{Author's Note: So . . . I saw Dark Phoenix, . . . and I was pretty disappointed. But the fact that we got James Corden's Star Tour of London with some of the cast members out of it, might have made the whole movie worth it. If you care to know my thoughts on the movie, read the end note. But DON'T read it if you want to avoid spoilers. I stay pretty vague, but still. Also, I'll just say, if you haven't seen the movie yet, considering certain choices Charles and Jean make in it, this chapter is kind of ironic (and obviously not canon), but I had it planned for quite some time, so I wasn't about to change it. }
ERIK POV
Erik found Pietro in Alex's old room, just as Charles said he would. He lay on the bed with his back to the door and to where Alex sat with a book in hand, raised as if he were reading it, but there was a glazed look in his eyes that made Erik pretty sure that if he asked him what had happened in the last few pages, Alex would have had no clue.
Alex didn't notice him right away, but when Erik shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the younger man looked up to meet Erik's gaze.
Erik imagined that he looked pretty pathetic—tearstained and disheveled—but not an ounce of him cared.
Without a word, Alex set the book down, rose to his feet, and came over to Erik. Together, they stepped into the hallway, leaving the door cracked, so that Pietro's motionless form could still be seen.
"I don't think he's asleep." Alex said quietly to the other man. "But he won't talk to me. He hasn't said a word since . . . it happened. I think I got most of the blood off of him . . . And I tried to get him to eat, but he won't even take water. He's . . . pretty traumatized."
Teeth clenched together, Erik nodded, taking this all in, while still processing everything else too . . . another one of his daughters was dead, another daughter was gone somewhere with someone likely even more dangerous than himself, his last daughter was heartbroken, and his son . . . his son would probably never be the same.
"Thank you, Alex. For" Erik's voice caught, "looking after him."
Alex raised his hand as if to pat Erik on the shoulder but he seemed unsure if it would be welcome—to be honest, Erik was so numb to the world that he probably wouldn't have even felt it—so, in the end after it hovered awkwardly for a moment he lowered it back to his side.
"Any time, Erik. Any time. He's like, another little brother to me." Alex said and Erik could tell he meant it. He'd spent three months in captivity with the boy after all, which was more time than even Erik had spent with Pietro now that he thought about it. And wasn't that pathetic on Erik's part?
Erik nodded again, or at least he attempted to jerk his head in the customary motion, but everything, even that simple movement, felt so difficult that he wasn't sure he really moved at all.
"Don't go far, please. I'm going to try to talk to him, but I have to—there's some things I'm going to have to take care of, and I don't want to leave him alone. I need to talk to Charles again and—and"
Erik wasn't sure what more to say, but apparently Alex didn't need to hear anything more.
"Don't worry. I'll just run to the kitchen and grab some food again to see if he'll eat something now that some time has passed. I'll be back in five."
And with that, Alex strode past Erik leaving him hovering alone in the doorway.
After a few more seconds of hesitation, Erik entered the room, making his way around to the other side of the bed. Once there, he kneeled down in front of his son. The hard wood floor sent a shot of pain up his knee, but it was nothing, nothing, compared to the other kind of pain he felt, and less than nothing to what he imagined Pietro had been feeling since the moment the bullet pierced Wanda's skin.
As he expected, when Erik looked down at Pietro's face, he found his son awake. Pietro's eyes met Erik's own, reflecting a world of pain so great that it seemed unfathomable on a face so young. Erik had never seen Pietro look so shattered. Even in the aftermath of the facility, there was more life in his eyes then than Erik saw there now.
They stared at each for probably a solid minute, Erik kneeling next to the bed, and Pietro, knees pulled up nearly to his chest, arms across his stomach as if clutching a non-existent wound.
Surprisingly, it was Pietro who broke the silence, his voice a mere whisper. "It hurts. It hurts so much. I—I can't breathe. I can't feel her."
Erik reached out and took one of Pietro's hands, holding it between his own larger ones. It was another small reminder of how young his son still was. How young Wanda was.
"I know. . . It's not fair. Wanda should still be here. She didn't deserve to die, and you don't deserve this pain. . . . It shouldn't have happened at all, but it did. I'm sorry."
"I can't live like this, Dad. I can't live without her. I—I can't. I can't do it. Ican'tIcan'tIcan't."
