Note: I got back into X-Men just in time for this year's Marvel Disability Celebration (on Tumblr and AO3), which presented the perfect opportunity for my inevitable 10-years-late First Class fix-it!
I haven't rewatched Days of Future Past since it came out and never saw the subsequent movies, so this is just based on X-Men: First Class.
The description of Charles's recovery is based off of my own experiences recovering from back surgery 10+ years ago, extrapolated to suit the time period and his particular injury.
I want you by my side. We want the same thing!
My friend, I'm sorry, but we do not.
No, I'm not walking away from you, not this time.
He needs medical attention, now!
The first thing Charles is aware of is anguish - a hazy turmoil of emotions that he doesn't have the wherewithal to decipher. There's only one mind it could be.
"Your thoughts are very loud, my friend."
It's more disgruntled than fond, but the response is obvious and immediate relief and Charles can't help but agree with the sentiment. They both could have received a much less promising greeting, or worse none at all.
Charles is aware enough to know that he's been drugged, apparently quite heavily. Everything feels muted and off-kilter, but it's not enough to alleviate the pain that emanates from his middle and permeates the rest of his body with a sharp ache. He's lying in a bed, propped up by more pillows than he can count, in the middle of a darkened hospital room. The window is open and Erik stands halfway across the room, back in his usual leather jacket and black turtleneck, eyeing Charles warily.
Charles is also aware enough to know what happened - and to almost wish that he didn't.
"My answer hasn't changed," he informs Erik sternly, even as everything tilts precariously around them. "If you try to destroy the world, I will do everything in my power to stop you."
They'd destroy us first, Erik's thoughts blare, but aloud all he says is a rueful, "I know." His perpetual anger and desperation are now intermingled with powerful waves of guilt.
Suddenly, something tips over the edge, sending the world spinning on its axis, and nausea rises up from the pit of Charles's stomach. All he can find to anchor himself is a sudden thrill of fear that is not his own. There's a sharp pain and he lurches upright over a rough metal basin.
He pushes the nausea down and falls back against the pillows, his middle aching even worse than before and his forehead drenched with sweat from the effort. He is vaguely aware of the basin drifting away. Erik's fear has not abated as he bends over Charles, a hand gripping his shoulder.
"Morphine," Charles manages to croak out. "It's a normal side effect."
"You're sure it's not the CIA trying to clean up a loose end?" Erik is wide-eyed, far out of his depth. It would be endearing under any other circumstances.
"There are much easier - and less painful - ways to dispose of me, I assure you."
Charles doesn't expect the upwelling of panic and desperate anger at the suggestion. Erik's hand tightens on Charles's shoulder. I won't let them.
Charles catches Erik by the arm. "You will do nothing of the sort!"
Erik's mind rebels at the plea, You would have me watch and do nothing as they destroy you? But he says nothing. This is his doing. If Charles dies now, it will be his fault. Charles blames him.
Erik isn't wrong, but Charles doesn't let go of his arm. "Sit," he says, trying hard to maintain some semblance of authority.
It must be surprise that keeps Erik from arguing. He sits down on the edge of Charles's bed, poised to catch him if he lurches again.
"Better," Charles says, leaning back on the pillows, his eyes closed against his spinning head and badly aching body.
Beside him, Erik's half-articulated thoughts circle on, no quieter than before, Revenge. Kill. My fault. Pain. Danger. Protect. It's like a blinding beacon in a tumultuous sea. Somehow, Charles finds it comforting.
Erik's noisy thoughts, combined with the morphine, hold the pain at bay enough to allow Charles to drift back into an uneasy sleep. As he fades out of consciousness, he feels Erik's fingers gently combing through his hair.
"The doctors said your spinal cord was severed; they don't think you'll walk again," Raven says again, as though this time it will sink in.
Charles shakes his head. "They don't know everything." More loudly he says, "There's no need to be listening at the door, you can all come in."
The door peeks open and Sean, Alex, and Moira come shuffling into the hospital room, to join Raven and Erik who are already looming over his bed. Raven doesn't mind Erik - she's told Charles outright that she likes him - but the others eye him warily as they enter, Moira especially, and with good reason. It's barely been a week since he almost started World War Three.
