Chapter 11
Mansion
Charles exhaled. His labored breath dissipated like the Blackbird's exhaust in the horizon.
"God speed," Charles said to the departed Blue Team.
To himself.
The hangar felt twice as large without the Blackbird. Charles, twice as small.
He turned around. The smooth hum of his hover chair reverberated through the cavernous, vacant hangar like a bee buzzing past a microphone.
Charles boarded the Subbasement elevator. Its sparkling, crystal blue doors shut behind him. Not a smudge, speck of dirt, or even a fingerprint in sight.
The elevator ascended to his study. The brief ride was so gentle that if he shut his eyes, he wouldn't even realize he was moving. Let alone rising.
The Mansion was so clean and efficient. So numbingly polished. So…sterile.
Charles exited the elevator into his study and hovered to his desk, dimly lit by one shaded lamp. Everywhere he looked, there was his name. On the door to his study. His plate on his desk. Even the front entrance had his name, emboldened on the gate.
Charles Xavier was a brand. A tool for marketing. For persuasion.
Charles slumped down in his chair. He caught a glimpse of a picture framed on his desk. A picture of his family. The X-Men.
He rested his head in his hand, his vision shrouded by his sweaty palm. And there, hidden, he tried to avoid the picture frame. The photo was like an infant calling out to him, wiggling imaginary fingers and toes for Charles to pick him up in his arms and embrace him.
Charles reached for the photo. The very one he had stared at with such pride for so many years. Generations of students all gathered in one picture. His legacy. That picture was as much Charles Xavier as the Mansion itself.
Charles adjusted the cuff of his carnation white shirt under his tan blazer. He hated when his shirt wasn't neatly trimmed to his wrists. His baggy sleeve hung out his blazer as he meticulously tucked it in. It suddenly felt like his clothes were two sizes too big.
He felt even smaller than he did in the hangar.
"How do you do it?" Charles asked, longingly, to the photo.
A better question perhaps, why?
Charles had been a soldier once too. He knew what it was like to be given orders. And, more pressingly, knew what it was like to be expected to carry out orders.
Following them wasn't enough for the military. Charles was expected to succeed. Get the job done no matter what. It was more than a motto. More than orders. It was a culture.
Whether that meant life or death, innocents or the guilty, he had to follow orders and see that they were accomplished.
But the thing was, even then, especially then, Charles didn't like being told what to do. What to think. How to think.
The cruelty and barbarism of the military was all around him. It was a straightjacket for the asylum of war, and he spent his life's work since then trying to convince everyone, himself most of all, that humanity is not mad.
People are, all things considered, fundamentally good. Charles believed that. He fought for that and would continue to do so until his last breath and maybe beyond.
Charles rubbed his temple with his free hand.
But how could he ask the same of his X-Men? They were students, first and foremost. They came to him to learn how to function in society with their, at times, debilitating mutant conditions.
He did not recruit them to be soldiers expected to carry out his orders.
Charles gazed deeply at the photo.
Scott. Jean. Ororo. Logan. Henry. Emma. Anna. Remy. Kurt. Peter. Kitty. Lucas. Warren. Robert. Jubilation. Elizabeth. Charles.
All seventeen, assembled on the front lawn like a nineteenth century baseball team at the start of spring training. Frozen forever, together.
His sixteen X-Men were so very brave. The Blue team had rushed off to Chile without batting an eye. As Charles dawdled in his study, the Gold team was in the Danger Room preparing, waiting anxiously for the Blue team's return so they could start their own mission.
They were so faithful and trusting to his dream. But, were the situation reversed, would Charles be an X-Man?
Would he submit to the orders and dreams of another? He liked to think he would. His X-Men were kindred spirits. They shared common values and dreams. Had circumstances been different and say Charles and Logan swapped lives, had Logan been born an Xavier and Charles been hardened by war, would Charles listen to someone else?
Charles delicately returned the photo to its place on his desk as if it might shatter if he moved too fast.
So many others had tried to court Charles to their way of thinking to no avail. Magnus, En Sabah Nur, Essex, Cassandra, and now Exodus. They each had their own philosophies and dreams as radical as many viewed Charles'.
And to each, Charles turned a blind eye and deaf ear. They were all wrong of course. For Charles, his vision, his version of peaceful coexistence was the only way.
The truth was, deep down, Charles Xavier simply didn't believe in being a follower. He was a born leader. A scholarly mind driven by a rebellious heart. He didn't look like Gambit or Wolverine but he was far more defiant than both combined.
In politics, in love, Charles had to be in control. Moira. Gabby. Amelia… It had to be his way. On his terms. As unruly as Gambit and Wolverine were, they were pliant. They had the capacity to listen. To learn. To grow. Whether either was aware or not.
