Author's Apologies: No excuses, I've just been bad at updating. First, it was writers' block, then the plot kind of took off in an unexpected direction and that slowed things down. Lastly, I mainly write this on my iPhone during downtime at work and I've just been too damn lazy and tired at night to boot up my laptop and transfer it to Word to upload. I apologize. I've already started on the next chapter and things are going smoothly so far, so hopefully this won't happen again.
I also know that I forgot to respond to a couple of reviewers and I'm truly sorry for that. Everyone's reviews mean a lot to me and they are incredibly motivating. In fact, most reviews are quickly followed by a mad bout of writing. Thank you so much to everyone who reviews and subscribes!
Chapter 11
Erik woke up the next morning with a throbbing head to match his shoulder. He buried his face deep into the mound of pillows and tried to ignore the light streaming through the tall window. For a good few minutes, he managed to stay like that, eyes shut tight against the impending day, brain happily refusing to consider anything that didn't involve minimizing the effects of a hangover. In the back of his mind, a tiny thought had the nerve to prick up, a small confusion from the night before. But his other senses slammed it back down. In his list of priorities, dealing with vague, complex emotions was just a bit ahead of redecorating and right below changing his bed sheets. It was miles behind pressing matters such as aspirin, water, a shower, and clean clothes.
Resigning himself to the sun's presence in his life for the day, Erik rolled out of bed with a groan and stumbled blindly into the en suite. With a flick of his wrist, the shower came to life. He squinted at his reflection in the mirror while the cold water ran out of the pipes. It was not his best look, to be sure. In the harsh bathroom lighting, his hair lost the darkened quality being out of the sun had given it. In fact, it looked dangerously close to Sean's on the ginger scale. Instead of curling softly into gentle waves, greasy clumps stuck out at odd angles. A light shadow of stubble coated his cheeks and his eyes were dull and still crusty from sleep. Not good for business, he thought instinctively.
Under the steady beat of hot water, Erik scrubbed the night from his skin until he was red. He shaved carefully in the steamed up mirror and towel-dried his hair, hoping that a little dampness would darken it some. A haircut was most certainly on the agenda of their next trip into town - though that had nothing to do with Charles's opinion, Erik assured himself as he slipped on the tight jeans that made his butt look especially spectacular and the silk vest that accentuated his narrow waist. Charles was not a prospective client. His favor did not need to be courted. With a final once-over in the bedroom's full length mirror to ensure that the mess who had awoken in his bed had been thoroughly vanquished, Erik headed out in search of breakfast and coffee.
The kitchen was not empty. Sean sat at the center island halfheartedly spooning cereal into his mouth, eyes drifting closed. Still in his boxers and tee, he clearly did not share Erik's need to present his best self at all times. "Magneto," he drawled, drawing out the last syllable. "'Whassup?"
"Clearly not you." Erik ignored the moniker. It reminded him too much of a stripper's stage name. "Isn't this a bit early?"
"Couldn't sleep, man. The Prof is making me try out Hank's new toy today. Wants me to jump out of the damn window and try to fly. Kept me up tossing and turning half the night."
"If Charles and Hank say you can fly, you can fly."
Sean squinted up at him. "Pretty confident for a guy with a bullet hole in his shoulder."
"Yes, well...Charles and Hank did not actually recommend I try that."
Sean's eyes went wide and he sat up straighter. "Hey! You can keep me from getting killed just like you did with the Professor back on the base! I'll make sure I wear lots of metal."
"A two or three story drop is unlikely to kill you. And in that time, I doubt I'd be able to slow you enough to make a difference."
"Geez, ever hear of self-confidence, man? And how do you know? Once in school they let us drop eggs off the roof. That wasn't even that high and you could've had a breakfast feast on the pavement."
"I've jumped from a window before. Quite a few times, actually. And you are not an egg."
"You make it a habit of jumping out of windows? You're crazier than I thought."
Erik shrugged his one good shoulder. "Good escape route. Quick, convenient, and they rarely follow."
"Who are you escaping from?" Alex asked, plopping himself down next to Sean.
"Whoever is chasing me."
Sean cleared his throat. "Like...pimps?"
