Disclaimer: I do not own Charles Xavier or anyone else in this story. They belong to Fox and Marvel. I'm making no money from writing about them. Oh, and I think I stole the name of Stryker's wife from Neva, but I don't think she'll mind too much.
Author's Note: Written for Penknife as part of the X-Men movieverse ficathon. Thanks to all of those who helped me situate Stryker's accent geographically. This story was influenced, albeit obliquely, by comicverse canon.
By The Dawn's Early Light
By Andraste
Charles Xavier hadn't expected one of the defining moments in his of his life to occur in a living room in suburban Charleston, while he was drinking a cup of weak and overly sweet tea with people he barely knew. But then, the day had been full of surprises.
"Would you like another cookie, professor?" Karen Stryker asked, breaking the awkward silence and trying to cover her nerves with a brittle smile.
Charles shook his head; he had only taken the first one to be polite and it wasn't sitting easily in his stomach. The disturbing feeling that he'd been ambushed had not yet begun to fade.
"Then I'll just go and clean up, leave you boys to talk," the woman said, scooping up the plate and cups onto the tray and departing for the kitchen. She closed the door behind her, and Charles was at last left alone with her husband.
"I don't need to read your mind to figure out that you're pissed off with me, professor. So why don't we just lay our cards on the table? I need your help, and I think you could use some of mine."
William Stryker was usually direct - or, so Charles had assumed before today. He had been introduced to the man by his friend Peter Corbeau, a NASA scientist who liaised with the Department of Defence from time to time. Peter had noticed their mutual interest in mutants and innocently arranged a meeting, which Charles had found interesting if unsettling. He had resisted the temptation to poke around inside Stryker's mind, but even his surface thoughts provided confirmation that the military was indeed using mutants as agents.
Charles had assumed that, like many in the military, Stryker had known about the existance of mutants for many years before the general public became aware of them. He had long suspected that the government and its various agencies liked to employ the genetically gifted when it suited them. His investigations into Stryker's work had turned up several operatives with unusual records - and Charles had foolishly looked no further than that before accepting an invitation to visit him at home. He had assumed that Stryker was interested in recruiting him; and perhaps he was.
He'd just had no idea what for.
"When you invited me here," Charles said, "you said that you wanted to discuss certain matters that were best not spoken of in Washington, where we might be observed. I had no idea that you - wanted me to meet your family."
He was beginning to think that it had been a mistake to come here without reading Stryker's mind thoroughly first, unethical as that would have been. He sensed no hostility from him now, but he was all too aware that he was in a potentially vulnerable position.
If he'd read the man's mind, Charles wouldn't have been so obviously surprised when Karen Stryker began babbling about her son's 'condition' and saying how glad she was that he'd agreed to help them all. The images he'd sensed from her without even trying had been enough to disturb and as unsettle him.
"I did invite you here so we could talk in private, Xavier. You think I want anyone in Washington to find out about Jason?"
"So they don't know?"
Stryker snorted, getting out of his chair and strolling over to the liquor cabinet. "You think I'm going to tell the people I work with that my own kid is a dangerous mutant?"
"I can understand why you would want to keep his abilities a secret from the rest of the military; but I'm not sure what you expect me to do. I'm just a psychology professor with a passing interest in human genetic mutation, and its potential effect on the brain."
"That's not what I've heard - professor. I have contacts who tell me you were a 'close associate' of Erik Lensherr before he decided it was a good idea to skip the country."
Charles nodded cautiously. "Yes, that is true. I imagine its common knowledge among the various security agencies that we were - associated for a long time." There wasn't much point denying it, although he had made sure that the FBI didn't know any of the important details. "I admit that my interest in mutants has it roots there."
"But you don't share his beliefs?" Styker asked, pouring two glasses of whisky.
