.

Erik had wanted to choke the life out of the little shit for even trying to insult the two of them. Charles had stopped him with his body rather than his mind, even in the heat of the moment respecting Erik's request that he not enter his thoughts uninvited. And Erik had only let Charles stop him because it was Charles. Anyone else would have been flung away in an instant.

Erik didn't like the way he was beginning to make these behavioral choices based on who this Charles Xavier was. True, he knew Charles better than any other person except maybe Schmidt. But Charles was the first person since his parents that he truly trusted.

And as far as Erik was concerned, trust was just the beginning of betrayal. He knew it wasn't a matter of if but when Charles would betray the trust Erik had so grudgingly granted him. And that grieved Erik much more than he wanted to admit.

Unfortunately, Charles knew that the only reason he himself was smiling and carrying on with the women in the bar was because he was trying very hard not to feel the warmth being radiated by the long, lean body next to his. He was becoming quite distracted by his partner.

Trying to deflect the bad mood, Charles began again. "So which of these lovely young ladies do you fancy, my friend?" He made a sweep of the bar which had a surprisingly high ratio of unattached young women to men for a Thursday evening.

Charles supposed that was a function of the neighborhood with a Uni nearby and lots of new office buildings containing newly minted white-collar businesses. Those businesses needed young assistants and secretaries as much as the college needed co-eds.

When Erik looked up and around again, he saw the people whereas before he had just seen the place. There were some attractive young women. But he too was distracted by the tweed-clad man to his left. His gaze ended on Charles' blue eyes. The telepath swallowed swiftly as he was bombarded by Erik's intensity.

Erik shook his head minutely and said, "None for me, thanks. I'm not hungry."

Charles laughed at that pronouncement to cover his slight embarrassment at picking up on Erik's train of thought. He couldn't resist asking, "Has there been anyone special in your life, Erik?"-doing his best to sound nonchalant.

Erik looked at him sharply. What is Charles getting at? Is he rooting around in my mind? Or is he making another point? Charles always seemed to have some sort of angle to his questioning lately. But Erik wasn't able to quickly pinpoint what it was this time.

Cautiously, he replied. "No. Never had time or stayed in one place long enough." Not that I didn't find release with the occasional stranger, he added to himself. But he didn't have to discuss that with Charles.

He also didn't have to admit that he had liked it when Charles had pressed his body up against him to keep his temper in check with the other mutant. He suspected that action, as much as or more than Charles' words, had drained away the anger and replaced it with another passionate emotion.

An emotion that Erik knew would never have been aroused by some random person in a bar.

The next words were very hard for Charles to utter, but his devotion to Erik's rehabilitation from single-minded revenge-seeker to peaceful mind pressed him onward. He kept his eyes glued to the bar-top and drew small circles in the condensation formed by his warming glass. Someone needed to convince Erik to keep his armor off for longer periods and live a normal life.

"Perhaps having someone to love would help you focus your energy and sharpen your control," Charles suggested something that Erik wouldn't immediately object to.

He knew Erik disliked that his control over his mutant power wasn't as strong as he would prefer. He also knew that Schmidt had used negative reinforcement to try to induce that control. Charles preferred positive reinforcement even if it meant giving up his own happiness for that of Erik's. He would be happy just to see Erik happy, even if it wasn't with him.

Love, thought Erik. Who would love such a broken man as I? Who could I ever trust-?That thought brought him up short again.

He didn't want to trust anyone! He didn't want the burden of knowledge that someone could make him feel worse than Schmidt did-worse than the dashed hopes of a boy who knew that his escape from torture would not come swiftly or easily. The torture of betrayal would very likely kill parts of Erik that Schmidt had never touched.

But he knew that he was already lost to this gentle soul next to him. He hadn't admitted it as yet, didn't know if he would, but Erik at least respected Charles enough to acknowledge the impulse within himself. Burying it deep in his consciousness took a lot of effort on his part.

Did Charles' remarks mean that he has already picked up on my thoughts and feelings? he wondered. If that's the case, then I'm done here.

