Thank you reviewers! It's to you that I'm writing this so quickly. :p
Charles ends up having to wait for half an hour before he's allowed back up (not blindfolded, so he's able to note the direction), given a temporary ID, and set loose with Erik. Most of this occurs in some kind of waiting room, and Charles sees very little of the building. He imagines most of it is classified, and while he's curious, he obeys MacTaggert's request not to read the minds of the people here. He does wonder, though, why he's trusted enough to be here in any kind of conscious state. Frost might be able to tell if he was digging around, but he's not certain how far her awareness extends.
Still, he doesn't have a problem waiting.
Erik hands him his new ID, and Charles ends up examining it carefully. It's got a photo, one Charles clearly did not pose for, his name, his age, various numbers he can't identify, a note which specifies it as temporary, and an address he doesn't recognize.
A hand appears and pushes his hand down. "The address is mine," Erik says. "Let's get going."
Charles gets his next surprise in that there's no parking that he can see. Erik instead guides him through what appear to be several public terminals that link with an underground subway, far cleaner and brighter than anything Charles has seen in New York. Erik stands, ignoring the seats, and holds onto a rail. Charles copies him, eyeing the other people in the subway. About half look almost normal, and about half have clearly visible mutations - green skin, purple hair, spikes that extend from the shoulder, and someone keeps shifting into different colors, an effect that extends to the clothing he's wearing.
A few people give him odd looks, and he ends up looking at Erik to avoid staring.
"I live a few miles away," Erik explains to Charles, ignoring any discomfort. "Technically, close enough to walk, but you can get a full tour later."
Charles nods. "How big is the city? Uh - what is it called?"
"Nova has a population of almost two million," Erik says. "Genosha as a whole contains about thirty million in it."
"New," Charles remarks.
"Yeah, most names are not terribly inventive. We don't name places after people, here, so Latin, being a dead language and therefore largely neutral, ends up being a common source." Erik pauses. "Though some think we should make up our own language, and use that. English is probably the most commonly spoken language, though, because most of the first people brought here came from first world countries, ones with better testing and population control."
"So you really try to differentiate yourselves?"
Erik laughs. "Yeah, once you stop staring at what people look like, you'll see that we have different fashions, different standards for cars, you name it. They have an entire class for operatives like me, who have to be able to blend in with humans, otherwise I'd never have noticed much about fashion statements. For the record."
Charles takes a closer look around, and realizes Erik is right. There's more primary colors in people's clothing, balanced by a lack of busy detail, strangely sleek.
Erik's hand at his elbow startles Charles, and he turns to look at him. "Our stop," Erik says, and pulls him out of the subway car.
Apartment buildings line the street, definable by Charles because about half of them have little patios jutting out from the side of the building, strangely ordinary with little chairs and tables. Erik leads him to a building with a stone face to it, jagged and red, spaced out with large windows.
"The inside structure of the building is entirely metal," Erik says, apropos of nothing.
"You can sense that?"
"Yes. Helps me sleep at night, feeling them. Got a lot of complaints when I used to make them vibrate, though," Erik says offhandedly, and when Charles looks at him, he can actually see that Erik has lost a tension Charles hadn't even known was there.
Erik shoots Charles a smile, and they go in.
The apartment turns out to be much bigger than Charles would have thought, given that this is an urban area with a large population. The living room extends into a large kitchen, black cabinets offset by cream colored stone counters, almost everything in it appearing to be metal. Even the soft-looking black couch has a metal underpinning. The screen opposite it - Charles assumes it s a television - is silver instead of black. He can't find the fridge, though he's sure it's there somewhere, and there's a hallway that he peers down, sees three doors.
"Not as elegant or spacious as your home, but I'm sure it will serve."
Charles starts. "Oh, of course. I didn't mean to -"
Erik cuts him off, looking unconcerned. "Last bedroom on the right is yours, if you want to look." He goes into the kitchen and begins opening drawers. Charles follows him curiously, and realizes the fridge is below the counters, not a separate item.
"Want a sandwich?" Erik asks.
Charles almost says yes, then pauses.
"Bread, cheese and meat, I swear," Erik says, holding up both hands.
Charles laughs. "Um, yes, thank you."