"I don't have a pimp!" Erik scowled. "I don't need someone to fight my battles and take half the cash." He took a deep breath and reminded himself that these boys couldn't be expected to be well-versed in street walker etiquette. "When I was younger, I relied heavily on picking pockets and shop lifting to get by. I wasn't always very good at it. When I...found work, I had a couple run-ins with spouses. A Frenchman actually came at me with a baguette in Paris when he caught me between his wife's thighs. Had to go off the balcony that time."
"You were...you...did that? With a chick?" Alex blushed viciously at Sean's lack of tact.
"Certainly."
"But you like dudes!"
Erik seemed to consider this for a moment. "Men are quicker and easier. But women are a bit more pleasant to be around and a nice change of pace. They also tend to pay more. There are certainly benefits and considerations to each. I couldn't really say I prefer one to the other. Work is work."
Sean opened his mouth again but Alex elbowed him before he could put his foot in it. Though Erik clearly had no qualms about it, they were straying into exceptionally awkward territory as far as Alex was concerned. "So," he covered, "where's the Professor anyway?"
"He's in his study with the smokin' hot Fed."
"Really, Sean, manners." Erik could only feel a brief flash of dismay at Moira's presence before Charles interrupted. He looked tired and drawn and the frown he directed at Sean only served to exasperate that effect. But when he turned to Erik, a spark in his eyes and a small smile seemed to light up his whole face. "Good morning, my friend. Just the man I was looking for."
"A bit early for business, isn't it, Charles?"
His smile faltered. "This, I fear, will not wait. Moira has some new information I think you should hear. It's...unexpected."
Erik braced himself for Moira's pheromonal lust assault when she saw him, but was spared. It seemed she was strictly focused on business today, a sure sign that the situation was serious. Charles sensed a pang of worry when her eyes fell on the sling, but in her current state, she was more concerned with his lethalness than his overall well-being. "Training mishap," he answered before she could ask. "He'll be fine."
""Oh. Good. That's good." Moira shifted nervously in her seat. Erik glanced at Charles, hoping to find some clue for decoding her behavior in his face, but Charles was frustratingly blank.
"Charles says there's been a development?" Erik pulled up a chair was a slight wave of his fingers and sat across from the agent.
"Yes. Well, perhaps it's more of a discovery than a development." She picked up a sheaf of papers and began to flip through them. "You are a mysterious man, Mr. Lensherr. And the United States government does not like mysterious men. They've been researching you, calling in specialists."
"I have specialists?" Erik smirked.
"Specialists on the war, on Nazi Germany. That iswhere you're from, isn't it?"
"Ja."
"And you're Jewish."
"Ja."
"We have records that indicate you attended a small village school until 1940, at which time all Jewish families in the area were relocated to a ghetto."
"As fascinating as I admittedly am, you really don't have to recite my childhood back to me. Believe it or not, I was there."
But Moira wasn't fazed. She kept her icy gaze locked onto his, challenging him to contradict her. "That ghetto was liquidated in the summer of 1942. There were no survivors."
Charles physically shifted away from the psychic torrent of pain that poured off of Erik in waves. But the only outward tell of his discomfort was the slight movement of his Adam's apple and a quick hitch in the steady rhythm of his chest. "Yes, I'd assumed as much. Thank you for the confirmation."
"But you survived."
Erik's eyes narrowed. He couldn't quite track this conversation. "Indeed."
"How did you manage to live when no one else did?"
Erik shook his head. "There was a man...sometimes he could sneak children out. I think he'd done it a few times before me."
"How exactly did he do that? And then why not save more?"
Charles closed his eyes and fought to block out the painful memories Erik was inadvertently projecting, full of fear and confusion...a man stuffing his pockets with food and telling him he was a big boy now...a woman brushing away his tears.
"I don't know," Erik said, voice ice cold now. "I was ten years old. I just did what I was told."
"Who took care of you after this man got you out?"
"I took care of myself."
"At ten years old, you managed to navigate a war torn country and - without any sort of identification - cross multiple boarders and end up in England? All on your own?"
'Moira, please! Stop this!'
'I can't, Charles. You know why.'