Erik alit from his bar stool, throwing cash on the bar to cover the drinks. "I'm heading back. Tired."

"I'll come with you," Charles began to offer.

Erik caught the eye of the girl from earlier and motioned to her. She began waving her way through the crowd toward them. "No," he said to Charles. "You should stay and have another go." He raised his eyebrows in the general direction of the young lady. After Charles' questioning gaze had followed the direction, he looked back next to himself to find Erik gone.

When the woman in question tried to strike up another conversation with Charles Xavier, he had lost all of his spark from earlier. She gave up after a short minute. Charles sat with his half-full glass contemplating his mistakes.


"Did you really want anything to do with that girl in the bar?"

"I'm ashamed to admit, no. I was actually trying to keep myself from jumping you."

A snicker sounded from the other side of the hard hotel mattress.

"Self-control is overrated . . ."


On the road, their conversations had evolved from verbal sparring matches to thoughtful dissections of their own and each other's philosophy. Bits and pieces of their past began to paint their portraits for the other: the camps, the mansion, loving parents, rich parents, discovering their gifts. Neither could claim an ideal background. This understanding allowed them to find equal footing.

Equal footing and the chess game began building the trust that Erik didn't want to acknowledge and Charles began to live on to the exclusion of almost every other emotional nutrition. He was drawn to Erik's kind of strength which was so different from his own-born from such a different place.

After the bar, Erik had prepared for bed. He tried valiantly to avoid thinking about Charles' eyes and silly, floppy hair. He tried not to picture them against the white backdrop of a hotel pillowcase. He schooled his motions into the most economical and and efficient as he performed his ablutions before turning in. He was almost head-on-said-pillow when Charles returned to their shared room.

He heard the quiet click of the key in the door and looked up in anticipation despite himself.

Charles walked through the door, looking much more defeated than he had when Erik had left him. "Oh, you're still up," Charles offered.

"Just," Erik replied, hand lamely indicating the turned-back sheets and blankets.

"Right, well, I'll be quick then," Charles said as he collected his shaving kit from his suitcase and disappeared into the steamy bathroom. Erik had had to wash off the emotional turmoil of the bar as much as the sweat of the day.

With Charles safely out of his sight, Erik sat on the side of the bed and looked carefully at Charles' sleeping space for the night. He caught himself wishing that he could join Charles there, curl up next to him, wake up next to him. Shaking his head ruefully, dismissing such fancies, he resorted again to German efficiency of movement, shoved his feet roughly into his own bed, and flopped into the pillow. He forgot to turn away from the other bed.

Charles emerged from the bathroom again, looking freshly scrubbed above the collar anyway. He tossed the kit back into the suitcase and proceeded to disrobe. Charles preferred full pajamas to sleep in while Erik tended to just wear pants. He overheated otherwise.

Charles kept his eyes pointedly on his own business to avoid the alluring sight of the long, lean frame in the bed before him. He continued to prepare for retiring in the low light leaking around the half-closed bathroom door. He had thoughtfully dimmed said light knowing that Erik had already doused all of the lights in the bedroom proper.

Erik closed his own eyes to avoid his acute reaction to seeing all of that white and lightly freckled skin revealed to him. Still, he could hear the rustle of cloth as it let go of its hold on Charles' body.

Why, why couldn't the CIA afford separate rooms? Erik wondered.

A thudding sound had Erik sitting straight up in bed with eyes wide open, surveying the scene for danger or threat. The blankets pooled on Erik's lap, revealing all sorts of angles in the hushed light. Charles paused mid-pant leg to look up from his bent over position.

"Sorry," Charles whispered. "Dropped my shoe rather hard on the floor. Clumsy," he added, trying not to giggle. Erik saw that the shoe had indeed met the floor, dropped precipitously off of Charles' stockinged foot. Charles was halfway undressed and dressed. He had started with his shirt, the pajama top on and buttoned wrong. Now he was removing his trousers and encountering the obstacle of his shoes.