But Charles….he stopped changing a long time ago. Long before Lucifer did what he did to his legs.
His loyal X-Men were everything Charles wasn't. And now, now he had the awful task of asking them to defeat a man who embodied everything Charles preached and everything Charles personally opposed.
Exodus, perhaps more so than even Scott and Jean, believed in Xavier. Not Charles. He believed in the Xavier brand. Charles could feel it in the glacial confidence in Exodus' voice. He wasn't persuading or threatening the X-Men of his plans. He declared them, as if to say the sky will be blue in seven days.
Exodus' level of faith was truly frightening. That blind faith that the world would be a better place if it was populated exclusively by X-Men and X-Men culture made Charles' insides roil. Exodus was willing to put the X-Men in a position to finally succeed…by desecrating their most sacred principal. The inarguable value of human life.
Charles backed away from his desk. He glided toward the windows in his study and drew the half shut blinds all the way closed.
Charles had killed before. Most of his students had as well. All for a greater good, they told themselves. Because they had to, they would rationalize.
Much like Exodus himself said.
And like Exodus, there was now only one option left. One sickening option to stop Exodus that went against everything Charles believed in.
"…I wish there was another way…" Charles lamented.
Charles closed his eyes. He placed two fingers on each temple.
His astral form ebbed from his physical husk. He telepathically descended into the recesses of his own mind until reaching a small, knee high door.
"Forgive me now for what I do, but my students must have this information. I accept responsibility for the cost," Charles sighed.
An astral key manifested in Charles' hand. He reached forward with it, placing it in the tiny, unassuming door's lock.
Charles gently made the sign of the cross over his forehead, heart, and shoulders.
He twisted the lock.
"Charles…."
The small door dematerialized. Charles didn't flinch.
"Oh, Charles…haven't you brought enough pain into the world?"
"You are at your discretion to mock me. I have earned that. But for the good of the entire human race, I am in need of information only you possess, Onslaught," Charles said.
Onslaught appeared before Charles. His ghoulish, transparent image stared back at Charles.
"I only know what you know, Charles," Onslaught grinned.
"Indeed, as well as what Magnus knows, up to your point of divergence. I am in desperate need of insight into Magnus' former charge, Exodus, before it is too late," Charles said.
"And you would prefer to risk trying to control me than ask Magneto himself?" Onslaught's grin widened.
"Make no mistake. I have freed you in my mind, but you are still a prisoner here," Charles said.
"If that is what you choose to believe, Charles," Onslaught said.
"My beliefs are irreverent. The fact of the matter is your physical form was destroyed long ago. You have no recourse for escape," Charles said. His voice, harsh and stern. Begging, in Charles' proud way, for Onslaught to submit.
Onslaught tilted his head, examining Charles closer.
"I see now…This all frightens you, does it not?" Onslaught said.
"Exodus plots to exterminate all of humanity if we do not stop him. Even the notion of such an act is frightening," Charles said.
"No. Not that. Be honest with yourself, dear Charles. After all, no one else is here but you," Onslaught said.
"I fail to see what you are getting at," Charles said.
"Not knowing terrifies you. It's not his intentions. Not knowing who he is, why he is, and what he is capable of horrifies you," Onslaught said.
"…Magnus recruited Exodus. Aside from Fabian Cortez, Magnus would know the most about Exodus' powers, weaknesses, and motives. That information will mean the difference between life and death in the coming struggle. I have given you the platform to taunt and torment me for the rest of my days. But we are both full aware you will help me, for the simple fact that your only pleasure imprisoned here will be to torture me. Something you will be unable to do should we all be killed fighting Exodus. So in your own best interest, tell me what I need to know and be quick about it. Thank you," Charles said.
"Ah, that is the Charles Xavier I have known and loved. Arrogant and defiant against all odds and logic," Onslaught said.
"You bore me with your trite games, creature. I expected more, honestly," Charles said.
"I play no games. Remember, Charles, I'm only half you," Onslaught said.
Onslaught waved his hand. An apparition of Amelia Vought appeared.
"You fear Magneto, my other half. Understandably so. But why do you run, a second time, from Amelia? She worked intimately with Exodus for years. Wouldn't one logically contact her instead of voluntarily punishing oneself?" Onslaught said.
Charles tightened his brow.
"…Amelia is the field leader of the Acolytes. It is my concern that if Exodus is indeed acting alone, I would prefer the Acolytes and Magnus be kept in the dark for fear of them joining or mimicking him. Exodus is a threat that will require the efforts of all the X-Men, and perhaps more. We cannot risk triggering a war with the Acolytes and Magnus as well," Charles said.