Erik is far from innocent; he tenses the instant he sees Moira, She did this, echoing in his mind, and Charles shoots him a pointed glare.
"Hank couldn't come," Alex says by way of an awkward apology.
"Since he's still blue and furry," Sean adds.
"I see…" Charles says. "Well, it's good to see the rest of you, I was worried you'd forgotten about me. I'll be able to see Hank soon enough; you'll be pleased to hear I'll be able to rejoin you all at the manor soon."
Moira lets out a shaky breath of relief, still wracked by her own guilt. "That's good."
However, before Charles can reassure her, Alex speaks up, bolder and more impatient than Sean, but no more comfortable with the task, "Raven said… Is it true…" Is it true that you'll never walk again?
"Yes, Raven was just telling me," Charles says drily. "But I'm afraid the doctors don't know what they're up against. It's a little outside his expertise, but I'm sure Hank is already working on something to get me back on my feet."
"Like some sort of super-serum? Or an exoskeleton?" Sean exclaims. "No wonder he's been holed up in his lab!"
"I think he's busy just trying to get himself back to normal," Alex says.
"Of course," Charles says, biting back his disappointment - Hank isn't the only one who's been preoccupied with his own problems. "When I get back to the manor, we'll figure out something for both of us."
For the first time since the others' arrival, Erik speaks up from where he's been looming in the corner, "I could make something for you."
Charles can feel Erik's contrition, but whatever metal apparatus he comes up with would only be a prison.
"I think you've done enough." Charles surprises himself with his own vitriol.
Erik flinches, but Charles can only bring himself to feel so bad.
The others are staring too.
Charles quickly reassures them with a smile, and redirects the conversation, "I presume you've all been busy in my absence." He could read their minds, but it's politer to ask.
Sean shrugs, and Alex explains, "We've just been hanging around the manor, mostly. Azazel and Riptide were there too for a bit, but I guess they got tired of waiting, because they left yesterday."
Charles and Erik exchange a glance. Charles doesn't need his telepathic abilities to know Erik is thinking the same thing; it's only a matter of time before they free Emma Frost.
"I think Angel's still around," Alex continues, "but we don't see much of her."
"She's still there," Raven confirms.
Moira finally takes the opportunity to speak up - she's been holding something in since she arrived, and not just her feelings of guilt. "You should know, because of my position, I've been tasked by the CIA with keeping an eye on you."
Erik immediately tenses, primed to attack with all the metal in the building, crowded hospital or no.
"Thank you," Charles says pointedly. "And in return?"
She nods; in return she'll be their eye on the inside. "The Pentagon and the Soviets have agreed to keep what happened in Cuba quiet for now, while they try to figure out what to do."
"We saw it on the news," Sean chimes in. "They don't mention us at all. The way they told it, the ships just stopped and turned around."
"Good," Charles says.
"It's only a matter of time," Erik insists, and in his mind, the war has already begun.
Charles doesn't argue, but right now, he's still tired and woozy and in pain, and he needs that time. The others can see it too, and they soon leave to let Charles get some more rest.
Even after spending most of the ride home half-asleep against Erik's shoulder, surrounded by more little pillows than he can count, by the time they arrive at the manor, Charles is so tired that he doesn't protest at Erik leaving behind the borrowed wheelchair and just using his powers to carry him up the drive. Strange as the sensation is, at least supported by a magnetic field, there aren't any hard angles or bumps to jolt his spine, sending a sharp spasm of pain up his back and down his unfeeling legs. Charles can barely remember what it was like to feel comfortable, but weightless is close enough.
He's on the verge of drifting off again when he feels the antsy anticipation radiating from inside the manor turn to excitement as Sean sees them coming down the driveway - Charles carried by Erik, followed by Raven, who insisted on being the one to drive them. Alex and Moira quickly catch on, though Charles can feel some lingering trepidation underneath their enthusiasm. Hank is a mess of conflicted feelings that Charles can't deal with right now, and he's surprised to find Angel still hidden away in a corner of the manor, not doing much better.
