{Author's Note: In a shocking turn of events, I have posted a new chapter. I hope you enjoy!}
Charles and Erik sat together in the common room attached to the former's personal quarters. They were engaged in a game of chess, or, Erik was. Charles had other things on his mind—the main three things being the following:
1. Raven (and probably Hank as well) wouldn't approve of him continuing to, as they would call it, meddle in Peter and—to the extent they appeared to be inexplicably intertwined—Erik's affairs;
2. Erik was almost certainly hiding something (or multiple things) from him, and that fact would be impressive if it wasn't so frustrating; and
3. Last night, Peter injured himself in a drunken stupor, which, if Charles hadn't pulled the image from Hank's mind, he wouldn't have been privy to that fact either, even though it was something that he—as the person responsible for everyone at his school—really ought to know.
Thus, Charles indeed had ulterior motives other than just a stimulating game of chess when he had invited Erik to join him for the evening.
They'd probably both be better off if Erik didn't discover that tidbit of information, but sometimes letting a sleeping dog lie only serves to put off an inevitable confrontation.
"Do you ever feel that we should play something besides chess?" Erik asked after some time had passed, pulling Charles from his internal contemplation.
Charles raised his eyes from the board to look at Erik. There were shadows under his eyes again, not as bad as when he first arrived at the school after Apocalypse, but nonetheless still there. He was twirling one of the pawns he had captured from Charles between his fingers without touching it, gazing at it intently like it might speak some hidden truth.
"Oh certainly. All the time." Said Charles with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Just give me one moment, and I'll pull out my checkers set."
Erik took his eyes off the chess piece—which had dropped into the palm of his hand—to give Charles an irritated look. "I was being serious."
Charles chuckled. "I'm sorry, but this has been one of your favorite pastimes for as long as I've known you, but you've finally tired of it, have you? Or have you just finally accepted that I'm the superior player?"
Erik scoffed. "Neither. . . . I just . . . I don't know. It's starting to feel a bit antiquated. Forget I said anything."
"Hmm." Charles said without further comment, but silently he wondered what brought on Erik's remarks. Erik's mental shields were strongly erected at the moment, but Charles knew he could break them down if wanted to.
Without Erik's helmet, Charles would always be able to find a way in.
But he wouldn't do that to his friend . . . not today . . . which meant Charles was left to merely wonder what was going on in Erik's head. And if he had to muster a guess, he would say it either had something to do with his family or . . . perhaps with Peter.
If only Charles knew that they were one and the same.
"So . . . " Charles began as Erik's knight moved forward on its own accord to take another one of his pawns. "I see you've been keeping busy. The exterior of the school has never looked so spick and span even in its prime."
"I highly doubt that." Said Erik, not bothering to look up at the telepath as he waited for Charles to make his move. "I've hardly done more than restore it to its previous state, if that."
"Well, let's agree to disagree." Said Charles as he made another move but failed to capture any of Erik's pieces, instead choosing to move one safely out of Erik's reach . . . for now.
"We usually do." Said Erik, taking a drink from the glass he had placed on the end table next to him. "Or at least the latter."
"Indeed." Said Charles, and there was a twinge of sadness in his voice. Maybe one of these days Charles should throw in the towel, give up on any efforts to make his friend see the world the way he did, but that day was not today. "Nonetheless, I hope you haven't been spending all of your time making sure there's not a screw out of place or shrub that's an inch overgrown . . . . you know, you would make an excellent foreign language teacher. Being that I haven't managed to talk Raven around to the position yet, and she doesn't know as many languages as you—at least not as fluently—it might be a nice change of pace for you."
That finally brought Erik's gaze up from the board to land on the other man. "I'm not a teacher, Charles; that's always been your prerogative, not mine."
"Things change." said Charles with a shrug, and then more gently, "And it might help you as much as the students."
Erik narrowed his eyes at his friend. "I would think the last thing you'd want from me is to have any part in molding the minds of your young students. And I don't recall asking you for help dispelling whatever ailments you think I may have."
"Honestly, Erik, it was only a suggestion." Said Charles shaking his head in frustration. "I just thought that given that you've already been spending some time with my students—and enjoying doing so—it might be worthwhile and more appropriate to pursue an official teaching role."
"What are you getting at Charles?" Erik asked suspiciously. "All of your students are afraid of me. I startled Azazel's son the other day by doing nothing more than entering the same room as him, and he teleported out of the building."
"We don't know that Kurt is Azazel's son. He doesn't know who his birth parents are, or were." Charles replied without missing a beat.
"Seems fairly obvious to me—same powers, same physical mutation, other than his coloring." Said Erik, leaning forward over the board to examine it more closely.
