Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel. The story and plot belong to me. Please don't steal them. I wrote this for entertainment only and will make no profit from it. This story has been previously archived at several different sites under the name of Scolroaline.
Not My FatherMagneto is not my father.
I have a father--alive and well--who loves me. He is the man who raised me and created me.
I have a teacher who shaped me into the woman I am today. He is my dearest friend, my father figure when my real father was not there, my guide, and my mentor.
I was one of the first who fought Magneto. I saw all of the terrible things he did, and I was not at the school when he was. I should not feel this way about him.
Yet I do.
As though--perhaps I should feel something for him? As though he were my father?
Out of all of the villains we have faced, none has more soul in him than Magneto. He, at least, has the capacity to be good, if he tried.
He doesn't always try.
Perhaps he helped to shape me as much as my guide did, or as much as my father did. Seeing the things that Magneto had done molded me, but in a different way. He drew the line between evil and good for me. Through him, I saw the world, in its harshest reality.
Perhaps it was the memory of those things that kept me--more or less--on the side of good. Were it not for Magneto, and showing me what people were capable of, would I be the woman I am today?
Yet, no matter how much I feel that he ought to be--or to be given some credit--
No.
Magneto is not my father.
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Magneto is not my father.
I never knew my real father, but in the hands of my aunt and uncle I thrived. They love me, as I am sure my real parents did.
People may have thought--as did I--at one time that he was my father, but he is not.
Similar though our powers are, he is not.
I have had men to guide me, in my life. Teachers, lovers, friends, acquaintances. It seems that no matter what, I am always yearning for guidance, and I find it in the strangest of places. In the arms of a lover. In the hands of an enemy. Under the tutelage of a teacher.
Magneto is not on our side. I know that.
Yet he is the only person alive who knows about my powers, because his are the same. He knows how to control and wield a force of the earth.
Out of all of my mentors in life--good or evil--he helped me the most.
Why is that, I wonder? He was one of the worst to me, using my own powers to help his, creating a link between us that I did not want to sever.
Magneto showed me my potential. He showed me that I could fly. He showed me a power rush that I never wanted to stop.
Perhaps that was wrong, or bad. I know it was, on some level. But I should have known, anyway. I should know what I'm capable of. And he taught me, through experience, the greatest lesson of all--to watch who you trust with yourself.
People may still think so, somehow. They may question it, but still I have to tell them, even as I tell myself:
Magneto is not my father.
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Magneto is not my father.
I don't even know if I have a father. Or if he cared about me. Something tells me he didn't.
All I've ever had in the way of men was silly little crushes, occasional lovers, and a teacher. One teacher. Yet for all of his kindness and great words, what did he do for me? Would I be any different today if I had never met Charles Xavier?
Would I be any different today if I had never met Erik Magnus Lehnsherr?
I think I would.
He was my friend, such a good friend. He was always kind to me, no matter what. He at least gave me kind words, even in the middle of a battle. That is worth something to me.
For a while, he was my teacher. And after that, when I was empty and alone in the Savage Land, he gave me his strength to guide me. He held me up when I would have fallen. What would I have done without him?
And even when he wasn't really himself, he helped me more than he could ever imagine. Only one man--one brain--has ever managed to make me able to touch people without harming them. That man was a version of Magneto. That counts for something.
Everyone thinks I'm crazy. There are men I love more, and there are friends that matter more to me, now. But I like to think that, even for a short time, Magneto was the best friend I ever had, because he guided me through a time of weakness and need. He gave me shelter and food. He was there for me.
He cared for me, and I cared for him.
Perhaps it's his age that makes me think of him this way, and not just as a friend. And it's with a little sadness that I have to admit to myself, no,
Magneto is not my father.
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Magneto is not my father.
Perhaps he took a part in the act of creating me, but he is not my father.
A father might have tried to find his children sooner, to treat them with something resembling kindness and respect.
A father might have apologized for those tiring, degrading times, even after he discovered us and our existence.
A father might have pulled me out of a wrong state of mind instead of pushed me in.
He doesn't do any of those things. He never will.
I had a father. He loved us enough to steal to make sure we would be provided for. And when he was caught, and his wife killed, and he beaten, well, he paid the price. He knew he might have to pay the price, but he did it anyway. And even later, he still sought out my brother and me, out of love.
Would Magneto ever do that? No. The only times he has sought me out is to ask if I would like to take a part in world domination.
No, thank you.
I try not to be bitter about it. Biologically, he is my father, and there is nothing I can do to alter that fact. My brother is bitter about it and cold to Magneto. I try not to be. Sometimes, it can't be helped.
And yet...if he hadn't repelled us from our first calling, with his own degrading treatment of us...what would have happened to us? If he hadn't shown us what it was like to be bad, would we have ever tried to be good? If he hadn't been so cruel to us, would we have run away and become part of the best thing that has ever happened to me, become heroes?
Sometimes I wonder.
I know he doesn't do it on purpose. I know he doesn't try to be a good father. A good father would care about us, and Magneto does not even pretend to care.
Yet perhaps that was the right way after all.
I don't like to think this way. I have a father. He loved my brother and me, and he cared for us, and always tried to make sure we were provided for. He is dead now. Perhaps I have no father, no matter how much I may yearn for one.
Magneto is not my father.