They end up sitting at the table adjoined to the kitchen, eating together largely in silence. Charles' sense of time is understandably skewed, but it's late afternoon here, the sun not having set yet, the brightness of day fading. It's warmer, too, which makes sense given Genosha is nearer to the equator than New York is. Charles thinks about his father's journal, left in the SUV somewhere; he's literally got nothing except the clothes on his back. And Erik.
There's a knock at the door.
"Who is it?" Erik asks, but he's not calling out, he's asking Charles.
Charles hesitates for a second, then looks. The mind outside Erik's door is rigidly structured, full of weight and emotion that's swathed in memories and intent. There's a chill to it, so much so that Charles initially recoils.
"Charles?" Erik is beginning to look concerned.
Charles digs a little deeper, skims along memories. "Sebastian Shaw." One of the First Five, so of course Charles knows the name. He withdraws, blinks at Erik. "He knows you."
"He should," Erik answers. "He adopted me."
Charles is surprised by that, for some reason. "You're adopted?"
"Yeah, my parents were human," Erik says distractedly, already getting up to answer the door. After a second's hesitation, Charles follows, hanging behind. Erik opens the door to reveal a man that looks perhaps forty, maybe a little older, who gives Erik an even once-over, before turning to look at Charles over Erik's shoulder.
"Can I come in?" Shaw asks calmly.
"'Course," Erik says instantly, falling to the side to let - his father? - Shaw enter. "I assume you're here for a reason, Shaw?"
"I thought I'd meet the new wonder-boy," Shaw says, looking closely at Charles as he steps through the doorway.
Erik casually heads over to the living room, sitting on the couch without speaking. Charles sticks close to him, for reasons he can't entirely discern yet. Before sitting, Charles says, "I'm Charles Xavier. Nice to meet you," and offers his hand.
Shaw takes it, gives it an even shake with a firm grip. "Have you agreed to work for Intel yet? I know they want you."
"I haven't made any decisions of that sort yet," Charles answers calmly. "I just arrived today."
Shaw sits in the chair opposite the couch. "They shouldn't have kept you from us."
"They?" Charles asks. He feels Erik shift next to him, senses an edge of discomfort in Erik's mind. Erik? he sends.
"Your - human parents," Shaw says, with a hint of distaste. "It is a miracle you survived."
Don't react, Erik sends back.
"And what, exactly, does that mean?" Charles snaps, heedless of Erik's words.
"I won't put too fine a point on it," Shaw says. "We are better than they are, more than they are in every way. You have lived among lesser beings, Charles, instead of in a place which would nurture your ability."
Charles thinks of his parents' desperate attempts to keep him safe; his father spending every night researching telepathy since Charles was only two, his mother saying, I love you, darling, and giving him a kiss goodnight, even when she was too drunk to walk straight. He remembers their love, full and pure for all their other faults. He remembers that they never shied away from his mental touch. Not once.
"My parents were no less loving or important to me for being human instead of mutant." He barely manages to say it evenly.
Shaw leans back, waves a hand. "Regardless. You are where you should be, and it is nothing less than your duty to serve your country. You are powerful, Charles, and it is power you have been denied your entire life. Surely you see that much."
"No, I don't, actually," Charles says, folding his arms, feeling Erik lean slightly into his side.
"Shaw," and it is weird to know Shaw raised Erik and he's calling him by his last name (Charles remembers the glimpses he saw, that Erik showed him an acceptance of Erik's power, with an equal distance emotionally; he remembers Erik being alone while his 'father' worked, he remembers Erik in that house), "this isn't the time for that, and I think you know it."
"The project goes forward soon, Erik, you know that."
"It hasn't been voted on," Erik says.
Charles is clueless; he'd seen nothing of any 'project' in Erik's mind. But then, he grew up around a telepath. Frost, he's guessing now. "What project?"
"It's classified," Erik says before Shaw can speak. "And regardless, not yet approved."
Shaw frowns at Erik. There's a world of meaning behind there, something he sees Erik witness and instantly understand, a silent language all their own. "I keep you in the loop for instances like this, Erik. Don't disappoint me."
Erik clenches his jaw. "Yes, sir."
Shaw rises to his feet, and Erik follows the act almost simultaneously, Charles third and belated. There's another charged look between the two of them, and then Shaw says to Charles, "I look forward to working with you, Charles. Erik. See me out."