"Parents don't always pass their mutation onto their children. In fact, Hank and I both believe that particular genetic occurrence is quite rare, but obviously there haven't been enough second generation mutants to draw an official conclusion, or at least not enough who are willing to come forward or who know their family history. But alright, yes, admittedly, the thought has occurred crossed my mind. But stop being deliberately obtuse, Erik. This isn't about Kurt. I'm not talking about him or any of the other younger students. You know I'm talking about Peter. He's not afraid of you. In fact, it seems he is more than happy to spend time with you." Said Charles, gazing at Erik expectantly.
Erik picked up his glass again, but didn't drink from it, just swirled the liquid around, perhaps wishing it held something a bit stronger than water. "Well, you said I was spending time with yourstudents. Peter is not one of your students.
Rather childishly, Charles rolled his eyes. "He might not be officially enrolled, but he's continuing his studies under Hank's tutelage, and he has taken up residence in my home, which—if you recall—happens to be a school. I think that's enough to make him a student, don't you?"
"Maybe a student, but not your student." Erik replied coolly, avoiding meeting Charles' gaze.
Charles put a hand to the side of his head, managing—just barely—to resist the urge to put his finger to his temple and decipher the motivation behind Erik's blatant defensiveness. "You're deflecting, Erik. Why is that?"
"Perhaps the better question is why do you feel the need to insert yourself into everyone's business?" Erik replied, still avoiding Charles' inquiry.
"I do not." Said Charles frustrated that Erik was headed down the same line of argument as Raven. Was everyone against him trying to be helpful? "I'm merely trying to look out for the both of you."
Erik scoffed again. "Really? So we what, avoid causing our mutual destruction?"
"Not destruction, no, just . . ." Charles trailed off, he himself not even exactly sure why Peter and Erik spending so much time together unsettled him so. He cleared his throat and continued, "I just worry that neither of you are in top form right now. You're still overcoming a terrible loss, and I think the events of Cairo left more than just physical scars on Peter. Perhaps you need to give each other time to recover on your own."
Erik's nostrils flared, like he was trying hard not to lose control, and Charles knew he had made a misstep somehow, but exactly where, he couldn't say. "The loss of a partner, and even more so the loss of a child, is not something you overcome, Charles."
Oh. So that was where he'd gone wrong.
Charles opened his mouth to speak, but Erik continued. "And you're not wrong about Peter. He has suffered a great deal of pain in his life; Cairo being the most recent fraction of that pain, but . . . do—do you think so little of me, that whatever he has suffered, I would only make it worse?"
Erik's voice broke slightly on the question, and the way he asked it was as though the question was something Erik had also asked himself time and time again. Charles heart broke a bit with Erik's voice too, but still, he let the question linger for too long; he knew that. But it was a complicated question. Charles did not think little of Erik; but, did Erik tend to make bad situations worse? Yes, yes he did. Charles current reliance on a wheelchair was a constant reminder of that fact.
"No." said Charles finally. "But a house built on sand cannot stand. Perhaps you two should focus on building your selves up before you go forward with whatever plans you have for him."
"Is that what you think this is about?" Erik asked, standing up now, enraged, a fraction away from pacing. "You think I have these grand plans for how I can use his abilities to further my—my what? My mutant agenda?"
"I don't know." said Charles holding up his hands in surrender. "That's why I'm asking."
"You are not asking. You are making accusations and assumptions about things you do not understand based on your naive and sheltered life experience, the way you always have."
Charles, close to fuming, took a moment to gather himself. He would not rise to Erik's bait. He took a deep breath, and then responded calmly. "Then help me to."
"No one can help a blind man see, Charles. But believe it or not, I am not constantly scheming about how to put your precious humans in their place. Peter has a remarkable gift, but I'm not—I'd never use him. Is it not enough for you that I simply enjoy his company?" Erik said, fully pacing now.
Charles took that in for a moment, and then a few seconds later, it clicked—why Erik and Peter were spending so much time together. Why they shared similar hours. Why the only time Erik seemed to radiate with a bit of happiness was when he was with Peter.
"Oh . . . Oh. I see." Well that was not what he expected when he started this conversation. "I didn't imagine—I mean, it's not been that long since, but I suppose, that is, so long as you both uh—"
Erik stared back at Charles confused, watching him stumble over his words and his face tint a slight shade of pink. It was at that point that Erik realized exactly what conclusion Charles had drawn, and as a result, his eyes widened in horror. "Not like that! I merely enjoy conversing with the boy. He's very intelligent and capable! For heaven's sake, Charles, really, he's half my age! Not to mention he's my—he's very . . . animated."
"Well you can't blame me for drawing that assumption! You've always been a bit more . . . magnetic than the rest of us." Said Charles a bit embarrassed, but also chuckling a little at the misunderstanding and his own pun.
Unfortunately Erik didn't seem to find the humour in the situation.
"So what I've gathered," Erik replied coolly, turning his back on the other man. "is that you believe I am incapable of having any sort of companionable relationship. The only connections I'm capable of are aimed to corrupt or are sensual in nature."
Charles sighed, "You are always so quick to twist my words, Erik. Of course I know you are capable of more than that. I'd like to think our friendship is a testament to that."