Charles would be touched and maybe a little embarrassed by the welcoming party that rushes out the front doors to greet them, but he's just tired. He mostly sees it through Erik's cynical eyes, not bothering to open his own.
"He's fine," Erik says shortly, in response to the outpouring of questions that Charles isn't sure were actually asked aloud.
Erik is tired too. Charles isn't sure how much he slept at the hospital, where time seemed to lose all meaning, but it can't have been enough.
Let's go home. Charles projects it mostly at Erik, but it's intended for the others too - not that he's sure it succeeds.
Erik's small smile, which he feels rather than sees, is more than enough of a response.
Charles must doze off again as he drifts inside, because the next thing he knows, they're up in his bedroom and Erik is trying to very carefully lay him down on the bed. Charles attempts to telepathically provide a little perspective to help Erik feel what he's doing, but Charles is very tired and neither of them can feel his legs.
Eventually, Erik manages to settle him onto his back, with pillows arranged so that there isn't pressure in all the wrong places. Charles isn't used to sleeping so rigidly flat, afraid to upset the delicate balance, but now he doesn't have a choice. Everything still aches, but it's the best he's going to get.
"You could've skipped the bullet and just snipped my spinal cord and been done with it. I know you have the precision," Charles gripes because he's tired and in pain and Erik is right there - not that Charles wants him to be anywhere else.
He can feel Erik resisting the urge to rise to the bait, and the frustrated, vindictive part of Charles wants him to fail, but it quickly gets swallowed up in a torrential wave of guilt that Charles feels rising like bile in his throat, and all that comes out is a pained, "I didn't mean to!"
Charles can't even vent his frustration at that, and he wishes he could petulantly turn away from Erik, but there's only an answering twinge in his back that sends a sharp pain shooting across his abdomen.
In an instant, Erik's hand is on his shoulder, his touch hesitant lest he cause more damage, but the weight of his fears is crushing. Erik would do anything to protect Charles and would destroy anyone who hurt him, but it's his own fault that Charles ended up like this; he's the monster.
"It's fine," Charles says through gritted teeth, too tired to deal with the sudden outpouring of emotion. "The pain is just a side effect of the operation, the doctors say it should be temporary." He isn't sure which of them he's trying to reassure.
Erik registers "doctors" like "butchers" but at least it interrupts the guilt spiral for now, drawing his attention back to Charles. "Does it still hurt? Is there anything you need?" He's stiffly efficient, but it gets the message across, and Charles can feel his concern radiating through the awkwardness.
"Other than another shot of morphine?"
"I can get some," Erik says tentatively, already eyeing the door.
"No, stay." Charles grabs Erik's arm for emphasis - it's not like he could really do anything to keep him there if Erik decided to leave.
Charles feels Erik's immediate surprise. You really want me here? But he gingerly sits down on the side of the bed anyway, keeping an eye on Charles for any wince of pain as the bed shifts under him. Everything aches, but that's not new.
Charles must be tired and distracted, because he doesn't expect the cautious feeling of Erik's hand cupping his cheek. Charles has enough mobility to lean into the warm, calloused touch as Erik's fingers reach out to gently brush aside a few wayward strands of hair, oily from a couple weeks of neglect - but he'll deal with that later. He manages to tilt his head back enough without upsetting the precarious balance to convince Erik to lean over and press a cautious kiss to Charles's lips, flooding Charles with all of the feeling behind it.
Charles spends a lot of time sleeping over the next few days as his body slowly recovers. Erik rarely leaves his side, lying as close as he can get in bed without putting any pressure on Charles's back, or watching him from the chair at the side of the bed, or reading when he's sufficiently convinced there won't be a sudden change in Charles's condition.
At one point, Charles's eyes blink open to see a coin weaving between Erik's fingers that sends a jolt to the root of Charles's skull. It's only an ordinary quarter, but it's plain that Erik really is just biding his time, waiting for the next shoe to fall. Shaw may be dead, but he still wants revenge, this time on all of humanity and he's certain the time will come. However, in the meantime, he says nothing and puts the quarter aside when he sees that Charles is awake.