Erik waves for Charles to sit back down, which he does, reluctantly, and he remembers Frost saying that it's not illegal to find out secrets, but you can't profit or harm others with them. He wonders if peeking in to find classified information counts. Probably. He watches Erik see Shaw to the door, and they very quietly exchange a few words, and somehow, from what little Erik is projecting, he knows that Shaw is getting the last word. The door shuts, and Erik's hand lies there on the door for several long seconds, before he looks over his shoulder at Charles.
"What's wrong, Erik?"
"You know, Shaw doesn't have an official position in the government," Erik says, out of the blue. "Hasn't, for some fifteen years now. Do you know why?" He doesn't wait for Charles to say no, because of course Charles will say no. "His ideas are radical. I agree with a lot of them, but not everyone does. I think ... we, as mutants, feel safe here on Genosha, even though that's a safety that isn't guaranteed."
"Mutants hate humans as much as humans hate mutants, don t they?" Charles offers, quietly.
Erik walks over to him, takes the seat Shaw left, so he's sitting opposite Charles.
"Violence isn't the answer to that," Charles adds. "I've seen that get nowhere a thousand times. Hitting someone back doesn't make them change their minds."
"Sometimes you can't change people, Charles. You can only make them fear you so much they won't ever dare hit you to begin with."
"And how could I be used for that?"
Erik actually smiles, and Charles feels a surge of genuine amusement from him. "I think you can work that one out yourself."
Charles sits back. Assassinations without a bullet; assassinations without physical death, for that matter. Minds changed without a visible mark. You can make them fear you so much they won't ever dare strike, or you can make them not want to strike at all. Charles is fairly certain he could do it. He's altered memories and intentions, small ones, but the ability is there, not gone for the lack of use. He looks up at Erik. "I won't do that."
Erik's smile falls. "Fear, Charles." He pauses, mind a puzzle of complex thoughts that Charles can't untangle without reaching further, an invasion he's hesitant to attempt. Erik's always welcomed Charles' mental touch, but he hesitates now. "Shaw's method would be far more extravagant than necessary, I think. We're the next stage in human evolution, Charles, and humanity will eventually go extinct. You know that."
He does. God help him, he does, but not in this context, not where he thinks Erik is leading him.
"I'm not asking you to hurt anyone," Erik says. "Please understand that. And whatever Shaw likes to think, it will always be your choice. Forcing mutants to use their ability for the government would make Genosha no better than what we left."
Charles relaxes at that, minutely.
"And there's nothing to say it will even happen," Erik adds.
"A first strike, you mean?"
Erik turns cold for a split second, but it falls apart as easily as it came together. "Are you reading my mind?" He sounds honestly curious.
"I'm a telepath, not an idiot. I can make basic assumptions."
Erik laughs, tension easing at Charles' rebuke. "Sorry. That was ... you can, you know."
"Can what?"
"Read my mind. I don't mind, I swear." Erik pauses, stares at Charles, as if willing Charles to believe him.
That's not quite necessary, though, as Charles can find out easily enough. Charles reaches out, slowly, touches the surface thoughts. Foremost, he sees that Erik is almost desperate that Charles understand him, understand that he is okay with Charles being Charles (pacifistic tendencies, slight naivety, matched by a strong will and a desire to live, to fight back if he has to). Just want you to understand it's them or us it's never been anything else they wanted us to die here and instead we survived and we'll keep surviving fuck those bastards.
Survival. Charles has always been on the outside, seeing a mutant country that is strong and unknown, so powerful it keeps out every other country in the world. So strong that it's feared. Erik is the inside, thirty million against seven billion, and the numbers are undeniable. They have to maintain the fear to keep themselves safe.
"A demonstration of power," Charles says.
"You saw that?"
"I saw the implication," Charles admits. "What is this project?"
"I can't tell you that, Charles," Erik says. "And please don't look, not in that part of my mind."
"You know I'll always honor that request," Charles says.
"I know," Erik says gently. "I don't think you were aware of it, but ... Frost let me listen in, during the debriefing. I saw what she saw."
"Then you've seen as much of me as you have given of yourself to me," Charles says easily. He swallows, continues, "The blue powder. That's a weapon. Are they intending on using it, or is it a precaution?"
