What's this? A plot? What does that even mean?
Chapter VII.
You're a bloody idiot
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Logan and Scott are on their way back up to the bridge when they run into Charles. Logan thinks that the Deputy looks troubled, which is equivalent to a large, flashing neon sign reading WARNING in several different languages. Charles is just not a Troubled Person. Or so Logan thinks, but then again, what the fuck does he know? Maybe the Commander said something stupid again.
Really. Goddamn.
"Looking for us, sir?" he asks anyway. Might as well get to the fucking bottom of this.
Charles visibly starts, looking up quickly. Jesus, he hadn't even seen them coming. What the fuck. "Not quite," he admits, "but I'm glad you're back anyway. The War-Prince is ready to go. Did you get everything cleaned up?"
"They'll never even notice that we wrecked their shit," Scott says, a little too proudly, "sir."
Charles laughs at that. "Good enough, I suppose. Well, you'd better get up there before the Commander decides your talents lie elsewhere."
"What about you," Logan asks casually, "sir."
"I'm headed down to check on our, um, detainee." Charles looks slightly uneasy even though he's trying to pass it off casually.
Logan narrows his eyes. "Detainee?" What the hell, since when did they have prisoners aboard the ship? He's long since stopped counting himself as one, anyway, even though being stuck with Scott Fucking Summers sometimes feels like prison, Jesus Christ.
"Oh, right, you didn't know." Charles remarks brightly, but Logan thinks he looks like he regrets having brought it up. Should have lied, sucker. "The War-Prince had to, ah, put our passenger down in the holding cells temporarily."
"Cain Marko?" Scott demands because he's a dick. "Sir?"
Logan's eyes stay narrowed. Cain Fucking Marko has looked like bad news ever since he first invited himself onto the bridge back at the Oh-Bee. Logan can't shake the feeling that the fucker is up to something.
"Yes, Cain." Now Charles really looks like he'd rather be elsewhere. "He was getting to be a danger to himself and members of the crew, so the War-Prince was forced to detain him."
Logan looks at the bruises on the Deputy's neck and puts two and two together.
What. The. Fuck.
Scott is frowning. "When did this—"
Logan wants to stomp on Scott's foot (actually, he'd be pretty fucking happy to just punch him in the balls) because Jesus Christ, really? Fortunately, they're all saved by Raven.
"The Commander politely requests your presence on the bridge, Legionnaire Howlett and Legionnaire Summers." Logan's not an expert on AI personality programming, but whoever programmed Raven had certainly made sure she was well-equipped to sounding dry.
Which is probably the last fucking thing they need around here, Jesus Christ.
"You'd better go on up," Charles says, and while he's not angry or remotely close to being stern, his voice has gone cool—he's done with this conversation. Logan can count on one fucking hand the number of times he's seen Charles Xavier anything less than open and goddamn friendly.
Time to bail.
Not to mention Charles has a point. The War-Prince is probably plotting their deaths or some shit as they speak, the pain factor increasing with every minute that Logan and Scott fail to appear.
"Yes sir." Logan gives Charles a nod and then grabs Scott by the back of his jacket and tows him to the nearest elevator before he can open his fucking mouth again.
Not that it stops him from complaining. "What the fuck, Logan, let go, you fucking asshole—"
"Shut the fuck up, Summers," Logan says as he shoves Scott into the elevator and slams a fist onto the panel, "open your mouth one more goddamn time and I'll punch you in the balls."
"Fuck you," Scott says because he's a dick. A stupid dick.
Logan shrugs and cracks his knuckles. Whatever. He gave fair warning.
Scott's still bent over and groaning when the elevator door hisses open to admit them onto the bridge, and even though the War-Prince is giving them both a Look, Logan can't get the smug grin of satisfaction off his face.
That's not to say he's forgotten about Cain Marko or the bruises around his Deputy's throat. That he'll file away for later, so then he can decide what to do about it.
Because, Logan reasons, let's be honest. He's a man of action, and fuck anyone who thinks they can get away with that sort of shit while he's around.