Erik rolled his eyes at the comedic effect but wished that he hadn't reopened them to the sight. Charles was obviously a little drunk, thereby making him even clumsier than usual. Erik felt his mouth go dry as he watched Charles shuck his pants down and slide his boxers to join them in a pile on the hotel carpet. Then he began the reverse fight with his pajama pants onto his feet, not meeting with any more success even with the shoes safely away.

Erik wanted to look away. He wanted to spare Charles and himself the embarrassment. He wanted so many things in that moment. And most of them, he would not, would never, get in his lifetime.

But perhaps he could get one thing. He could get his friend safely into bed. Hopefully before his body took even more notice of Charles' body.

Sighing, he threw back the covers and stalked over to where Charles was still swaying on his feet and frowning at the elusive pant-leg. One more attempt to stab his leg through the material left him wobbling on his remaining leg and then falling gracelessly into Erik's arms.

"Charles," Erik said, slightly exasperated. "How much did you drink after I left?" He carefully maneuvered Charles to the end of the bed to sit.

Charles kept his eyes on the offending night wear and muttered, "More than I should have. Should have stayed and kept me company."

Erik didn't dignify that with a response. Charles looked up at the taller man, through bangs flopped in his eyes. He sighed and let his weight settle a little more into the embrace.

"I like your company," he said quietly, trying not to disturb the moment.

Erik tensed and shifted Charles to sit on his bed. Charles flopped back onto the bed, splaying his hands over his head. His haphazardly buttoned shirt raised up with his arms, exposing him from collar bones to toes.

Erik couldn't help the small intake of oxygen. He felt a little light-headed actually. Words failed him as he was assaulted by so many sensations at once. He stood rooted to the spot, caressing the defenseless body with his sharp eyes.

Charles lifted his head from the bed to look down at Erik. "What're you doing?" he asked in slurred consonants. And why is it so cold in here, he wondered.

Erik's eyes snapped to Charles'.

"I'm helping a drunk fool," he barked.

Charles seemed to accept that and resumed his prone position. Erik thought he heard another giggle and Charles' voice mocking him, 'm helping a fool.

When all of Erik's years of control clamped down on him presently, he reached to help his friend finish dressing. Squatting down and grasping Charles' ankle with his long fingers, Erik stuffed his foot in and pulled the waistband up to Charles' thighs. His breath ruffled the hair on those legs on the journey.

Charles shivered at the sensation.

To go any further with the pajamas would require Charles to stand up or raise his hips off the bed. Either presented difficulties. After deliberating for a solid minute, the quiet snore that Erik heard made up his mind for him. He gently lifted up Charles' thighs, one side and then the other, and slid the waistband up into place, careful not to catch his genitals in the process.

The slight caress of calloused hands across those thighs as Erik pulled the soft cloth over them went unnoticed by the owner of the muscular appendages.

Then Erik dragged Charles' head up to the pillows and threw a blanket over him. Thus, having tucked the professor in, Erik returned to his own bed, sitting on the edge and gripping with his fists.

His brilliant eyes raked across Charles' face and body. What the hell am I doing? he thought to himself. But his mind stopped coherent thought when Charles let out a little whimper from parted lips. Lips that were always so red and lush. Lips that smiled at him in a way he had never seen before. Lips he pictured on his own body in so many places.

His hands released the mattress and scrubbed across his eyes and jaw, banishing the images. I've already become much too vulnerable around this man. I cannot let him in any further.

Reluctantly, Erik lay back down and turned to the wall.

Tomorrow was another day of Erik's battle.


Charles knocked on the shabby door on the fifth floor walk-up in Brooklyn. All around the two men, the sounds and smells of apartments overfilled with humanity bombarded them. Charles did his best not to wrinkle his nose at the smells as he fought off a massive headache from the mass of people's minds.

Shaking his head briskly, he rapped on the door smartly. Erik stood next to him and a little behind, watching Charles. This is how the other 99% lives, rich man, he thought ungenerously. Then he felt remorseful for his need to push Charles into a category. To make him into a stereotype the same way wealthy people of Charles' upbringing would have done to Erik and his family.

Erik knew that Charles was genuine. He wanted to help others and wasn't afraid to sacrifice his time, his family fortune, or his own comfort. Erik admired Charles' selflessness despite himself.