For now, the furthest Erik goes is to sneak downstairs to get food. Charles is kind enough not to comment on how he carefully avoids running into the others - Charles can't say he minds that Erik's presence keeps them from dropping by too much. Erik also helps Charles in and out of bed, his back still too sensitive to support a completely different kind of movement from what he's been used to for his entire life.
The first time Charles is up for a little more activity, Erik helps him out of his pajamas and into a modified chair in the bathroom, where he can lean back as Erik washes his hair and gently cleans the rest of his body - he still needs to be careful with water around the healing wound in his back. Some of the tension slowly falls away with the grime and Erik's soothing ministrations are almost enough to make Charles forget everything else.
"We should do this more often," Charles murmurs as Erik's careful, soapy touch meanders down his stomach, toward his hips - and he can tell Erik is enjoying it too.
A reflexive, flustered, Don't get used to it, wars with Erik's unending tempest of guilt and anger, always close to the surface.
Charles gives Erik a pointed frown. The tension has returned in his lower back, building toward a twinge of pain as Erik's feelings of guilt come decidedly to the fore. So much for relaxing.
Even though Charles doesn't actually have to do much, by the time he's all washed and dried, all he wants is to get back to bed.
It's not until the next day that Charles is ready to try to venture downstairs. According to Erik, it's the middle of the afternoon by the time he's fully conscious, though Charles could have sworn it was just late morning. Charles winces as even his limited attempts to change position send a sharp pain through his back and immediately, first thing in the morning, he's hit by a fresh wave of guilt from Erik.
Charles grumbles, "Can you turn that off?"
"Turn what off?" Erik retorts, though he does magnetically help Charles into a sitting position.
"I understand you feel terribly sorry, but this is difficult enough without getting bombarded by how bad you feel every time my back so much as twinges."
"What do you want me to do?" Who will you let me hurt for doing this to you?
"I just need a little peace and quiet! I know you still have that helmet you took from Shaw, maybe that would help."
Erik falters in surprise. "You wouldn't be able to tell what I'm thinking."
"Yes, that's the point."
"Or stop me."
"It's not like I've been able to stop you in my sleep - or is that why you haven't left yet?"
"No," Erik admits, and Charles is again overwhelmed by the sheer force of Erik's will to protect him, which is sweet, but a little bit beside the point.
Charles didn't really mean it seriously, but the more he thinks about it, the better the idea sounds. "Let's try it. Maybe it will make moving around easier. I can't hide in my room forever."
Still a little bit reluctant, Erik goes to fetch the helmet from the room that's technically his, not that he ever spent much time there. Only once he's back in Charles's room does he put it on, hiding most of his face behind bulky metal, and his mind blinks out entirely from Charles's awareness.
It's astonishing how much quieter it is without him. All of the guilt and anger, a tension Charles didn't even know he was holding, is gone, but in its place is an empty void. Not entirely empty; he can faintly feel the others in the far reaches of the manor, but he's gotten used to Erik's presence so that it's disorienting not having him there, as much as it's a relief.
But it works alright at first. With surprisingly little fuss, Erik helps Charles out of bed, into some slightly more presentable sweats, and into the borrowed wheelchair. The whole manor will eventually have to be refitted, and sadly he'll probably have to sleep in a room on the ground floor, but for now, Charles just lets Erik magnetically carry him downstairs.
The manor is mostly quiet, like it's been since they got back from Cuba. With their mission to stop Shaw over, it's both heartening and a little sad that everyone is still there at all. Hank is holed away in his lab, Angel has found her own little corner of the library, though Charles is surprised to find that Raven has joined her, and Sean and Alex are camped out in the living room, watching something on TV. Moira must be away at work, because she can't spend all her time supervising them.
Charles doesn't mind not having to deal with any of them right now. He's still tired and in pain and he's not sure he has anything to say. Erik takes him straight to the kitchen, which is ostensibly why he wanted to go downstairs at all, though Erik has done a perfectly fine job of bringing food up to him. Really, Charles just wants to get out of that stuffy room and maybe prepare his own lunch for once.
Erik, of course, still has to bring things down from the shelves - they're going to eventually need to figure out a system for that too - and Charles is content to let Erik wheel him around rather than trying to turn the wheels on his chair with his underdeveloped arm muscles, but he can at least make himself a sandwich, and at the moment, it feels like a hard-won accomplishment.
