1999
New York
The chamber's doors sealed behind him with a compliant hiss. His wheelchair glided soundlessly across the bridge to the platform in the spherical space's exact centre.
Moving unhurriedly and precisely, he gently set the brake lever, locking the chair in place. He reached for the helm, connected by myriad cables and wires as it was to the console before him, and rested it upon his domed bald head.
Professor Charles Xavier closed his eyes, focusing his mind inwards upon itself – deeper, deeper, until in a single glorious moment it connected with the very fabric of the universe itself. He left his body and Cerebro far behind, letting himself roam the world.
All-too-often he did this to search for new mutants, for his students and his friends who might be in danger. But now he searched for someone who was none of these. Someone he held dear, and had never met. Someone he could never meet.
There she was. Nothing more than a tiny spark amidst countless millions of sparks. Twinkling a little brighter than those that surrounded her, only a spark…but more than human.
He focussed on her more closely. Her image appeared before him, pale and drawn, the blood drained from her face, framed by tousled uncombed locks of raven-dark hair. Clad in a hospital gown, she slumbered now, the closest she had come to being at peace in her whole short life. So vulnerable now. So weak. So very young.
His daughter.
He did not condone her fall into darkness. But Xavier did not wholly blame her for it. How could he: he had no right. It was he who had failed his own flesh and blood. He who had not gone to her when he had first found her a year ago.
He remembered the day well. While conducting a regular search, his vision within Cerebro had been blinded by a dazzling golden light. When it had faded, he had seen her.
Curious, Xavier had looked into this girl's past, delved deeply into the various records kept on her. He had found a truth he had wished false; a truth he had feared and for long weeks denied to himself. But in the end, it was the truth. He was her father.
His courage had deserted him. For years he had faced other mutants, soldiers, aliens and other horrors and threats, but he lacked the strength to meet with his own daughter.
And so he had watched her. Seen her fight, seen her fall, seen her, this girl who was so alive and vibrant, reduced to this living death. Drowning in misery kept private, he reproached and flagellated himself for his final, ultimate failure to his daughter.
His failure to Faith.
Crossover with the X-Men – films, comics, books, any and all.