I'm back! I know, I wasn't gone for long, but whatever. Once more, your response has been amazing! Thanks so much! A few of you even called what was going to happen next, so well done there!
Quick note: I use a couple of quotes from the movie here. I got them from some website I found via Google. Happy reading!
I sat back on the chair I had moved next to the bed. As I did, the room began to blur. I vaguely wondered if I had caught the flu from Charles before the whole room melted into blackness.
As the blackness receded, I found myself no longer surrounded by the walls of Charles' bedroom. My new environment was chaotic and I realized I was much hotter than I had been moments before. A number of scenes flashed around me. Scenes that all seemed to focus on Charles. Was this what was happening in Charles' head? I had no idea bringing somebody into his memories was part of Charles' telepathic ability. It would explain the heat though, since at last measurement Charles' fever was 105.1. I didn't have time to dwell further as the scenes around me began to focus into individual events.
It was like an extreme version of one's life flashing before one's eyes, but in random order. Charles going to Oxford, young Charles with his mother, Charles in a wheelchair, Charles helping me find serenity in my rage to turn the dish, a young blue girl who must have been Raven, the beach in Cuba, Charles and I meeting for the first time, training, the halls of a high school. The scenes slowed down further, allowing me to see more detail.
The first was Charles' first week at Oxford, as indicated by the boxes littering the apartment and the books strewn about the space. Raven walked in to find Charles sitting on the couch dejectedly, head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. He spoke without looking up.
"I really thought there would be more people like us here." His tone was melancholy, not what I was used to hearing from the ever hopeful man I'd come to know.
"It's okay Charles. You'll find them eventually." Raven sat on the couch next to Charles, putting her arms around his shoulders in a gesture of comfort.
"What if I can't? What if we're the only ones?"
"Then we'll be alone together." She rested her chin on Charles' bowed head. He leaned into her and allowed her to hug him.
The scene melted to the beach in Cuba.
"You should go with him. It's what you want."
"You promised me you would never read my mind."
"I know. I promised you a great many things, I'm afraid."
The girl stepped away from Charles and was gone in a puff of smoke seconds later. Through the pain on Charles' face, I caught a glimpse of profound loneliness. Alone together had become alone alone. I didn't have time to dwell however, as the scene shifted again.
…
Next was 8-year-old Charles with his mother. She paid little attention to her son as she adjusted her earrings and hair in a hallway mirror. She turned to the maid.
"I'll be out late for the party. Make sure he's in bed before I get back." It wasn't said in a terribly rude way. Just...disinterested.
With that, she walked down the hall, barely sparing a passing glance at her little boy.
"Have a good night dear. Don't stay up too late." It was said in the same tone as she had addressed the maid: disinterested.
Charles turned and looked after her. His head lowered minutely and his eyes focused sharply on her back. She froze and turned around, a wide smile on her face. Then she walked back to her son and gave him a hug and a kiss on the forehead.
"I love you sweetheart! Have sweet dreams!"
"I love you too Mother."
The boy gave a smile, but his eyes were sad.
…
I was in Charles room as he wheeled in and looked around from his apparently new wheelchair.
That scene ended quickly, replaced by, to my surprise, the yard in front of the mansion with the dish. I watched as Charles drew out my memories, helped me find serenity in my rage. We shared tears and joy as I was finally able to focus my power. I couldn't help but smile at the happiness this memory brought me.
As quickly as it came, the joy was taken away, once more replaced by the beach and Charles' frustration at being unable to communicate with me as I kept my new helmet firmly in place.
…
Next Charles asked a pretty girl out in the halls of a high school.
"What so we can go drink tea at that ridiculous mansion of yours? No thanks." The sneer on her face made her far less attractive than she first appeared. She turned to leave, hair swishing behind her. Charles stared after her, eyes angry. The girl froze almost exactly like Charles' mother had in the hallway when he was 8. She turned with a smile.
"Oh course I'd love to go out with you Charles! I'm so sorry I didn't say so before! You just caught me off guard. What time should I be ready?" Charles stood for a moment before sighing.
"Forget it." The girl blinked a couple of times, then came back to herself. She looked at Charles with disdain on her face once more.
"Can I help you?" The snobbish tone was back. Charles turned away and stalked down the hall without another word. A look of disgust covered his face, not at the girl's rejection but at himself for using his abilities on her. As always, loneliness lurked not far behind his eyes.
When I turned to follow him, the scene had shifted to the front of the mansion. Charles was sitting in his wheelchair. Moira McTaggert was pushing him. They stopped and said a few words I couldn't hear. Moira bent down and kissed him. I watched as he relished it for barely two seconds before putting his fingers to his temple, wiping her memory of him and his school.
…
The scenes came more quickly now. I was back in his room again watching him roll in for the first time.
Another flash, we were both there, playing chess and smiling.
Just as quickly we were back on the beach. I flinched and looked away as the deflected bullet hit Charles. The other me held him until he rejected me then left with those who had been working for Shaw.
...
More scenes flashed by me. I had always assumed Charles' cushy childhood had led to his attitude that peace was an option. Clearly I was wrong. While he wasn't tortured at the hands of Nazis, he by no means had an easy time growing up. Yet he'd never said any of that to us, instead focusing on helping us with our own pain, replacing it little by little with triumph as we mastered our abilities. Of all the mutants I had seen, Charles' abilities were by far the most perfect match for his personality. Telepathy fit him like a glove.
I took stock of the scenes that were playing once more. Two consistently appeared. They would flash in between the others unbidden, much quicker than the others, as if on fast forward, like Charles had no control over them.
The first was the beach in Cuba. One would think it would get easier to see something if presented with it enough times. I'd never experienced that with the Cuban beach. I had played it over in my head enough times to know. Every time it repeated it grew more painful. Whenever the scenes in Charles' head shifted away from it, I felt an immense sense of relief. As painful as it was, the beach scene replaying made sense. It had completely changed Charles' life as well as my own.
The second scene I didn't know what to make of. It was much shorter. It was the scene in which Charles came into his room in his wheelchair. Nothing of apparent significance occurred. He would roll into his room and stop at the table where we would sometimes play chess. The chessboard next to him would catch his eye. He'd glance at it before glancing at the floor. Then the scene would end.
I had seen the Cuban beach a number of times in his memory now, but usually different parts of it, a different perspective or the like. This scene, however, was always the same. Roll in, go to the table, see the chessboard, look down. The scene began to repeat.
"Why, Charles? Why is this moment so important?" I said to myself.
"Because this is the moment when everything changed." The unexpected reply caused me to jump. My head whipped towards the familiar voice coming from my left.
"Charles?"
Alright, that's it for now. Hopefully the flashbacks were all okay. As for the high school flashback, I have no idea why anyone would turn down a date with a cute guy with a British accent. But some people are just like that, so oh well.
We're getting towards the end. The next chapter is longer than this one. Don't know how long editing it will take, but I won't keep you hanging too long ;) Hopefully your patience will be rewarded with awesomeness.