He's preoccupied with trying to move in the least painful way possible so that he only barely registers Hank coming up from the lab for a snack until he stops in the doorway. Charles sees it through Hank's eyes. He never trusted Erik and all his suspicions are confirmed by the sight of Erik looming over Charles in Shaw's helmet, his hand outstretched to use his magnetic powers. Before Charles can gather the wherewithal to stop him, Hank lunges at Erik, snarling.
In an instant, Erik drops the knife he had gotten for Charles and magnetically grabs Hank by the neck.
"Erik, no!" Charles isn't sure whether he shouts it aloud or telepathically, or both.
Either way, in an instant all the others come running. Sean and Alex get there first and rush to Charles's side, and he can feel them both preparing to destroy the kitchen with their abilities. Raven, in her natural blue form, and Angel rush in a second later, both ready to defend Erik like they were on the beach.
"Wait!" Charles shouts before it breaks out into all-out warfare.
Everyone freezes except for Erik, who finally lets Hank go. Thankfully his grip wasn't really too tight, just enough to keep Hank from moving in fear of making it worse.
"Thank you, Erik," Charles says pointedly.
"I wasn't the one who attacked first," Erik insists, and now Charles wishes he could hear what Erik was thinking.
"Then explain why you're wearing Shaw's helmet!" Sean says what the rest are thinking.
Charles sighs. "It was my idea."
Raven gives him a look that he doesn't need to read her mind to understand.
"Erik's thoughts are particularly loud, and so I suggested he put the helmet on for a little while to give me some peace and quiet. That's all."
Finally Hank accepts it with a shrug. "I wouldn't want to be inside his head." It still sounds a little like a snarl.
"Oh, lay off him," Raven retorts.
It's the wrong thing to say, but they've clearly been this way before, and Hank just gives her a pleading look and turns to go back to the lab, the reason he came to the kitchen forgotten. The others disperse too, each with a glance between Charles and Erik.
Only when they're all gone does Erik say, "I think you've made your point. Can I take it off now?"
"Fine," Charles says, and he finds himself surprisingly relieved by the sudden onslaught of Erik's tangled feelings.
Charles doesn't need to look up from his book. He can feel the magnetic push and pull as the quarter weaves between Erik's fingers again, and Erik's anger follows it. Charles can feel the cold metal pressing at his head, even though that wound wasn't even in his own body, and now the pressure is giving him a headache to accompany the pain in his middle.
Erik, sitting on the bed beside him, glances up as if on cue, and maybe Charles did inadvertently give him some telepathic prod. He sees Charles's pained expression and puts two and two together - almost.
"You still pity him?" Erik accuses. The quarter stills, hovering in his hand.
Charles sighs and puts his book aside. This is not the conversation he wanted to have. "I don't envy Shaw's fate. Perhaps we could have found another way."
"After everything he did? After all the people he killed?" After he killed my mother? Erik is trembling. "It was too good for him. I killed him too quickly."
"No!" The thought alone of a more drawn out, painful death is enough to send a stabbing pain through Charles's head, even though it wasn't even his own wound. "That was quite enough!"
"You don't get to say what was enough for that butcher! You don't know the half of what he did!" Erik's bitter anger is like a tempest, rising out of control, and it's all Charles can do not to get consumed by it himself.
Maybe Charles should know better, should try harder to use his words rather than his thoughts, but in that split second, it's the only way he can think to get through to Erik. He gives Erik all of it; the bright Cuban sun, the struggle against Shaw's mind, the panic as he realizes what's about to happen, his throat raw with shouting through the splitting pain, like nothing he's ever experienced before or since, not even the pain in his back. He's amazed he didn't die right there.
"You felt it," is all Erik says when it's over.
"Yes, of course, I felt it!" Charles snaps, his head aching even worse than before.
"I thought you could control his mind. I didn't realize…"
Only now does Charles notice that the tempest has died down, leaving only the familiar turmoil in its wake. The coin is gone, replaced by a metal sphere like a drop of silvery liquid in Erik's palm.