Charles was about to protest that it would be foolish for a human to agree with Erik's philosophy concerning Homo superior, but he had a feeling Stryker would not accept that as an answer. "No. I have come to believe that Erik Lensherr is both misguided and dangerous. I haven't even seen him in five years." No need to mention that he kept tabs on Erik in other ways, and had a fairly good idea of where he might be.
"I am glad to hear that." Stryker placed Xavier's glass down on the table next to his elbow, and took a sip from his own. "What Mr. Lensherr doesn't understand is, mutants are a gift to us regular humans. Why, the military has classified mutant operatives who are worth a hundred regular soldiers - and I know of a Russian monster who could probably take them all apart."
"And your son?" Charles asked, making no move to touch the alcohol. "Is he a gift?"
The other man frowned. "Why don't we ask him?" he said. "Jason!" Stryker bellowed, loud enough that it could probably be heard down the end of the street.
From the speed with which he appeared at the top of the stairs, Charles guessed he had been lurking out of sight around the corner. He had deliberately avoided scanning for the boy - if his powers were indeed psychic in nature, there was a chance that he would be able to sense the probe.
"Yeah?" the boy said in a sulky tone only a teenager could perfect. He was a non-descript fifteen-year-old who wouldn't have drawn comment from anyone, except in regard to the sunglasses he was wearing. Indoors in early winter. Charles didn't need to scan in order to sense the anger radiating off the boy in waves.
"Son," Stryker said in a good-humored tone that Charles sensed could turn nasty at any moment, "we have a guest. Now take those damn things off and come sit down here."
The boy lowered himself into the chair that Karen Stryker had recently vacated, but made no move to express sorrow or contrition. He did reach up and remove his glasses, revealing one blue eye and one green. An interesting secondary physical mutation, of a type Charles hadn't seen before.
"Hello, Jason," Charles said gently. "I'm pleased to meet you."
"I doubt that," Jason said. "Unless dad invited you here to stare at the freak."
"Jason!" Stryker said, moving to get of his chair again.
"It's alright," Charles said, holding up a hand. "I don't think you're a freak, Jason. Your father invited me here because he thought I might be able to help you. I've been told that you're quite gifted."
"Yeah?" Jason said, with unveiled hostility. "Wanna see?"
The boy stared at him for a long moment, expression shifting from anger to shock as Charles allowed his clumsy psychic attack to slide off his mind without effect. "Dad, he's -" he said, cutting himself off.
"You can't touch his mind, can you, son?" Stryker said conversationally. "Now, I wonder what could be the cause of that?"
Jason's eyes flickered from his father to Charles, uncertainty making him look younger and more vulnerable.
/It's alright,/ Charles sent to him telepathically. /You won't be telling him anything he doesn't already know./
"Then you're -" Jason stopped part way through the sentence again, and Charles watched a sudden flare of hope light up the boy's mind. He felt a surge of pity - he might well be the only other mutant the boy had knowingly met. His father's associates weren't likely to be invited around to tea.
"You can go now, son," Stryker said in a tone of voice that made it clear that this was not a suggestion.
"It was nice to meet you, Jason," Charles reiterated. "I hope that I will see you again soon."
The boy stood up, gripping his sunglasses in a clenched fist, and looked at Charles with a mixture of anticipation or fear before heading upstairs again, taking long bouncing strides that covered two steps at a time.
When he was gone, Charles turned to Styker again. "If you believe that you can threaten me in an attempt to force me to help your son, you are sadly mistaken. I also think it's terribly sad that you believe it necessary - if there is anything I can do for him, I will do it."
Charles wasn't afraid, now that he knew why Stryker had wanted him to meet the boy. He suspected that the man hadn't the faintest idea how powerful he truly was. If he wanted to, he could wipe the memory of this afternoon out of the mind of everyone in the house, and simply leave.
"That's a very kind offer, professor - and don't be so sure about what I can and can't do. You're not flying as far under the radar as you think you are." He paused, and then went on in a softer tone. "You need my help, and my son needs yours. What he's turning into - I don't scare easy, but it gives ime/i the creeps. Karen's frightened half out of her mind. I need you to fix him for me."