"Your concern, Charles, is that you cannot control her. And if you cannot control someone, you do not trust them. If they are not your little flock of indoctrinated X-Men sheep then you want nothing to do with them. My goodness, Charles, you've already been living inside Exodus' utopia for quite some time," Onslaught said.
"That is an absurd distortion of reality," Charles quickly, maybe too quickly, retorted.
"Admit it, Charles…" Onslaught ghosted an inch closer to Charles, "…Admit it and the information is yours."
"I have no reservations admitting my shortcomings. Believe me. I am guilty of many. But the fallacy in your argument is multitude. For years I have had a working relationship with President Kelly, a man and legislation that I bear no influence or control over," Charles said.
"And how many times have you subverted that same government when you disagreed with their policies? How many laws have you willfully asked your X-Men to break in order to stop the Mutant Registration Act, for example?" Onslaught said.
He drifted another inch closer. Charles stepped back.
"That is an inane comparison! The X-Men acted only in the interest of the greater good for both mutant and humankind!" Charles shouted.
"And your greater good, Charles, is that the only greater good?" Onslaught said.
"What do you wish me to say creature? Tell me. That I have been unethical? Immoral? Amoral? Hypocritical? What do you want to hear? That I am no different than Magnus, Sinister, Apocalypse, and now Exodus?"
Charles stepped forward until his astral form was indistinguishable from Onslaught's.
"I freely admit then, here and now, I have been all those things! I carry no delusions of who I am and what I have done on this Earth. No one need tell me the lies I have told, half-truths I have spun, laws I have broken, and crimes I have committed. Those sins I take with me to my grave and into the next world. And I apologize! I apologize for all of it!
But hear me creature, I have been all those things, but I am NOT those things! That is what separates me from those we are destined to oppose. I have made many mistakes, but I do not hide behind my intentions to justify my outcomes like Magnus or Apocalypse. Everything I have done, right or wrong, good, bad, or indifferent, was always and exclusively to preserve and promote life. Have I failed along the way? Yes, time and time again. And I do not rationalize that. I do not excuse that.
I have tried to learn from each failure and find better ways to achieve our goals. Our enemies frighten me, yes, because they are unwilling to change. I am an extreme control freak, as Jubilation would put it, I admit to that. And to be honest, there are many days, too many… I linger in bed, wondering if things would be better if I didn't face the world today. If I wasn't here. If I've caused more hurt than healing in life. But I never linger too long. Do you know why, creature? Because at the very least, the one redeeming factor that gets me out of bed and gives me the strength to face each day is that I am aware of who I am. I know who I am and what I've done and that I still have more to grow.
I am not bound to my chair, this mansion, or my past failures. I learn from my students every day, more so than I ever taught them. I may never be the person I wish to be. I may always be an old, unethical hypocrite, but I also know I am an old, unethical hypocrite who isn't afraid to keep growing.
'Professor' Xavier is a misnomer, for I will always be a student. I accept that I do not have all the answers. If I didn't believe that, then yes, Onslaught, I would agree with you. I would be no different from our enemies. But I am different. And it will always be that way. It is your prerogative to torment me as you see fit, but I would recommend a different approach. I will never admit to a lie," Charles said.
"Oh, Charles, Charles, Charles…" Onslaught grinned, "…We shall have so very much fun together."
Onslaught's astral form passed through Charles.
"Exodus was born a man, Bennet Du Paris, in twelfth century France. He was a powerful mutant recruited by Apocalypse, much the same way as your charge, Warren Worthington was once upon a time. Apocalypse transformed Bennet into the formidable Exodus and further potentiated his already vast abilities. But when Exodus rebelled against his master, Apocalypse stripped Exodus of much of his power and sealed him away, eventually freed by Magneto," Onslaught said.
"Apocalypse? That would explain the startling array of powers Exodus demonstrated on Genosha," Charles said.
"Judging by Exodus' most recent display of power, he has somehow regained the full scope of his powers. He is capable of advanced telepathy that dwarfs your own, telekinesis far surpassing any of the Greys, teleportation and healing abilities so beyond Nightcrawler and Wolverine that they render the two X-Men virtual infants, and immortality," Onslaught said.
Charles cleared his throat.
"…An impressive gamut of powers, certainly. But now we at the very least have an idea what to prepare for and how. I must relay all this to the Gold Team, it might prove invaluable in defeating him," Charles said.
"Of course, that is why I have already telepathically uploaded the data on Exodus to Cerebro and the Danger Room," Onslaught said.
"That wouldn't be possible," Charles stammered.
Onslaught laughed.
"As I said, Charles. You and I are going to have a lot of fun together."