"Well, now you know." Charles pointedly opens his book and makes some effort to find where he left off. And now he knows that Erik wasn't actually trying to kill him on purpose.
After almost a month of intentionally and unintentionally avoiding each other, all of the residents of the manor somehow end up in the kitchen at the same time, each trying to pull together something for dinner. Even Moira is there after work with the latest briefing from the CIA. Charles's back is feeling much better, but his mobility is still limited by how much strain the injury can take, so he's content to remain off to the side and watch the chaos.
Instead of fighting over the small kitchen table, they all end up in the dining room for the sort of rambunctious family dinner Charles suddenly regrets he and Raven were never able to have. They've each found something different to eat, mostly an odd assortment of junk foods and TV dinners, and for the first time, Charles wonders if it might not be a bad idea to start some sort of cooking rotation.
But everyone is there. While Charles and Erik were mostly hidden away in his - really their - room, Raven, Alex, Angel, and Sean already came to a sort of truce over common spaces and chores. He's more surprised to see Hank, still blue and furry, lured out of hiding by the promise of fresh groceries. Everyone except for Erik seems to be on good terms with Moira, and, unsurprisingly, most of them are still a little wary around Erik, who can be unpredictable at the best of times.
At first everyone is just busy eating and negotiating the shared elbow room, but once everyone has settled down, Raven turns to Moira and asks the question on everyone's mind, "So? What are they going to do with us?"
The tension that had just been simmering in the background immediately comes to the fore. Charles can feel it radiating off of Erik. The war is coming.
"Officially you still don't exist. Wherever Riptide and Azazel went, they haven't been making much noise yet. I don't know everything, but I think the higher-ups aren't sure what to do with you." Moira indicates Charles and Erik in particular. "And they don't know where you are, which helps - apparently Dr. Xavier was very big on privacy?"
Charles nods.
"I've been thinking about getting a job," Raven remarks, and it's directed at Moira, though Charles knows better than to dig any deeper.
"I'm happy to help." Apparently this is something she's talked about with Moira before.
Charles is about to give a possibly ill-advised word of caution when Erik beats him to it, unable to keep silent any longer, "You're just wasting your time. It's going to be war sooner or later, what matters is that we have strength on our side."
The others balk, but Raven just retorts, "Yes, and information isn't going to help us at all."
It's not an argument Charles wants to have, but it's too late for that, and he's never been so good at keeping silent either. "There doesn't have to be a war!"
Erik glares at him like he's suggesting they all roll over and play dead.
"Not having a war sounds good," Sean pipes up.
"You think they're going to give us a choice?" Angel says. "You saw the way those soldiers looked at us. They wished they'd gotten it over with then and there."
"The officers at the CIA gave their lives trying to protect you all from Shaw," Charles reminds them, a little sharply.
Raven scoffs, "Trying to save their own skins, more like." And she's not the only one thinking it.
"Some of us would rather be part of humanity than try to take over the world!" Hank is torn between fighting with Erik and pleading with Raven.
"Be part of humanity?" she says. "It's too late for that. Just look at yourself, Hank!"
He snarls, unfortunately proving her point.
"Enough!" Charles shouts, giving it a bit of a telepathic boost for good measure. It's not entirely Erik's fault, but he gives Erik a pointed glare. "We're not deciding whether to start a war over dinner. We can figure it all out later."
"And what have you been doing all this time?" Raven demands. "We need to do something before it's too late."
"I have been recovering from a dear friend lodging a bullet in my spine." Charles turns most of his ire on Erik, because this is his fault.
At the moment, Erik sincerely wishes he had succeeded at blowing up the fleets that cornered them in Cuba and started the war already, but no one can argue with Charles about the bullet, Erik least of all.
After that, some subdued conversation resumes, but Hank stalks off back to the lab, and Charles can't bring himself to remain much longer either with the war blazing in Erik's mind.
"Thank you, Moira. And be careful, Raven," he says as Erik helps him away from the table, though he realizes now he's practically guaranteed Raven going through with her plan, however reckless it may be.