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Charles never really knew his biological father very well, partially because he had been very young when the man had been killed in a spacecraft accident—Jesus, really, who even has those anymore—but mostly because the man had never really been a family man to begin with and was rarely home.
The same could be said about his mother, but for entirely different reasons. Brian Xavier had a career; Sharon Xavier had an endless supply of alcohol. Their marriage could have been happy, at one point. Maybe.
Charles thinks about all of this as he makes his way slowly down to the bowels of the ship where the holding cells are. People get out of his way, snapping to attention in acknowledgment to his rank, but he barely sees them, lost in thought.
He's doing that thing where he psychoanalyzes himself, writes himself off as pathetic, and then doesn't want to think about it anymore. He knows it's a bad habit, brought on by years of little to no recognition from his own parents and then the addition of overbearing and perfectionist Kurt Marko and his lout of a son Cain.
He's not even entirely sure how his mother even met Kurt Marko or why he would ever want to marry her—though Charles suspects it has something to do with the Xavier family fortune; Brian Xavier had been a wealthy man and back then Kurt had still been struggling to get his company up off the ground—but one day Charles had been summoned to his mother's room (a place, Charles recalls now, that he generally avoided like the plague even then) and at first he'd been a little excited; maybe she'd heard about the straight A's he'd received on his latest progress report from school from one of the servants and wanted to congratulate him and for once actually take the time to look at him. Her son.
Such a foolish, childish hope that had been.
Instead he'd been introduced to your new soon-to-be stepfather, Charles, and your new soon-to-be stepbrother, isn't that lovely, you'll have someone your age to play with. In fact, why don't you both go now so Kurt and I can have some alone time, there's a good boy.
Cain, of course, had promptly proven how far from lovely this all was by pushing Charles down the stairs as soon as they'd walked out of the goddamn door.
Charles isn't in any of the wedding pictures because of this. His casts on both legs hadn't allowed for any kind of dress pants and Sharon insisted that it would take away from the formality of the pictures otherwise. So the pictures are of a smiling Kurt, Sharon, and Cain. What a nice family.
It doesn't matter now, but at the time, it had stung.
Kurt had been an entirely different kind of antagonistic, and even now Charles isn't sure what he'd ever done to the man to deserve such pure vitriol. It didn't matter what he had or had not done, nothing Charles did or did not do was ever close to being good enough. It had been such a harsh change compared to before, where he'd been virtually ignored by his mother and father, that Charles can still remember very clearly (too clearly; it still makes him nervous even though it's been years now) stressing himself out to the point of tears worrying about what Kurt would say about this, or what Kurt would think about that.
And meanwhile, Cain could do no wrong.
The final straw had been when Charles had turned 18 and his mother, sloshed half out of her mind already at nine in the morning, informed him that Kurt and I have been thinking, Charles, and we've decided it's best that your inheritance from your father should be split with Cain because it's only fair, you see, of course you do.
Charles had told her to take his entire inheritance and shove it down Kurt Marko's throat, packed his bags, and fucked off to the Imperial Academy that same day because really, there'd been nowhere else for him to go.
And now he finds himself standing outside of the holding cell room in the bottom of the TEF Heartsteel, of which he is the Deputy Commander and his best friend is the Commander, who he is in love with but is too terrified to say anything about it in fear of losing the first real stable component in his life.
What is his life, really.
Charles takes in a deep, steadying breath, and then punches in his access code so the door slides open.
The Heartsteel has only three holding cells total and the first one holds Cain. He's sitting back against the far wall on the floor, legs stretched out in front of himself idly. Charles imagines that he'd be smoking if he had a light—he is utterly relaxed and at ease.
Charles steps up to the lock pad and he and Cain stare at one another silently through the invisible but lightly humming force field that serves as the cell's other walls.
"You're a bloody idiot." Charles says at last, keeping his voice flat. When he was younger, he'd been outright terrified of Cain, but now seeing him just makes Charles angry.
Cain's upper lip curls in a sneer. "I'm not afraid of you or your War-Prince."
"It's his ship," Charles answers neutrally, "you should be."