Erik shakes his head. "I don't know. But it's now very public existence has turned into a public debate on our policies. No one's used the words 'preemptive strike' just yet, but it's just a matter of time."
Charles huffs out a breath. "If only I hadn't gone to that damn protest."
"You merely knocked something into motion a little faster, Charles, nothing more. In some ways it's a boon, we know about it before they intended we should - that release of it wasn't ordered by the US government, that's for sure." He smiles, a little. "Plus, we wouldn't have found you. And if even if you decide to study genetics for the rest of your life, that's no small thing, Charles, not for us. Everyone knows about you and knows you were rescued, brought home."
"People know about me here?"
"Yeah," Erik says with a shrug. "Once the human world went public with your name, it came here. Genosha citizens have access to human television sources, if they care to."
"I didn't know that. Do humans know you do that?"
"No," Erik says, looking taken aback by the change in subject.
"So you steal cable?"
Erik's mouth stills and opens slightly in surprise, then his expression transforms into a grin. "Quite the criminals, aren't we?"
"Why not just pay them for it?"
"Don't want them to know we're watching it," Erik says with a shrug.
Charles smiles into his hand, looks up at Erik. "My decision, right?"
"When you want to make it, yeah. I can answer any questions you have about the service, and ... I guess Hank would know about the possibility of going to school here, studying genetics like you did at Oxford."
"I would like that," Charles confesses, "regardless. I mean, the books that must have been written here, with all the data in the world on mutations, how they're passed on and everything, I can't even imagine. The amount of research that's possible here, they must have a stunning degree of knowledge." For a second, his mind is caught with the idea, yet another world Erik's given to him. That Genosha has, he supposes.
Still. "I need time," Charles says.
"And you'll have it," Erik says immediately. "I promise."
"Thank you, Erik."
Erik rises to his feet. "You must be tired. Don't you think you should rest?"
"I slept on the plane," Charles points out.
"And you've had a hell of a day, by any standards," Erik replies.
Charles has to admit that's true. He can't believe he's only been in Genosha for a day, known Erik for a little more than that, it seems like months have passed.
At Charles' silence, Erik holds out a hand.
Charles takes it, notes the calluses that he can feel, Erik's mind a soothing bundle of thoughts about going to sleep, going to work tomorrow and finishing paperwork (even mutants have not eliminated the need for it, to Erik's often verbal distaste), and he's thinking half-thoughts about Charles and Shaw, split-second worries that shift into calculation and then back again into the mundane.
The guest room has a large bed, only about a foot and a half off the floor, clean but slightly dusty navy sheets when Charles sits down on it.
"I'll see you in the morning," Erik tells him, and Charles gets a hazy image of Erik planning to wait until Charles wakes, however long that takes.
"Wake me when you need me," Charles says.
"See you tomorrow," is Erik's answer.
Charles' mind wakes sluggishly. Charles always first becomes aware of others, little thoughts from other people seeping into his mind while he's asleep. His best shields are always conscious, though he's long since learned to keep most of his shields even while sleeping. So he notes that one of Erik's neighbors is dreaming about swimming the sea, another is making breakfast, and yet another is having some kind of internal rant. Erik lingers in there, a quieter but closer presence. Erik's awake, making food - eggs? (Charles sees a flash of something yellow) - and thinking about going into work or not. That turns to Charles, and Charles' choice of where he wants to go, an interesting route that Charles briefly follows before a phone call jerks Erik's mind into sharpness.
Rather than listen in, Charles withdraws.
After a few minutes that Charles spends dozing, Charles? You awake?
Yes, Charles answers.
A satisfied feeling. Thought I felt you.
Erik doesn't say anything more. Charles gets up and uses the adjoining bathroom to take a shower. It's when he leaves, towel on, that he realizes he doesn't have clothing.
Erik?
Hm?
I need something to wear.
My bedroom's the last one, just pick something of mine.
Charles has to search, but finds a black turtleneck and pants that fit reasonably well, though everything is just a touch too long, so Charles feels a little like a child in adult clothes. He rolls up the sleeves and heads out to the kitchen.