"There were vigilante groups living in the forests, protecting refugees and fighting on their own terms. I stayed with them for awhile, then yes, I found my way out of the war zone."
"Why leave if they were protecting you?"
"Get to the point, agent. All this reminiscing is starting to bore me."
"Alright. Our specialists tell us that there was a Nazi doctor who performed experiments on children. Of course, we knew that sort of thing happened. But this doctor - Klaus Schmidt - was only interested in what soldiers called the "odd" children. In a journal, one man even described them as "supernatural". Schmidt was never caught, but there are photographs of him." Moira slid a black and white 8x10 photo across the coffee table to Erik.
"Shaw? That's impossible."
"There was another report our specialists found, this one from 1940. It was an eyewitness account of a soldier evicting a Jewish family in your village. There was a little boy who wouldn't leave. The soldier tried to forcibly remove him and was stopped by the father. When the soldier moved to assault the man with his weapon, it - and I quote - 'was ripped from his hand as if by an invisible force. It flew up and across the room and landed behind a bookcase. There was no natural way for this to occur.' This report was found in the office of Klaus Schmidt."
"What are you trying to say, Agent MacTaggert?"
"Schmidt - Shaw - knew about you. Charles says most mutants don't start to exhibit powers that young. He would've wanted you. Badly."
"Too bad for him. Can we wrap this up. I'm getting quite tired of it."
"Your story is that you managed to escape the ghetto before being sent to the camps and somehow survived on your own and made your way across war-torn Europe at 10 years old. Our specialists have another theory: Shaw took you out of there. He trained you and raised you in his image. Then he sent you to infiltrate our defenses."
Erik stared at the woman, face hard and eyes cold. But inside, his head was spinning and his stomach twisting into knots. He didn't even know where to begin processing her claims and what they could mean for his future. He found that he desperately, desperatelydid not want to be taken away from Charles.
Charles...Erik turned to him and tried not to let the betrayal show on his face. "You agree with this? You think I've been lying to you?"
"No," Charles said, voice hard with conviction. "Absolutely not. Even if I didn't trust you implicitly - which I do - I trust myself to know when I'm being deceived. I am a very hard man to lie to."
"Of course!" Erik looked back to Moira. "He can read my mind. How could I hide anything from him? He vouches for me, but you still think I'm lying?"
Moira shifted uncomfortably and looked away. She may have new reservations about Erik, but she still adored Charles. "Shaw has a telepath. Perhaps she could hide the truth in your mind from Charles."
"As I said before, I'd be able to tell. His telepath is not as powerful as I. She could not construct barriers in his head that I wouldn't at least be able to sense if not break." Charles sniffed, "It's offensive that you'd think otherwise."
"Charles, don't. You know I trust you. But we are on the brink of nuclear war. If you're wrong, billions will die. That's not a risk we can take."
"And if you're wrong?"
Moira's eyes shifted quickly to Erik. She wasn't ready to address the action her superiors suggested she take just yet, at least not in front of Erik. She tried to send Charles a signal that this was better discussed telepathically, but it either didn't work or he chose to ignore it. She folded. "If we're wrong, then we've lost one member of the team."
"No, you've lost the whole team. If you can't trust me to see the blatant truth in Erik, then you can't possibly trust me to fight for you. And if that isn't enough, as long as he's willing, I will not go into a battle without Erik by my side. That is where he belongs - not in the decrepit German shithole Mr. Stryker wants to deport him to."
Though she had suspected the conversation would lead to something like this, Moira hadn't been able to fully steel herself for the fallout. Her cool, detached professionalism faltered and she let out a harsh sigh and rubbed at her eyes. "Charles, I want to trust you – both of you. And for the most part, I do! But this is a hell of a coincidence, and it makes more sense than a little boy making his way across a war-torn continent all by himself."
Charles sat back, resigned. "Well, I don't know what else I can do to convince you of the truth. I suppose you'll have to make your report and let us know what the director decides."