Cain scoffs. "Wait until I tell Kurt about this. He'll have both of you court-martialed before you—"
"Go ahead," Charles interjects, thinking quickly, because he doesn't give a shit about his own career as long as he can protect Erik's, "I encourage you to tell him that you got your ass handed to you."
Cain lunges to his feet suddenly, coming to a stop millimeters away from the force field of the cell, towering over Charles. Charles wants to flinch away, but instead forces himself to remain utterly still. He waits a moment before tilting his head back to look up at his stepbrother.
"What's this, Charlie?" Cain's voice is dangerously soft. "You fuck off to the Academy and finally grow a spine?"
"Something like that," Charles says vaguely. It's hard to keep from shrinking away, but it is getting a little easier with every passing second. He can do this. "Are you going to be a decent, controlled human being, or do I have to leave you in here until we reach Corellia?"
Cain snorts. "Let me out of here, Charlie. I'll play nice."
Charles distinctly recalls the last time Cain had promised to play nice. Shortly after, Charles had ended up face-first in one of the garden ponds.
Nevertheless, Charles silently passes a hand across the lock pad. The device scans him once and then the force field shuts quietly off and the cell is open.
Cain reaches out so swiftly that Charles actually does instinctively flinch, bracing himself for the worst. Cain stops and smirks, and then lowers his hand slowly down the rest of the way to settle on Charles' shoulder. "Why so jumpy, Charlie? It's only me."
The hand on his shoulder is making Charles' skin crawl, so he shrugs it off, hating himself a little for jumping. "Don't touch me."
"Alright, alright." Cain holds his hands up a little, though he still smirks. "No need to get all defensive. Jesus, you have changed."
"And you haven't." Charles answers sourly. He turns and walks back towards the elevator.
The bastard chuckles as he follows. "You know, Dad really isn't going to believe me when I tell him that I ended up on your ship. Prince Charles."
"I don't care what Kurt thinks anymore." Charles says flatly as the elevator shuts and they begin to rise. "I hope he doesn't believe you. That way we can all go on pretending that I don't exist, just like old times."
Cain laughs again. "Believe it or not, Charlie, I have missed you."
"Oh, I believe you," Charles assures him as they step out onto one of the quieter decks of the ship, "I imagine that you were quite sad to lose your favorite punching bag."
"Cried myself to sleep for a week." Cain says with another smirk. "But hey, look at you now. All that character building must have been somewhat helpful, right? You're a Prince now, for god's sake, you ought to be thanking—"
Charles whirls on him, one hand going to the phaser on his belt. He usually doesn't like carrying one around, but his rank and uniform demand that he does. Now he's just glad. "Finish that sentence, Cain, I swear to god, just try to finish that sentence. Nothing you or your father ever did to me was helpful in any way. I made Prince on my own merit, and I made Deputy Commander because the War-Prince felt I was fit enough for the position because of my own merit, so I don't owe you a goddamn thing."
"Jesus, Charlie," Cain says with an awful smile, "tell me all of your feelings, why don't you? Has that been your story all these years? Your life at home was so hard, wasn't it, never mind the fact that you're just a rich brat who—"
"That's the thing, Cain," Charles interrupts him icily, "there hasn't been a story. I packed my bags and left, you narcissistic asshole, and I didn't come back because I never looked back. I never would waste my time complaining about the likes of you." He lets out a sound of impatience and whirls around again to keep walking because he honestly can't even stand looking at his stepbrother right now. "Why are we even escorting you, anyway?" he asks bitterly. "Did the cruiser break down?"
"Didn't read your full mission briefing?" Cain mocks, following behind him. "You're escorting me back to Corellia as a courtesy because I was visiting Third Earth on Dad's behalf to finalize some major deals. Or at least, that's the official story."
Charles stops and turns around slowly, not liking Cain's tone. "Then what's the unofficial story?"
"You sure you want to know?" Cain's grinning, the fucking idiot. "Maybe you ought to just carry on with your official mission, little Prince."
"What did you do?" Charles asks, and that's definitely a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "If you've put us in a compromised situation, Cain—"
"Relax, Charlie." Cain reaches over to pat him condescendingly on the back. "It's nothing you have to worry about. There might be a couple backdoor deals we've made that might have caused a couple people to be unhappy, but they're not going to come after a Starfleet ship. They wouldn't dare."