Charles attempted to keep the distaste out of his voice, without much success. "Mutation is not a flaw or a disease. As you said before, it is a gift."
The man's face was grim. "It's not the kind of gift I want for my son. Can you help him, or not?"
Charles picked up the glass Stryker had poured for him. He had a choice to make - he could reach out and change Stryker's mind, but that would mean that he had committed himself to covering his tracks psychically for the rest of his days, given up on humanity as surely as Erik had. And he had not yet lost hope, even for the ordinary humans who presented the greatest danger to mutants.
William Stryker might see mutants as tools to be used, but he wouldn't have asked for Charles's help if he didn't still care about his son. If he could be encouraged to see his child's powers in a more positive light, he might some day have great influence over the opinions of his colleagues. Wasn't this the sign he had been waiting for?
Erik had been right about one thing: it was time to choose a side.
"For some time now," he said, "I have been planning to open a school for children like Jason. I have the facilities available, and I would have no trouble finding pupils. However, after the media hysteria surrounding the initial public reports about mutants, and Erik Lensherr's ... inflammatory actions, I was unsure of whether it would be prudent to gather so many together in one place."
Stryker smiled. "A school, huh? Sounds like a fine idea to me. I think the government might be willing to look the other way - hell, maybe you can apply for a grant. I'm sure we'd be interested in your graduates, too. At least those with useful talents."
Charles shook his head. "I'm planning to open a school, not a training camp - unlike Erik Lensherr, I believe that mutants and non-mutant humans can live in peace with one another, without the need for violence on either side. Isn't a peaceful existence, at ease with his gifts, the future you want for Jason?"
Stryker stood up and went over to pour himself another glass of whisky, and Charles belatedly remembered to taste his. It was, as he had expected, not particularly good.
"Peace?" the man said. "Not something I have much experience with - but I'll drink to it."
Charles raised his glass, and smiled in genuine relief. People could change. William Stryker still loved his son. The could get through this period of transition without the war Erik believed inevitable. He only hoped that he had not moved too late for Jason and those like him.
The End
Author's Note: Written for Penknife as part of the X-Men movieverse ficathon. Thanks to all of those who helped me situate Stryker's accent geographically. This story was influenced, albeit obliquely, by comicverse canon.
By The Dawn's Early Light
By Andraste
Charles Xavier hadn't expected one of the defining moments in his of his life to occur in a living room in suburban Charleston, while he was drinking a cup of weak and overly sweet tea with people he barely knew. But then, the day had been full of surprises.
"Would you like another cookie, professor?" Karen Stryker asked, breaking the awkward silence and trying to cover her nerves with a brittle smile.
Charles shook his head; he had only taken the first one to be polite and it wasn't sitting easily in his stomach. The disturbing feeling that he'd been ambushed had not yet begun to fade.
"Then I'll just go and clean up, leave you boys to talk," the woman said, scooping up the plate and cups onto the tray and departing for the kitchen. She closed the door behind her, and Charles was at last left alone with her husband.
"I don't need to read your mind to figure out that you're pissed off with me, professor. So why don't we just lay our cards on the table? I need your help, and I think you could use some of mine."
William Stryker was usually direct - or, so Charles had assumed before today. He had been introduced to the man by his friend Peter Corbeau, a NASA scientist who liaised with the Department of Defence from time to time. Peter had noticed their mutual interest in mutants and innocently arranged a meeting, which Charles had found interesting if unsettling. He had resisted the temptation to poke around inside Stryker's mind, but even his surface thoughts provided confirmation that the military was indeed using mutants as agents.
Charles had assumed that, like many in the military, Stryker had known about the existance of mutants for many years before the general public became aware of them. He had long suspected that the government and its various agencies liked to employ the genetically gifted when it suited them. His investigations into Stryker's work had turned up several operatives with unusual records - and Charles had foolishly looked no further than that before accepting an invitation to visit him at home. He had assumed that Stryker was interested in recruiting him; and perhaps he was.