Erik is in the living room, as it turns out, watching television. It's the news - apparently even mutants keep to the talking head format - and the reporter has a visible mutation, white lines all over her skin, that connect and weave into each other to create something that looks almost like a tattoo of a spider's web, except Charles suspects it's entirely natural.
" - council is expected to vote today on the response to the latest human aggression, the creation of the blue powder that destabilizes abilities. Prime Minister Selven yesterday made a statement that Intel is exploring options to make precision attacks against anti-mutant facilities and instruments, but no action has yet been improved or is expected to be approved any time soon. Caution is, as always, our best offense against human fear." She pauses. "Later in the hour, we'll discuss the recent law passed to allow Intel to, under certain conditions, hire minors."
Erik turns the television off. "You should have come in five minutes ago. They were talking about you." He turns to look back at Charles, eyebrows raised.
"I'm glad I missed it," Charles says dryly. "I haven't quite come to terms with being internationally known."
"Globally," Erik corrects. "You've become the face of the 'mutant problem', unfortunately."
"In the human world. What about Genosha?"
Erik's expression turns briefly reflective. "You're a sign of our power. And how much humans fear it."
Charles sits on the couch, close enough that Erik shifts his weight to adjust for Charles' presence. "I don't want that. I always dreamed of mutants coming to the human world, not being separate anymore."
Erik shrugs. "It's debated how much we even want that, at this point."
"What happened?" Charles asks. Such a broad question, so he tries to explain. "I mean, after the blackout? There's so much history I don't know, I can't place anything about Genosha in context." Genosha existed for six years before it threw out all the humans and erected the blackout.
Erik scratches his forehead, then says, "Well, I'll start at the beginning, as we know it. Our history probably differs from what humans recorded."
Charles nods. He'd always figured that was true; it was easy to tell lies when the other side was a blank spot, unknown and unwilling to be known.
"Shaw and the other four, the First Five, they were the ones who negotiated with the UN, agreed to make a haven. Except that really wasn't the plan, from the human perspective, even then. When Earth -" one of the First Five - "created the physical part of Genosha, we were thrown on there with almost nothing. Literally, they threw seeds at the place and then dumped mutants here by the thousands, with no supplies and no shelter. The first five years were just a matter of surviving, growing enough food to eat. Instead of being hidden, mutant abilities were cherished and admired, especially if you could do something useful." Erik grins. "Like artificially grow crops. She called herself Shiva."
"Not one of the Five," Charles says, "but still, I've never heard of her."
"She's well known here, but it doesn't surprise me you haven't. The blackout then was the other way around. They didn't want the horrific conditions known. Anyway, in the sixth year - year six A.G, after Genosha -"
"You have your own dating system?"
"For years, yes. Months and days we kept." Erik waves a hand in dismissal. "Anyway, the First Five and a number of others met. And they agreed that in order to keep Genosha from becoming a prison colony, or worse yet, our graves when enough of us got sent there, we had to completely break off from the human world. Year six, Charles, is when we took control of our own destiny."
Dimly, Charles can sense - even with his shields up - a moment of vicious satisfaction.
"Every boat, every plane, every person who dared come within twenty miles of us was destroyed. No mistakes allowed, no mercy. Mutants with destructive powers were placed along the coastlines, and took out everything that came our way. Humans gave up after about six months. I think they thought we'd starve, alone, but we didn't. We used every resource painstakingly. We went through the industrial revolution all over again in ten years. There was almost no crime, then, because depending on each other was so key to survival."
"That's "
"Incredible? Horrifying?" Erik offers.
Charles shakes his head. "Keep going."
"Back then, mutants who had useful abilities essentially had no choice about serving Genosha. It was considered a necessity, and so at about fourteen or so, if your ability had manifested and it was useful, you became part of Intel, which back then we just called the Army. Twenty years in, we started developing more advanced weapons, missiles, atomic bombs, that sort of thing."
"So you are nuclear? There was a lot of speculation about that."
Erik nods. "Took us a while, but yeah. When that happened, we started to feel safe. We were on equal footing with the Soviet Union and the United States, even if they didn't know it. People weren't conscripted into the Army anymore, though a lot joined anyway. Cities developed. Nova was built."
"What about the Prime Minister and this council?" Charles nods at the blank television, returned to its silver surface.