The three sat in silence for a moment. Moira was looking for any reason to stay, Charles could feel it. She just needed one reason to convince herself and her superiors to ignore the evidence and trust their instincts. And though Erik's cool exterior gave nothing away, Charles couldn't ignore the constant stream of thoughts he inadvertently projected. 'They're sending me back to Germany? I can't go back there, haven't been there since...I can't go back. Will they lock me up? I haven't done anything wrong! Not recently, anyway. Can't go back to being alone. I don't think I'll survive it.'
Charles couldn't stand it. He wracked his genius brain for something, anything, that might prove Erik's innocence, but he could only think if one thing...
'Erik? I know Moira. I think if she knew...if she knew HOW you managed all these years, I think it would all make sense. If she could really SEE you, she couldn't doubt you.'
'Can you do that? Not just tell her, but SHOW her?'
'Yes. If you're truly ok with it.'
...'I don't want to go back.'
Instinctively, Charles reached out and placed his hand on Erik's knee. Their eyes met and, for a split second, Erik's guard was dropped and Charles could read the reluctance there.
"Moira, if you're willing, there's something I'd like you to see."
"What's that?"
"Erik." Moira's brow furrowed. "I want to show you the answer to your question. I can't say you'll like it."
She looked back and forth between them, but Erik refused to make eye contact. She nodded. "Alright. Show me."
Charles closed his eyes and brought his fingers to his temple. He counted to three and dove into Erik's memories, sorting through them and drawing out a few choice scenes.
Suddenly, Moira was an 8 year old boy and her father was about to be pistol whipped. Then she - he- was 10, confused and terrified. His parents were sending him away and he didn't understand why they couldn't come too. And before he could puzzle through it, he was being handed off to the vigilantes in the woods. He was told to take care of himself and stay out of the way. Nobody had time to comfort him. But one man had time to throw him in the dirt and ram himself into his ass over and over again before falling over dead, strangled by the chain he had taken from him. He didn't know how, but he was filled with a vague sense of responsibility. He ran. He stole to survive but barely made it through the winter. But he kept moving because he didn't know what else to do. One night he tried to steal from a young Irish soldier and got caught. But the man only smiled and bought the boy some food. Then he very kindly explained what he could do in return.
The parade of memories sped up, and in brief flashes, Moira became a prepubescent rent boy, was beaten by clients who refused to pay, felt the cold seep into her bones as she slept on the street in too-thin clothes, felt the hunger gnaw at a concave stomach, was showered with gifts from rich old men. Through Erik's eyes, she saw Brussels, Paris, Nice, Barcelona, Madrid, Lisbon, Dublin, and London. She stowed away on trains and in the beds of trucks. And through it all, nothing mattered but the means to survive. Find the next mark, the next meal, a place to spend the night out of the rain. There was anger, to be sure - more than one would think could be contained. But it bubbled gently deep, deep below the surface. There was no time for it and no one to aim it at. Emotions were a luxury he couldn't afford because he had to keep moving or he'd freeze to death. He was taught to be industrious, to become the master of your craft. When business was good, he could save a bit of money until he had enough to rent a dingy little flat in London. It was the first home he'd ever had in his second life and Moira felt his exuberant pride as he surveyed his castle.
The memories fly by now, a barely discernible string of faceless, meaningless men. Then they are on the stoop on a sunny afternoon and a young man approaches. On some long-forgotten level, it registers that he is attractive. But that is irrelevant because he is clearly well-off and he can drain him easily. They are in a seedy room and the man is babbling nonsense, but maybe not, maybe something deep down starts to click into place. He moves the coins and life as he knows it crumbles. He is Erik again. He is Magneto. He is at Charles's side and this is what 'home' feels like, not his lonely little flat. And the anger is building, slowly boiling, because a bad world has gotten worse, once again there is an evil outside of his little world that can harm him, but Charles is here, and Charles is home, and Charles is something strange that he doesn't understand and -
Moira gasped as the connection broke off without warning. She felt like someone had run a race car into the wall. With a quick glance over at Charles, she caught the telepath breathing hard, face just a shade too red, though he quickly schooled his features. Erik, however, seemed strangely calm. His good hand clutched tightly at the armrest, his hazy gaze fixed on some indistinct point on the floor. The only real giveaway was the soft clinking as every ounce of metal in the room trembled. It struck Moira that they had just seen what she'd seen, that Erik had just been assaulted with a barrage of the most painful and emotionally-charged scenes of his life on fast forward.