Not for the first time, Charles wishes he could get back to his room without needing Erik to magnetically carry him up, and the rooms on the ground floor are looking more and more appealing. He's tempted to have Erik put back on the helmet just for some peace and quiet, when they get back upstairs, but the truth is that this time his own mind is no more at ease, and he somehow always manages to say the wrong thing when he doesn't know what Erik is thinking - and it's important that he says the right thing here.
Instead, Charles just thanks Erik for helping him onto the bed and leans back against the pillows to try to clear his mind. He can feel Erik hovering at the bedside, angry at his own helplessness. He's wanted a war from the start. But deep down he's just afraid. Afraid of not being strong enough, afraid of destroying everything he loves.
"I don't want a war," Charles says, his voice wavering. "I'm afraid of what they'll do when they find out about us too, but a war..."
Erik sits down beside him, his arms almost encircling Charles, ready to fight for him on every battlefield, but that's not the point. Almost Erik's entire life has been a war, of course he doesn't get it.
"War would be just as bad."
Erik is ready to argue, but Charles stops him.
"I know, I wasn't there, I don't really know what it's like. I had the 'perfect' charmed life, Dr. Xavier died before I really knew him - before I found Raven - but we had plenty of money, and his old business partner, Dr. Marko, looked after us." Charles lets out a dry, humorless laugh. "Compared to what you went through, I can't imagine… But for years I lived in fear of his temper and my unpredictable stepbrother, my mother too afraid or too indifferent to do anything about it. I believed then and I still believe that there must be something better, that everyone deserves a life without fear or violence."
Something stirs deep in Erik's mind; a distant memory, soft and fuzzy around the edges that brings a dampness to his eyes he doesn't quite understand. Charles is glad Erik isn't the telepath, because he can't help but envy what Erik's childhood must have been like before the war took it all away.
"We'll make a world where they can!" Erik insists when he finds his voice again.
"Are you sure that's the world you'd be creating? And what about all the lives you'd take along the way?"
Years of torment and brainwashing at Shaw's hands come rushing back until all that's left is bitter cynicism. "What if that's what we are? Like Frankenstein's monster, only capable of destruction? Like Homo sapiens and the neanderthal?"
Charles shakes his head. "When was the last time you read Frankenstein? The creature only killed because it was alone, because Frankenstein refused to create another. And of course he refused because the creature had already demonstrated a penchant for violence. We may be like Homo sapiens and Homo neanderthalensis, but thankfully we are thinking creatures that do not need to bow to the whims of evolution and can learn from mistakes of the past."
"When they come, I will not lie down and let them take us away."
"I know. I don't expect you to. But maybe we can avoid that necessity entirely. We have to try at least, for mutantkind as well as the rest of humanity."
Erik is far from convinced, but this time, it almost seems like he wishes Charles was right.
"Raven is right, Shaw may be gone, but I'm afraid our troubles are far from over."
Charles has gathered all of the residents of the manor in the living room. It's just the mutants, without Moira this time. To his amazement, they all came, even Hank, lurking uncomfortably in the corner.
It's about time. Erik has never stopped being ready, and he's not alone, but Charles senses some trepidation too.
"I won't lie to you," Charles continues, "it won't be easy. I wish I could say that people will respond rationally and without prejudice when our existence comes to light, and I am certain that some will, but I fear many will not. If you want to leave now, there will be no hard feelings."
For a moment there is silence, a tension that Charles, at least, can feel hovering in the room.
And then Hank grumbles, "Where else could we go?"
"It's not like I had much of a life before," Sean chimes in, and the tension breaks.
Raven smiles. "I'm in."
A wave of agreement from the others follows. Even Erik, for the moment, is satisfied.
"Good," Charles says. "Then it's about time we got back to work."
Whatever Erik may still feel, they're not preparing for war. Their new enemy is a much more nebulous one that can't be defeated with Alex's lasers, or Sean's scream, or even Charles's telepathy. However, it's the only way Charles can think to begin to prepare over the months that follow. First, they can refine their abilities, sharpen their control, and then they can face the world. If nothing else, it gives everyone a chance to let off a little steam, and at least that way they'll have less of a chance of accidentally destroying things when the time comes.