"That's from when we had the First Five in charge. Shaw and the other four basically ruled Genosha, but the council is voted in these days, like all official positions. The council has the power to veto the Prime Minister's directives, and that's a lot of its purpose, besides advising the Prime Minister and the Senate." Erik stops. "Had enough of a history lesson?"
"I suppose," Charles allows.
"I've got a computer in the apartment, and we've got our own internet. Entirely different protocols than the human one, but for your purposes that's not noticeable. You can search for history books through it, there's a few even entirely online." Erik gets up from the couch, wanders to the kitchen.
Charles moves to the next topic. He's always been told - by human history - that humans hand over mutants because mutants do not belong with humans, but he wonders how much of that is true, considering the kind of useful powers mutants sometimes have. "How do you keep the human governments too afraid to keep mutants? How do you make them follow the law about giving all mutant children to you?"
"We watch everything they do, and they know it," Erik says with a shrug. "They think it's more telepaths than technology, which isn't really true. Right now, anyway. But we remind their intelligence and military assets of it every once in a while. And the fact that we rescued you the way we did, well, they got the message, and trust me, Charles. They don't want any of us on their soil. They're happy to be rid of their 'mutant problems'." Erik turns to look at Charles. "Do you see why we hate them?"
Charles nods, slowly. "Yes," he says softly. Genosha's entire history is justification for it. But so many of those humans that live now didn't make those decisions; they aren't responsible for what their parents did. Charles can't help but think of Alicia, Sarah or even Mary, the doctor who'd helped him escape. They didn't deserve to be hated. But he couldn't think of the words to say that, not in a way that Charles is certain Erik wouldn't see it as an attack.
Erik says nothing more for a while, half-watching Charles. Then he nods to himself, straightens, his entire posture transformed into something businesslike. "You want breakfast?"
"Don't you have to work?" Charles asks. It must be midmorning by now.
"No. Moira called and told me not to come in," Erik says. "Chaperoning you is a more than sufficient task, apparently."
"Because I m a weapon," Charles states, heart sinking.
Erik's lips twist before his expression fades into something calm. "I thought we'd meet with Hank later, actually. We've got an entire system of higher-learning establishments, similar to college with degrees of, well, degrees. He would know most about it, and I know it interests you."
"Erik, I -"
"Don't worry about it. I don't blame your paranoia after Shaw's blundering around." He pauses, projecting a flash of helpless frustration, but it fades quickly. "Now, for the last time, do you want breakfast?"
Charles laughs. "Yes."
After breakfast, they take public transport to a caf , where they meet Hank. Charles notices that several people on the way recognize him, but they don't do anything more than give Charles curious glances. He picks up a few stray thoughts, things about his power, joining Intel, and faintly and bizarrely, some jealousy.
"Are mutants treated differently for their mutations?" Charles asks Erik on the subway.
"Yeah, sometimes," Erik says. "It's the clearest form of discrimination we have in Genosha, but as technology has developed and we're less dependent on powerful mutations, that's eased."
Erik sounds unconcerned, but it makes Charles frown. "Not perfect, then." It is so easy to think of Genosha that way, hatred of humans aside.
The look Erik gives him is curious, not quite readable. "No, it's not." He smiles, sudden and bright. "But personally, I think it comes damn close."
Charles nods. "You've trusted me so much here, so fast."
"A telepath's analysis of a mind is very reliable," Erik says. "I don't know if you go into people's head to determine their character very often, but Frost is pretty practiced at it."
"You said Intel used to be called the Army, right?" Charles asks. "Is it like a military? I mean, obey orders or get thrown in the brig?"
"No, not in the sense you're thinking. Yes, it partially consists of the military, but there's a wide range of positions and stations. Some people like you - like Frost, in fact - can't be ordered into military actions. They probably wouldn't let Frost go on active missions, like the one to get you, because she's too valuable here, but she also chooses not to go on out of country missions, and that's accepted." Erik glances at him, something tense in his eyes.
Charles presses against Erik's mind, not pushing in, just giving a slight tap.
It's all right, Erik assures him.
You're really okay with it if I say no? Charles asks.
Disappointment filters in, but there's also something else, something relieved. My opinion matters to you that much?
Yes, Charles answers simply.