"Do you see?" Charles's voice brought her back around. "Do you understand now how utterly ridiculous your theories are?"
Moira looked back at Erik, studied him, though he refused to meet her gaze. His face was stone cold and there was an air of something deadly in him. The deep-seated anger, no longer overwhelmed by survival instincts, made him almost unrecognizable. For a moment, she doubted what she'd seen.
Charles's presence still lingered at her mind's edge, and she imagined she could almost feel him gently nudge another memory forward, this one her own. The first time she'd seen him, walking out of the airport with Charles - not withhim, she noted, but two steps behind him. She had found him shockingly handsome, yet somehow banal. He was noteworthy only for his lithe body and stunning cheekbones. From the way Charles and Raven had described this mutant's immense power, she had expected someone extraordinary, someone that would send a shiver down her spine with a single glance. She had, she now realized, expected Erik as he was today, as he had grown under Charles's tutelage. Yes, the man before her now was lethal enough to be the double agent her superiors feared. But the man who had walked out of that airport was leading an entirely different double life.
"They were never my theories," she said with all the conviction she could muster. "Stryker thought it up and sold McCone on it. It fell to me to investigate. I didn't actually think it was true but...well, it wasn't implausible. Stryker had some decent points. I mean, obviously now I see how he was wrong. But without all of the information..." Moira caught herself babbling and trailed off. "But yes. It does seem a bit preposterous now."
"Good," Charles nodded. "I'm glad we're on the same page again. Was there anything else you needed to discuss?"
Moira shook her head and stood, gracefully accepting the rather abrupt dismissal from the often overly-hospitable man. She knew she deserved it. "Erik," she added stiffly, "I apologize for doubting you. I hope you know how much I - how much we value you."
"I know what you value in me, Ms. MacTaggert." Erik finally looked up at her with a cold, twisted mockery of his teasing bedroom eyes. "I can smell it on you. I wonder...maybe Mr. Stryker really just wants the same thing. It wouldn't surprise me."
Moira stared him down, torn between being offended and embarrassed. After all, she couldn't deny her visceral reaction, as much as she might want to. Finally, she settled on a polite but curt nod to Charles and showed herself out.
"Erik," Charles put his hand out to stop a lamp from trembling its way off the end table. 'Erik, please calm your mind.'
The room's metal fixtures began to settle as Charles nudged soothing thoughts in Erik's direction while the other mutant regained control. The telepath watched him rub absentmindedly at his shoulder. "I apologize for putting you through that. I did my best to convince Moira of the absurdity of Stryker's theory, but she said she couldn't leave without speaking to you, that she had to play devil's advocate on the CIA's behalf. I could see she never really believed it, but there was enough of a doubt in her mind to concern me."
"It doesn't matter what she thinks," Erik muttered. "Stryker has been trying to shut us down from day one. You can convince her, but if she can't convince McCone, then Stryker wins."
"This is a battle against Shaw, not the CIA."
"Isn't it? If MacTaggert fails, what happens to me?"
Charles frowned. "They'd send you back to Germany. But I won't let that happen, Erik. You will never have to go anywhere you don't want to."
"You can't really believe that, Charles, as brilliant as you are. If they think I'm helping Shaw start a nuclear war that would destroy the human race, they won't just let me walk out the door."
"They'll imprison you," Charles murmured, realizing Erik was right. If anything, he was underestimating Stryker. People were terrified of what they didn't understand, and no one understood mutations. His own research was largely discredited in some government circles simply because he wasa mutant. With a powerful mutant declared an enemy of the state and held captive, they certainly wouldn't pass up a chance to experiment.
"Not even you can stop that."
"Perhaps not. But I can keep you from them. Once we take Shaw, they'll have no reason to go after you. I can easily hide you until then."
"I'm not going to hide, Charles. I'm staying here and we're going to take down that Scheißkerl Shaw together."
"I want that, too, Erik, but you can't fight Shaw if Stryker gets his hands on you."
Erik smirked, "Worse men have had their hands on me."
Charles shook his head. "Not like this.