He'd just had no idea what for.
"When you invited me here," Charles said, "you said that you wanted to discuss certain matters that were best not spoken of in Washington, where we might be observed. I had no idea that you - wanted me to meet your family."
He was beginning to think that it had been a mistake to come here without reading Stryker's mind thoroughly first, unethical as that would have been. He sensed no hostility from him now, but he was all too aware that he was in a potentially vulnerable position.
If he'd read the man's mind, Charles wouldn't have been so obviously surprised when Karen Stryker began babbling about her son's 'condition' and saying how glad she was that he'd agreed to help them all. The images he'd sensed from her without even trying had been enough to disturb and as unsettle him.
"I did invite you here so we could talk in private, Xavier. You think I want anyone in Washington to find out about Jason?"
"So they don't know?"
Stryker snorted, getting out of his chair and strolling over to the liquor cabinet. "You think I'm going to tell the people I work with that my own kid is a dangerous mutant?"
"I can understand why you would want to keep his abilities a secret from the rest of the military; but I'm not sure what you expect me to do. I'm just a psychology professor with a passing interest in human genetic mutation, and its potential effect on the brain."
"That's not what I've heard - professor. I have contacts who tell me you were a 'close associate' of Erik Lensherr before he decided it was a good idea to skip the country."
Charles nodded cautiously. "Yes, that is true. I imagine its common knowledge among the various security agencies that we were - associated for a long time." There wasn't much point denying it, although he had made sure that the FBI didn't know any of the important details. "I admit that my interest in mutants has it roots there."
"But you don't share his beliefs?" Styker asked, pouring two glasses of whisky.
Charles was about to protest that it would be foolish for a human to agree with Erik's philosophy concerning Homo superior, but he had a feeling Stryker would not accept that as an answer. "No. I have come to believe that Erik Lensherr is both misguided and dangerous. I haven't even seen him in five years." No need to mention that he kept tabs on Erik in other ways, and had a fairly good idea of where he might be.
"I am glad to hear that." Stryker placed Xavier's glass down on the table next to his elbow, and took a sip from his own. "What Mr. Lensherr doesn't understand is, mutants are a gift to us regular humans. Why, the military has classified mutant operatives who are worth a hundred regular soldiers - and I know of a Russian monster who could probably take them all apart."
"And your son?" Charles asked, making no move to touch the alcohol. "Is he a gift?"
The other man frowned. "Why don't we ask him?" he said. "Jason!" Stryker bellowed, loud enough that it could probably be heard down the end of the street.
From the speed with which he appeared at the top of the stairs, Charles guessed he had been lurking out of sight around the corner. He had deliberately avoided scanning for the boy - if his powers were indeed psychic in nature, there was a chance that he would be able to sense the probe.
"Yeah?" the boy said in a sulky tone only a teenager could perfect. He was a non-descript fifteen-year-old who wouldn't have drawn comment from anyone, except in regard to the sunglasses he was wearing. Indoors in early winter. Charles didn't need to scan in order to sense the anger radiating off the boy in waves.
"Son," Stryker said in a good-humored tone that Charles sensed could turn nasty at any moment, "we have a guest. Now take those damn things off and come sit down here."
The boy lowered himself into the chair that Karen Stryker had recently vacated, but made no move to express sorrow or contrition. He did reach up and remove his glasses, revealing one blue eye and one green. An interesting secondary physical mutation, of a type Charles hadn't seen before.
"Hello, Jason," Charles said gently. "I'm pleased to meet you."
"I doubt that," Jason said. "Unless dad invited you here to stare at the freak."
"Jason!" Stryker said, moving to get of his chair again.
"It's alright," Charles said, holding up a hand. "I don't think you're a freak, Jason. Your father invited me here because he thought I might be able to help you. I've been told that you're quite gifted."
"Yeah?" Jason said, with unveiled hostility. "Wanna see?"