"You have to, Pietro." Said Erik, squeezing his son's hand a little more tightly, a little more desperately. "It's . . . it's going to be difficult. You're going to be in a lot of pain for a very long time, and that pain will never completely go away. I wish I could take it from you. I wish I could bring her back. I wish I could make everything better, but I can't. But you can't follow her. One day you will, when I'm long-gone and you've lived a full-life. Wanda would want that for you, Pietro. She would want you to keep going on. Not moving on. You can't move on from something like this. It'll be—she'll be with you forever, but you have to keep living. Please Pietro. Peter. I need you to understand that."
"I—I can't." Pietro answered through a sob as he pulled his hand from his father's grasp to cover his face. "It's too hard."
"Pietro . . ." Erik reached out to his son again, whether to hug him or just place a comforting hand on his shoulder, Erik wasn't sure, he just wanted to ground him. To help him stay in this world and not retreat into the dark chasms lurking within his mind.
But before he could make contact, Pietro pulled away rolling onto his other side, so that his back was to Erik again.
"Please just go."
It was Erik's turn to put his face in his hands. Erik couldn't handle this. How was he supposed to protect his remaining children if he couldn't even help Pietro through his grief, if he couldn't keep his son from possibly hurting himself or worse. He didn't know how to do this—how to be there for Pietro and for Nina, and look for his oldest daughter and a seemingly all-powerful mutant, and deal with his own grief.
He couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough.
Erik took a shaky breath and lowered his hands. "Alex is bringing up some food. Please try to eat something, Pietro." Erik reached out and ran a hand through his son's hair. The boy didn't react, but at least he didn't pull away. "I'll be back."
Pietro didn't respond, not even when Erik grabbed a quilt from the end of the bed and laid it gently over the boy, but he did grab the fabric, clutching it tightly until his knuckles turned white.
With one last glance at his son, who looked so small curled up on the large bed under the quilt, Erik left the room. He found Alex just outside, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, a box of Twinkies, a small carton of milk, and a random assortment of items from a bowl of soup to a cup of pudding on a tray next to him. He looked up at the sound of Erik's footsteps, and then rose to his feet grabbing the tray as he did so.
"I thought I'd try a little of everything this time. Before, Hank had brought up what they had for dinner, but the kid wasn't exactly in a grilled branzino mood."
"No. I would think not. Thank you again, Alex."
"It's like I said, Erik. He's family." And this time, balancing the tray in one arm, he did clap Erik's shoulder for just a moment before he headed back into the dark room . . . that Erik knew was full of even darker thoughts.
Charles was waiting for him in his office this time. There was a sympathetic look on his face that, while Erik knew was genuine, he could barely stand to look at.
"I know what you are going to ask, Erik. You're projecting . . . quite a lot. But you know I can't do what you would ask of me."
"And why not?! You took away Moira's memories! You can take Pietro's too! Not-not all of them. Not forever. Just for a-a little while."
"Erik, I know you have the best intentions . . . but you wouldn't ask this if you were thinking clearly, and even if I attempted to do what you are asking, there's no guarantee that the effects would not be permanent. I've never attempted to restore Moira's memories. It's possible that I wouldn't even be able to if I tried. I know you are worried about your son, but—"
Erik slammed both fists down on Charles' desk, and to his credit, Charles managed not to flinch. "Yes I'm worried about him! You know I would never ask this of you, would never want you to do this, if it weren't absolutely imperative. You're a telepath, Charles. You of all people know what he is thinking. Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll drop it."
"I've told you before, Erik, Peter's mind is whirlwind. It's . . . it's impossible to pick up distinct thoughts." Charles replied uneasily.
"But you know enough! I know you do. He does not want to go on. Once the initial shock of Wanda's death fades . . . He'll—he will . . ." Erik trailed off, not quite managing to voice his fear. "He doesn't want to live in a world without Wanda. He said as much to me out loud. You know what he'll try to do. Do. Not. Pretend. Otherwise."
Deflecting Charles replied, "We will all keep an eye on him, Erik. No one is going to let that happen."
"There is no keeping an eye on him, Charles! Not truly. If he wants to end it, he could do so in a flash without us being able to do anything to stop him! And right now, I can't make him see beyond his grief. Please, Charles. Please. I am begging you.I can't be there for him and Nina and look for my—for Lorna and deal with a potential apocalypse and—and" bury another daughter. I can't. I can't do it again.
Erik, my friend. You don't have to do all that alone. I know I do not know what it is to lose a child, but I'm here for you. And Alex, Hank . . . I believe even Raven will be too.
"Then do this for me." Erik growled out. "Suppress his knowledge of her death until I can help him without distraction."