When the door didn't immediately open, Charles looked over his shoulder at Erik. His expression asked if he should try again or give up. Erik gestured with his chin toward the door. Charles knocked again, louder and longer.

After a few moments, the chain on the door sounded. Then a lock slid out of the wall. The door cracked open to darkness.

"Hello?" Charles ventured. He leaned toward the door to see the apparition behind it. Erik hung back.

"Who are you?" called a wizened voice from somewhere below Charles' eye line. He adjusted his view and finally saw the face hovering there. She looked to be in her seventies, her wispy hair dancing around her ears like spectral cobwebs. Her bright eyes belied the rasp of her cigarette-colored voice though. There would be no sweet-talking this lady.

Charles responded in his least charming voice, keeping to a forthright tone, "My name is Charles Xavier. I am here to see Rosa Lopez?" He hoped a questioning stance would make it seem less like a man demanding to see this young woman.

The pair of eyes scanned him up and down. Her brows pulled together experimentally. "You cops?" she asked, having spotted Erik loitering behind Charles.

Erik spoke up then. "No, ma'am. We are not here on any type of legal business." He hoped that would cover police as well as bill collectors and truant officers. He peered around Charles to address the woman directly.

"Then what you want?" she asked, her Polish accent heavier this time.

Charles tried again. "Is Rosa here? May we see her?" He kept his distance from the doorway to keep the tiny woman from feeling threatened, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture as well.

"No," she replied curtly. But she didn't slam the door shut.

"Can you tell us where she is?" Charles pursued.

"Why?" was the next question.

Charles looked to Erik with a plea in his eyes. Help me here.

Erik stepped in front of Charles and addressed himself to the woman. "We aren't here to harm Rosa. We would like to offer her a job, actually. But we can't discuss it with anyone but her." Erik hoped the lure of lucre would loosen the woman's tongue. He smiled hopefully.

The old woman rolled her eyes and said something in Polish that Erik thought was akin to 'the enemy at the gates." Then she turned to the lee of the door and appeared to be looking at something or someone.

A timid voice said, "It's ok, busia. You can go home. We'll be fine." The heavy accent this time was Hispanic.

With that, the door swung open to allow the old woman to emerge. She shuffled past both men with no backward glance to an apartment three doors down. She opened that door and disappeared inside with a final click.

Charles and Erik couldn't help watching the grandmotherly woman until she was gone. Then their gaze returned to the threshold in front of them to behold a beautiful young woman in her early 20s holding a toddler in her arms. The child was obviously hers sharing her rich dark hair and large golden eyes.

"Rosa?" Erik ventured. She nodded, but didn't respond otherwise.

Charles began again. "My name is Charles Xavier, and this is my colleague Erik Lehnsherr. We'd like to speak to you, if you don't mind." He took a step toward her with his hand held out.

She backed up a step in time with his, fear springing into her eyes. When Charles saw this-and felt it from her mind-he stopped and held his hands up placatingly again. "May we come in?"

Rosa hesitated, clutched her little one to her more tightly, and dropped her eyes to the ragged carpet. She nodded then, quickly. Erik thought she looked like she was about cry as well.

But then he became unsure as she turned her back to them to walk deeper into the living space, the two men made their way quietly in as well and closed the door behind them. They stayed next to the door.

The toddler was deposited into a playpen where he happily started banging on one toy with another. Rosa stayed next to him, between him and the men at her door, her hands on the edges, her head bowed.

"You are here to take me?" she inquired.

Charles was taken aback by the defeat in her voice. "Take you?" he parroted.

She turned on them suddenly, eyes flashing. "Yes, take me. Put me away. Make me work for the military or something," she asserted.

Erik stifled a laugh at the horror on Charles' face.

"Certainly not. No. We aren't here to weaponize you. We aren't even here to press you into service. It's your choice, completely," he explained.

Erik broke in, "We understand that you might have some abilities that other people do not. Like this." And he lifted a toy top off of the floor and deposited it in the boy's playpen.