"Yes, as far as you know." Charles is nearly speechless with anger. Cain is going to get all of them killed. "You've sent us in blind, we've only prepared for a simple escort mission, not a fucking attack—"
"I told you, you won't have to worry about it." Cain says dismissively. "As far as they know, I haven't even left Third Earth yet."
"That doesn't matter!" Charles pushes past him. He needs to get up to the bridge and report this to Erik, Cain is a bloody selfish asshole—
"God, Charlie, you're such a fucking pain in the ass," is all the warning he gets before everything goes black.
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Charles manages to enroll in the Academy with a month before the term starts, but after that he pretty much takes a nose dive.
It's the first time in his entire life that he's not trying to impress anyone—be it futilely his father and mother, or desperately Kurt—and the sudden lack of any and all responsibilities has Charles pitching over the edge before he even realizes why.
He's freaked out because he's completely on his own, is pretty sure he's been disowned by his mother, and has little real experience with what everyone seems to call the Real World, and the only solution to all of these problems appears to involve going out to a lot of bars and parties and getting wasted on anything and everything. He has freedom, now, where he hadn't ever had it before, is finally away from Kurt, and Cain, and his mother, and he's probably going to end up getting himself killed at the rate he's going but really, no one would honestly miss him so it hardly matters.
Then, after his first day of actual classes has gone less than smoothly seeing as he doesn't even give a shit about them in the first place, he stumbles out of a bar and pukes on Erik Lehnsherr's shoes and gets punched for his efforts.
It only takes the one day of Charles buying Erik new shoes and lunch as an apology for Charles to want to clean up his act. Erik has this way of looking at him, actually looking at him, and under this scrutiny that's somehow so much different than Kurt's, Charles can't help but want to be better. For Erik.
Because, after all, they're Friends now, and Charles has never had one before so he'd kind of like to keep Erik and doesn't want Erik to think he's a loser too.
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They're making good time at least, Erik thinks as he resists the urge to sigh, and they've put a great amount of distance between the Heartsteel and the Titanium, so maybe by the time someone realizes one of the Rogues has been utterly destroyed, they'll be too far away to bother chasing.
Scott and Logan are doing their jobs, but they keep breaking into sniggers every so often and Erik is starting to find that the sound of Scott and Logan sniggering like idiots is something that grates on his nerves. They are both insane. It's a miracle they're still alive and functioning human beings.
Charles has yet to return from going down to have his chat with his stepbrother, and Erik is feeling unreasonably restless because of it. Were it up to him, Charles wouldn't go down to talk to that worthless piece of scum at all, but Charles seemed to think it was important.
Erik finds that he wishes Charles would stop thinking that he needs to prove himself all the time.
They've already jumped in and out of hyperspace once just to get back on track of their main course, and Erik pulls up their route again for the sake of keeping preoccupied. "How far to our next jump coordinates, Raven?"
"746.7 million light years, sir," the AI answers without pause, "our next jump will be the longest yet, but when we drop back out again we will be within reasonable distance to the Corellian system." The red and blue routes through the star map flash as she indicates them.
Erik usually has no preferences when it comes to missions, but he thinks that the end of this one won't be able to come soon enough. "Good. See that we remain steady."
"Yes sir."
"Uh, sir?" Scott says, sounding nonplussed. "One of our evacuation pods just launched itself." He taps out a command, and sure enough when the TO brings up the view screen Erik can see the tiny pod shooting off into space, jetting away from the Heartsteel.
Erik raises an eyebrow. "Raven?"
"The launch of E-Pod 37 was authorized by Deputy Commander Charles Xavier." Raven reports.
Charles? What is he—
Scott laughs. "No way, you don't think Charles just fucking launched his stepbrother into—"
"Sir, we're being hailed." Sean interrupts suddenly, spinning around from his station. His freckly face is white as a sheet. "Their numbers are Nyrulian."
Scott stops laughing.
Erik feels cold.