Erik smiles, but his next words are, "You'd be able to lay out some conditions if you wanted to, Charles. They're more than desperate enough to utilize your ability to abide by them, trust me."
Charles looks down for a moment. "Thank you for your patience."
"Not a problem. This is our stop," and Charles follows Erik into the crowded area around the lines. Charles makes sure to look around, but not stare too long at any one thing or person. The sheer amount of remarkable mutations is astounding. He wonders what abilities the others have, the ones where it's not visible, if they're powerful like Erik's. He wonders how many mutants have 'useful' mutations.
The cafe, ultimately, is strangely familiar. Decorated in warm tones, it has comfortable seats and little tables matched with chairs, a few people behind the counter. Erik doesn't get food, just heads directly for the back, and that's when Charles sees Hank.
Hank stands up and waves, and Erik minutely sighs, but offers Hank a warm smile as they greet him.
"Hank," Charles says as a hello. "Nice to see you again."
"Charles!" Hank says. "You're everywhere on the news."
Charles laughs a little uncomfortably.
"Yes, he knows," Erik says. "I think he wants to hear about other things, though."
Hank blinks. "Oh." He turns to Charles. "I talked to some of my old professors this morning, about you and your situation. You've basically got the equivalent to a MF."
"Master of Field," Erik says as an aside.
"So an MF is like a PhD?"
"Yeah, essentially. The problem is that in your specialty, you're really behind. Genosha's at the forefront of the genetic revolution. I mean, logically it would be, so it is," Hank says, words coming out in a rush.
"Oh, I'd be perfectly willing to enter as a student," Charles says easily. "I know how ... behind I am," he adds ruefully.
Hank leans in. "So how much do you know?"
Erik tunes out most of the ensuing conversation, careful to note Charles' reactions and questions, but ignoring the subject matter itself. He knows the basics, of course, and every child is required to know how mutations arise (this is still a changing field) and how they are passed on (relatively better known).
He thinks about Charles's questions from that morning, what they could mean.
He knows Charles, now. He knows that a lonely childhood made him want to reach out to others, and his mutation meant that he feared doing so. Charles still fears it, subconsciously, on a level Erik isn't sure Charles is aware of - he fears loss of control. That day in New York must have been terrifying. Erik hadn't covered it, and neither had Frost sought out that memory, but Erik got glimpses in the debriefing, that strong terror tainting Charles' most recent memories.
Erik rather thinks it's that terror that is making Charles hesitant to join Intel. Fear of his own power, set deep inside him by a culture that fears what he is, that made him cautious and reserved. Erik wonders what Charles would have been like, had he grown up in Genosha. He would have been adopted by mutant parents, his ability - which, unusually, manifested at birth - used and trained at an early age. Accepted and admired, instead of hated and viewed with revulsion.
Erik is glad Charles is here. For a multitude of reasons.
A break in the conversation, and Charles focuses on Erik. "Bored?" Charles inquires.
"Not at all," which is true. Good to see you relaxing, he thinks, and wonders if Charles shields are down enough to hear it.
The tilt of Charles' head in response makes Erik suspect he did.
Before he knows it, Charles is wrapping up the discussion with Hank, and they're rising to their feet.
"Thank you so much, Hank, I've got a lot to think about."
Hank scribbles numbers on a napkin. "Here are the people you can contact about school," Hank says. "I'll call them today and let them know to expect you."
Charles takes the napkin. "Thank you," he repeats.
"See you at Intel," Erik offers, and Hank, for once repressing his desire to vomit words, nods and leaves.
For a split second, Erik is glad he has Charles to himself. Then he represses the thought and hopes Charles didn't hear it.
"So what would you like to do now?" Erik asks. "You've still got half the day."
"Can we just walk?" Charles asks, expression thoughtful, blue eyes bright in the sun when they leave the cafe.
"Sure," Erik says. "Let me know if you have any questions."
Charles smiles, the same bright and cheerful one he's been giving Erik all day.