Her eyes widened slightly at the demonstration. "You can move objects with your mind?" she asked.

"Metal. I can manipulate metal," he corrected. This time, he pulled a spoon out of his jacket and bent it for her. A convenient prop.

"Ah," she responded. "Then you cannot do this." Suddenly, the shabby curtains at the various windows flew off of their rods and wrapped themselves securely and tightly around both of the men's necks. Each made small choking sounds as the fabric squeezed. They clawed helplessly to alleviate the pressure, dropped to their knees helplessly. More objects left their resting places and began swirling around the room in a show of ability.

Both men could feel the power crashing against the thin walls. Erik, however, noted that the child was not reactive in a negative way. If anything, he was enjoying himself, for as long as his attention span allowed.

Rosa studied them as she held them captive. When Charles finally managed to say "please . . . stop . . . " in her mind, she flinched, losing her concentration a little. The restraints loosened a fraction and a shoe flew into Erik's shoulder, eliciting a grunt.

After a full minute of the sounds of them gasping for breath, she relented. Charles was the first to speak again.

"Telekinetic, then," he said, bent over double and coughing. Erik beside him was trying to contain his rage at the attack. Charles put a restraining hand on his arm to aid the containment.

After the initial shock of finding out that she was not the only mutant in the world, Rosa invited the two men to sit at her kitchen table. She served them glasses of water to lubricate their throats. Each tried not to gulp the welcome moisture down.

"I cannot go to Virginia with you," she said matter-of-factly.

Erik had suspected as much from early on.

Charles was bewildered though. "Why not?" he asked.

Rosa gestured to her son. "I have responsibilities here."

"You could bring him along," Charles offered.

Rosa looked at him sharply. "And then what? I work for the CIA, go on missions, put my life in danger? I couldn't risk leaving him an orphan, alone in this world. I understand your priorities for people like us, but he is my priority. Now and always."

"But, Rosa, surely you want to help shape a world where he would be accepted . . ." Charles began but was cut off.

"Of course I do. But won't he be better off with a mother, here in his world, experiencing what he is, helping him learn to live in it, than an absentee person who is off trying to 'save the world'? I will fight for his world, not the rest of it," she said definitively.

Charles lapsed into silence while he digested her words. None of the other mutants they had contacted had had children. Most of them were barely more than children themselves.

Erik placed a hand flat on the table and said, "Then we will be your champions, my lady. For you and for your son." Then he rose from the table and buttoned his jacket, preparing to leave.

Charles followed a beat later, after looking from Erik to Rosa one last time. He thanked her for the water and her time, still not quite sure what had happened.

They left and walked down the five sets of stairs as they had ascended, in silence.

When they reached the car, Charles finally broke. "Wha-why?" was all he could manage.

Erik looked hard at Charles. Was he really this insulated? Apparently.

"Charles, the women and children will usher in mutant equality in their own way-raising new mutants, protecting them, cherishing them. A mother's unconditional love is the strongest armor there is against prejudice. She believes in what we do, but she is right about staying with her son. When he is a grown man, he can make his own choices," Erik informed him.

Charles shook his head and looked helplessly at his hands in his lap. "She's so powerful. So strong. We are really at a disadvantage without her," he said.

"She knows we exist now. She knows that the government isn't after her-yet. That is enough," Erik replied.

They drove back to the hotel shrouded in more silence as each man mulled over their mission and their motives.

After parking, Erik stopped Charles from leaving his seat with a hand on his chest. Charles turned to him with questions in his eyes.

"You once asked me if I have ever loved anyone," he stated.

"Yes," Charles agreed.

"I should ask you the same question," Erik replied.

Charles offered no response.

"Rosa loves her son more than she loves anything or anyone. That is a kind of selflessness that you and I do not know first-hand-the love of a parent for a child," he concluded.

Charles relaxed back into the seat and contemplated Erik's words. After a time, he nodded to his companion, and they exited the vehicle.

The knights became acquainted with the citizenry that day.


"Does this count as selfless?"

Strangled curse and yelp.

"I'll take that as a yes."


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