Meanwhile, with Moira's help, Raven is quickly on her way to giving them another agent inside the government. Even Hank puts aside his work on the serum and lets Charles and Erik into the lab to discuss some defenses for the manor and the possibility of building a second Cerebro to help them find other mutants.
Charles has his own training to do too, not just pushing the limits of his mental abilities, but the slow, painful process of regaining the muscle he lost in the weeks he spent mostly immobilized and training new muscles he never knew he would need just to move around. He also oversees the necessary renovations to the manor and to set up their new bedroom on the ground floor, because he's not going to rely on Erik to do everything for him forever.
This latest exercise is ostensibly to improve his agility. Charles clutches one of the large, weighted balls he's been using to train his muscles, his other hand on the wheel of his new chair. Hank looms in front of him, his arms and legs spread out, ready to block any move Charles could make - his transformation really has unlocked his mutant abilities.
Charles jerks the wheel backward, giving him just enough space to throw his weight onto the other wheel for a sharp turn and toss the ball narrowly past Hank. Charles feels it the instant Hank's acute reflexes react, and throws the ball hard the other way, around Hank's other side, into the goal.
Charles cheers as it hits the net.
"Good game," he says, still panting from the effort. He holds out a hand to Hank, who awkwardly shakes it, still uncomfortable with his new form, but less so with each passing day.
Charles tosses a towel to Hank and grabs one for himself to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his heart still pounding from his victory. Only when Hank suddenly tenses does Charles notice Erik standing in the doorway of the repurposed bunker beneath the manor. Erik is wearing Shaw's helmet, and however hard he tries, Charles can barely tell he's there, though he'd swear there's something smug about his slow applause.
"You should be more careful with that chair. I won't always be able to catch you," Erik says.
Charles motions for Hank to stand down - the helmet is just another training exercise - but as hard as he tries to focus he still can't tell what Erik is thinking about, or even what he's feeling. Finally, Erik takes off the helmet, and Charles lets out a breath of relief as he feels the familiar rush of emotion.
"One day, my friend, I'll be able to tell what you're thinking under there," Charles says, but he can feel Erik's skepticism.
"If only we could get a better understanding of its structure," Hank says, eyeing the helmet rather than Erik for a change.
Charles is almost as surprised as Hank when Erik tosses him the helmet. It takes an unnaturally long, slow arc, but Hank only barely catches it. He grunts an uncertain thank you, before quickly retreating to his lab already contemplating the helmet.
Charles smiles at Erik, but makes no comment. Instead he offers Erik the ball. "You're sure you don't want to play? If everyone joined in, we would even have enough for a casual game of football."
Erik gives him a look, the ball hovering a few inches from his palm. "Football?"
"It might be a good exercise to foster teamwork, and it's important to train our bodies as well as our powers." Charles hesitates. "It's funny, I never was an athlete; I never had much interest in sports at all before, but now it's, well, liberating discovering how much I can do."
Erik lets the ball fall into his hand, feeling its solid heft rather than the magnetic pull. It's heavier than he expected. Quietly, he says, "I don't think I ever played football, but there was some game…"
Charles doesn't pry, he just gets a glimpse of a distant, hazy memory of children laughing and tossing around a makeshift ball. It's one of many memories that have been resurfacing lately and Charles is familiar with the rush of complicated emotions that follows.
Erik pushes it all aside with sardonic levity, "Is that the plan? Start a mutant football team?"
"That's not a bad idea, but I'm afraid the mutants of the world will need a little more than some good PR. I spent my whole life working so hard to blend in, but that's not possible any more and maybe it's not such a bad thing. There are a lot of mutants out there who are going to need someone to turn to."
"You're ready to take on a new class, Professor?"
"Oh no, they're your students as much as mine!"
Charles can feel Erik's uncertainty. "You may not like what I have to teach them."
"I trust you." Charles rests a reassuring hand on Erik's arm. "And we each have important lessons to teach. I certainly couldn't do it all on my own."
Erik isn't sure what to do with the concession, but Charles can tell he appreciates it. Finally, he replies gruffly, "You don't have to."
And then Erik bends over and catches Charles by surprise with a kiss.