The boy stared at him for a long moment, expression shifting from anger to shock as Charles allowed his clumsy psychic attack to slide off his mind without effect. "Dad, he's -" he said, cutting himself off.
"You can't touch his mind, can you, son?" Stryker said conversationally. "Now, I wonder what could be the cause of that?"
Jason's eyes flickered from his father to Charles, uncertainty making him look younger and more vulnerable.
/It's alright,/ Charles sent to him telepathically. /You won't be telling him anything he doesn't already know./
"Then you're -" Jason stopped part way through the sentence again, and Charles watched a sudden flare of hope light up the boy's mind. He felt a surge of pity - he might well be the only other mutant the boy had knowingly met. His father's associates weren't likely to be invited around to tea.
"You can go now, son," Stryker said in a tone of voice that made it clear that this was not a suggestion.
"It was nice to meet you, Jason," Charles reiterated. "I hope that I will see you again soon."
The boy stood up, gripping his sunglasses in a clenched fist, and looked at Charles with a mixture of anticipation or fear before heading upstairs again, taking long bouncing strides that covered two steps at a time.
When he was gone, Charles turned to Styker again. "If you believe that you can threaten me in an attempt to force me to help your son, you are sadly mistaken. I also think it's terribly sad that you believe it necessary - if there is anything I can do for him, I will do it."
Charles wasn't afraid, now that he knew why Stryker had wanted him to meet the boy. He suspected that the man hadn't the faintest idea how powerful he truly was. If he wanted to, he could wipe the memory of this afternoon out of the mind of everyone in the house, and simply leave.
"That's a very kind offer, professor - and don't be so sure about what I can and can't do. You're not flying as far under the radar as you think you are." He paused, and then went on in a softer tone. "You need my help, and my son needs yours. What he's turning into - I don't scare easy, but it gives ime/i the creeps. Karen's frightened half out of her mind. I need you to fix him for me."
Charles attempted to keep the distaste out of his voice, without much success. "Mutation is not a flaw or a disease. As you said before, it is a gift."
The man's face was grim. "It's not the kind of gift I want for my son. Can you help him, or not?"
Charles picked up the glass Stryker had poured for him. He had a choice to make - he could reach out and change Stryker's mind, but that would mean that he had committed himself to covering his tracks psychically for the rest of his days, given up on humanity as surely as Erik had. And he had not yet lost hope, even for the ordinary humans who presented the greatest danger to mutants.
William Stryker might see mutants as tools to be used, but he wouldn't have asked for Charles's help if he didn't still care about his son. If he could be encouraged to see his child's powers in a more positive light, he might some day have great influence over the opinions of his colleagues. Wasn't this the sign he had been waiting for?
Erik had been right about one thing: it was time to choose a side.
"For some time now," he said, "I have been planning to open a school for children like Jason. I have the facilities available, and I would have no trouble finding pupils. However, after the media hysteria surrounding the initial public reports about mutants, and Erik Lensherr's ... inflammatory actions, I was unsure of whether it would be prudent to gather so many together in one place."
Stryker smiled. "A school, huh? Sounds like a fine idea to me. I think the government might be willing to look the other way - hell, maybe you can apply for a grant. I'm sure we'd be interested in your graduates, too. At least those with useful talents."
Charles shook his head. "I'm planning to open a school, not a training camp - unlike Erik Lensherr, I believe that mutants and non-mutant humans can live in peace with one another, without the need for violence on either side. Isn't a peaceful existence, at ease with his gifts, the future you want for Jason?"
Stryker stood up and went over to pour himself another glass of whisky, and Charles belatedly remembered to taste his. It was, as he had expected, not particularly good.
"Peace?" the man said. "Not something I have much experience with - but I'll drink to it."
Charles raised his glass, and smiled in genuine relief. People could change. William Stryker still loved his son. The could get through this period of transition without the war Erik believed inevitable. He only hoped that he had not moved too late for Jason and those like him.
The End