"He's a Nazi, Charles. He murdered my people. He tortured mutant children. He has to be stopped and I'm not going to sit by and hope someone else does it."
Charles sat back and studied him carefully. "You've come a long way, my friend. Just a few weeks ago, you nearly jumped out of a plane when I told you we were training for a fight. Now you're spoiling for one despite the added risk."
"And you wanted me to fight Shaw but hold me back when it becomes a reality."
"I'm not holding you back, Erik. I just don't want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger."
"This is necessary."
"…I suppose." Charles leaned his head back and let his eyes fall closed. A long minute passed in not-entirely-comfortable silence before Charles softly asked, "Are you happy?"
"What?" Erik started, startled.
"I sought you out and brought you here because I wanted to help you realize your potential. And, if I'm honest, I wanted to save you from the life you were living, even if you don't think you needed saving. But lately I've been wondering if I made a mistake."
"You don't want me here."
"No!" Charles opened his eyes wide and looked straight into Erik's. "You know damn well that's not true, yet you continuously assume that you're not wanted. Of course, I want you here. How could I not?" He leaned forward earnestly. "But I wanted to bring out the best in you, and there are moments when I fear I may have brought out the worst. Yes, I wanted - want- you by my side in this. But not if the cost is too high. Not if it changes who you are."
"I thought that was the whole point!"
"The point was to show you what you could be, that you didn't have to sell yourself. But I never wanted to change you fundamentally. I wanted to bring out more of the good in you, not the anger. I just want you to be happy. And I fear I've done more damage than good."
Erik broke eye contact and ran a hand across his face. It was ridiculous, what Charles was saying, but how could he explain that? "Scheiße! You bloody impossible idiot," he muttered. "You haven't damaged me. You've..." He sighed. "I don't have the words. I don't know how to explain. Can't you just..." Erik vaguely gestured to his temple.
"You want me to read your mind?"
Erik shrugged his good shoulder. "It's not as if I have any secrets left."
Charles cringed inwardly. It was true. Though he'd done his best to tread carefully when he'd linked Erik and Moira, he couldn't avoid rifling around where he didn't belong, seeing things that weren't meant for him. "If you're sure..."
"Charles, just do it," Erik frustratedly beseeched him.
"Alright, alright," the telepath let his eyes drift closed and brought his fingers to his temple. He zeroed in on the thoughts Erik was pushing forward.
"Things were simpler before," he muttered out loud. But his mind spoke in far more detail, free from the constraints of language. Things were simpler before Charles waltzed into his life - everything came down to work because that meant survival. Nothing beyond that mattered. There was no spare time or energy to dwell on the past or to mourn the life he should have had. The world was small and straightforward, easy to navigate. But then came Charles and it was suddenly overflowing with new factors and variables. People, mutants, war...There was a whole new mess of things to worry about - new people to worry about when before there'd been none - and the one constant concern in his life - his livelihood - had become obsolete. In one sense, he was floundering, struggling to keep from drowning in the deep end with his comfort zone out of reach.
But all of that was overshadowed by a general - and somewhat surprised - sense of "Worth it." Because, though he may barely be keeping his head above water, he wasn't alone out there. It felt good to have other people to worry about, to have something to lose.
"Something worth fighting for," Charles murmured with a small smile before dropping his hand to his lap and letting his eyes slide open. Yes, perhaps Erik had grown a bit harder, a bit more rash. And the fierce anger that Charles could see now had always been lurking in the depths, smothered by the overpowering survival instinct, had finally surfaced and demanded to be heard. But Erik had also found a reason to live - not just survive, but really live. He had found a home. And, for Charles, that was enough to outweigh the rest.
"Ok, my friend. Let's make a compromise. For now, nothing changes. We train hard and prepare to face Shaw. But if the tide turns...if Stryker concocts reason enough to come after you, you run. I won't let that bastard take you and we can't start a war with the CIA. That would only give them cause to take us all. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough," Erik nodded and abruptly stood.
"Where are you running off to?" Charles asked, taken aback.
But Erik's naughty little smile set him at ease and sent a small shiver through him. "I'm going to see if gingers can fly."