"I'm sorry, Erik. But I won't do it. You know it wouldn't be right."
At his words, Erik realized there would be no persuading Charles. So he turned on his heel, wrenching the study door open and slamming it behind him with his powers, so forcefully that it broke one of the hinges. He heard Charles call after him, but Erik didn't turn back. Instead, he marched to his room, walking as if on autopilot. He wasn't ready to face Pietro so soon again. Or speak with Nina. And he couldn't stand the thought of looking at Wanda's dead body anymore. But he needed to do something.
He didn't know what made him think of it. But the moment he did, he grabbed his helmet from where it had been hidden in the bottom drawer of the dresser, and immediately placed it on his head. He wasn't going to risk Charles finding out about what he was planning to do, if he happened to be paying attention.
Because Erik had just made a stunning realization. Charles wasn't the only telepath in the world. He wasn't even the only telepath in the building. There was another, just down the hall, in the form of a fiery-haired teenager.
JEAN POV
She shouldn't do it. It was wrong. It was wrong for Erik—for Magneto—to even ask it of her. . . .
But it felt like he was dying. It felt like she was dying. Jean just wanted the thoughts to stop, or the feelings really, since grasping at any single thought of his was like trying to save a kite from a tornado.
And yet . . . the thoughts (or feelings) were all consuming. Suffocating.
If Jean could barely carry on like this, then how could Peter?
And it wasn't just his thoughts and feelings, it was everyone's. The anguish of everyone who cared about Wanda—Peter, Mila, Nina, Charles, Hank, Jubilee, Erik (and those were just the main ones)—was crushing. And then there was her own grief too. Because even though they hadn't known each other for very long, they were—they had been—friends, hadn't they? And she didn't have many of those, so to lose one . . .
It was all too much. The emotions threatened to pull her under into a dark abyss. To a place she hadn't been since her parents' death (murder). And if she fell into that place, her powers would be the only thing to pull her out of it, but in doing so, who knew how many others she'd throw into the dark on her way out?
This was the lesser risk; the only way forward.
Compared to what she was about to do, it was easy to get in Peter's room and get Alex to leave them alone together. She'd just told him that Erik had asked her to give him a break. She'd watch over Peter for a bit. It had taken a bit of coaxing, but in the end, Alex was exhausted and she'd convinced him that she was just as capable—if not more so given her powers—of looking after Peter.
But when Alex had left, Jean still stood there frozen, staring at Peter's sleeping form.
She was scared. Scared of herself. Scared for Peter. But she had to do this, and she had to act now because Peter's thoughts—even in sleep—were just as dark, if not darker, than the most terrifying corners of her own mind, and they were growing darker.
Jean could do this. She had to do this. If she was being honest with herself, maybe she would have done it even if Erik hadn't asked her too. But, maybe not, because the thought had not crossed her mind.
She had thought to leave. To run from this place and its desolation. To just escape it all. But where would she go? This place had been her home for too long now. There was no place to run. Her parents were long dead. Now, so was Wanda, and she didn't want Peter to join them.
Besides, even if she left, the grief—at least her own—and her propensity to self-destruct would only follow her.
And Peter's . . . well, it felt like there was no escaping his grief either.
No. This was better for both of them, for Erik too. As he had said, it wasn't for forever. Just for a little while. . . . She could do that, she . . . she had to believe that she could do that because—because . . . she'd already lost too many people, and it seemed, that so had Peter.
Jean refused to lose one more person, be it because of her action or inaction. She wasn't about to let the darkness take over her, and . . . she wouldn't let Peter's darkness take him either. Because life had taught Jean an important lesson long ago—even she wasn't powerful enough to bring back the dead.
{Author's Note: Right, so as I said in the beginning note. I was disappointed with Dark Phoenix. Clearly, I was not consulted on the movie because there was zero dadneto content, and Quicksilver barely got any screen time, so that was a major missed opportunity in my opinion. Also, the trailer gave a lot away as far as a certain person's fate, which I knew going in, but still thought it was kind of an odd choice to put in the trailer. Also, It seemed like they put all of their money into the space/alien effects, so they didn't have the budget to do a big Quicksilver scene, but that's just my speculation. I will say that I didn't mind the action scenes, I guess. I kept thinking of the movie Train to Busan during the train scene, so that was unexpected. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now because, will I still go see the next X-Men movie that is inevitably made? Yes, I will. But maybe the next one will be better with the rights changing hands.}