The area surrounding the cafe is mostly commercial, but this part of town consists of primarily boutiques, stores that specialize in such random things as tattoos, clothing, clothing that is altered for physical mutations like tails or spikes or those with chameleon-like powers (more common than most humans would ever guess), and some restaurants. Charles examines everything, even the miniscule details like phone numbers ("You have cell phones?" "Of course. Useable only in Genosha, unless you're with Intel.") and hours of operation ("Good Lord, you get up that early?" "Tradition."). Charles learns that mutants have a forty-five hour work week, a result of the strong work-ethic that was necessary during the first years. Erik had never before honestly noticed the difference, it was such a meaningless detail to his mind.
They spend hours this way, walking, and they only stop when Charles begins repressing winces.
"We should go back," Erik suggests.
"I'm fine," Charles says, and stifles another wince.
"You're limping."
"I am not."
"I may not be a telepath, but I'm not an idiot."
Charles laughs.
"Subway's a few blocks that way," Erik says, pointing. Wordlessly, Charles falls back into step with him. "So what do you think of Genosha?"
"I think it's better than I thought it would be," Charles says immediately.
"Good."
Charles sleeps in the guest bedroom again, and Erik can actually tell when he falls into it, because there's this subtle shift in the air, a barely-there sense of sleepiness tinged with random thoughts and sensations. Charles projects, very lightly, in his sleep. For some reason, it makes Erik smile.
Erik dreams of flying in a sea of gray, bright lights the only mark of distance.
Erik is up before Charles. Again. (Tradition, he remembers Erik say.) But this time, Charles manages to catch Erik at the tail-end of making coffee, the beginning of breakfast. Looking at Erik rummage through the drawers makes a sudden thought occur to Charles.
"How long can I stay here? I mean, how long will I be - supported?"
"You're welcome to stay as long as you need," Erik says without hesitation, not bothering to look up.
"You don't have to -"
"I choose to, Charles."
A firm nod. "All right. I'll make breakfast."
Looking bemused, Erik lets him. Charles makes a mean omelet, and hands Erik his plate with an expectant look.
"You know, we only introduced chickens in 1983. They weren't one of the livestock the humans left us when Genosha was created," Erik says.
Charles blinks.
"Now you know the real reason mutants hate humans," Erik jokes.
Charles smiles at him, and can't think of anything to say. The past few days have let the fact that he's really here, really in Genosha, truly sink in. This is his new home.
He stares at Erik. "You haven't said a word about Intel."
Erik takes a bite, chews before answering. "Figured you were still thinking."
Charles has been thinking, but it's been a confusing mash of wanting to stay with Erik, thinking of the possibility of continuing his dream of understanding mutations, and giving back to what's given to him. Erik, mostly, shining bright in his head, but Intel, too. Shaw. "I just fear what they would want to do with my power," Charles says at last.
"I can't tell you anything, Charles. I wish I could."
"I really want to peek, I hope you know," Charles says.
Erik gives him a pained smile. "You know, there's not even protocols for telepaths as strong as you," he says. "We didn't know if Frost was as powerful as telepaths got, or if there was another level."
"I knocked out four million people, Erik. It - frightens me, what I could do," Charles whispers.
Erik moves to the other chair, the one next to Charles, close enough to touch. "Give us your limits, let us work something out."
Charles laughs, and it fades into a cough. "I don't know what my limits are, honestly."
Erik swallows, puts an elbow on the table and considers Charles. "You won't hurt people that don't deserve it, that aren't attacking you."
Charles looks at him.
"You believe in self-defense," Erik continues. "But probably not that the best defense is a good offense."
"Probably not," Charles agrees. "I guess I believe it shouldn't be necessary. That maybe it won't be. Erik ..."
Something unfurls in Erik's mind, something dark, but Erik is still looking at him, evenly.
So Charles asks, "What did Shaw say to you?"
Erik visibly hesitates. "To use any means necessary to convince you to join us. An omega level telepath is one of the most powerful weapons we could have, Erik," Erik says, clearly quoting. "Sleep with him if you have to; plainly the both of you want it," delivered in a mocking tone. Erik slumps. Shame filters in, shame because it's true Erik already wants him.
Charles is full of fear, fear of he doesn't even know what, but he leans in, places his hand along the side of Erik's face. They stay that way for several long moments, then Erik presses his forehead against Charles', close enough their breaths intermingle.
"Yes?" Erik asks hesitantly.
Charles thinks of everything Erik has given him. "My terms. Yes," and Charles closes the distance.