"Is that what we are? Friends? I seem to recall us standing on opposing sides more often than we have stood together." Said Erik, turning back around.
"Perhaps you're right because I'd like to think my friend would tell me if one of my stu—if someone at my school was having trouble sleeping, or at least that they had injured themselves."
Erik didn't immediately respond to Charles' comment, perhaps waiting to see exactly how much Charles knew. But after a moment, Erik did reply. "Is there a question there, Charles?"
"Peter hurt himself last night?" Charles asked, though it wasn't really a question either.
"If he hasn't told you anything, then I don't see that it is my place to do so." Erik replied, finally sitting back down.
"He didn't have to tell me anything, it was rather obvious when he turned up this morning bandaged and back on crutches. All I'm wondering is why you took it upon yourself to corral Peter. That certainly doesn't fall under grounds duty, and besides keeping Peter's company, you've kept to yourself."
"Would you rather I have left him to his own devices?" Erik asked upset again for reasons Charles did not fully understand.
"You could have woken me. I would have handled the situation. Perhaps with less alcohol and blood."
"How? By controlling him?" Erik accused.
"No." Charles huffed, annoyed that that was Erik's first thought. "I doubt I could even control Peter for very long if I tried. I can grasp his emotions, perhaps I could put him to sleep, but his thoughts . . . it's like trying to capture a piece of dust in a tornado."
Erik's jaw twitched, reacting to some unidentifiable emotional. "That's a good thing then, because in my experience, you can't help but insert yourself into the lives and choices of others to set them down what you believe to be the 'right' path."
"I don't enjoy taking away someone's freewill, Erik." Charles shot back. "And I would never use my mutation in such a way unless it was a matter of life and death. I simply am concerned that an individual in my care has chosen to drink himself into oblivion, until he is so far gone that he injured himself. Not to mention the fact that Peter can't be getting enough sleep because whenever I happen to I find myself awake at an odd hour on a random night, I'll sense him wandering about too. I swear that boy never sleeps."
"Maybe that should tell you something about your care." Erik muttered, before responding at a more distinguishable level. "I wasn't referring to your mutation, Charles. Some of your manners of influence are less subtle than mind control. Perhaps if you recognized that, you wouldn't continue to push Raven away time and time again. "
"I didn't push her away, you took her from me!" Charles replied, voice raised, self-control out the window. "You're the one who can get into people's heads better than I ever could, so yes, I am worried that you will do the same with Peter, and it will destroy him! Either you will take him with you and turn him against the world, or you will do what you always do and leave, and Peter will think he is to blame!"
Erik's nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched again, but his voice was steady when he replied. "I will not force Pietro down any path he does not wish to travel. He knows what I've done. He knows that I only want what is best for him, even if that is a path entirely divergent from my own."
"Pietro?" Charles asked confused. "Who is Pietro?"
Erik appeared perplexed for a moment, and then guilty, like had shared something he wasn't meant to. "Peter. I meant Peter."
"Who is Pietro, Erik?" Charles asked again more gently, and then, after a beat, he asked what was more likely to be the appropriate question when it came to Erik. "Who was Pietro?"
Erik looked conflicted, but then he seemed to decide something, and surprisingly, he actually answered Charles' question. "Peter. Peter is Pietro. That's his real name; the one he felt he had to discard to fit a mold he was never meant to fill, which you might well be aware of if you bothered to get to know him, rather than just attempting to make decisions for him."
Pietro . . . . Charles had not heard the name before, in regard to Peter or otherwise. He thought it might be Italian. And he racked his brain for a moment, trying to remember his impression of Peter's mother and sister from so long ago. But he came up blank. His mind was not particularly sharp back then.
"I have—I do speak with him," said Charles finally. "but . . . he . . . has never shared that fact about himself in any of our conversations."
Erik scoffed again. "And how many of those have you truly had where you weren't scolding him for something? Or have you even had a conversation where you actually followed what he had to say, or do you merely listen in bits and pieces because it would take just a little more effort on your part to understand him than was worth your time?"
"If Peter—Pietro—" Charles corrected himself, not quite getting the pronunciation right, "wants to open up to me, I will be here for him, always. Can you say the same?"
Erik didn't reply at first, but when he did, his voice was much quieter. "Perhaps he won't always want to be here."
Charles ran a hand across his head. "Can we stop this? I care about Peter, and despite what you might think, I care about you as well. I don't want to fight with you. I never do."
"And yet, we always end up here." Said Erik, gesturing to the both of them with one hand.
"Just think about what I've said, Erik. Neither of you are at your best form at the moment, and I don't want to see you or Peter in a worst state." Charles replied.
"And what exactly would my best form be, Charles? Freshly released from years in a death camp under the control of a madman? When I was in the throes of hunting said madman? When I was crippled by ten years of isolation? Which version of me is most suitable to you?" Erik asked trembling.
Charles didn't get the chance to voice a response to Erik's questions because a moment later there was a knock at the door.
Charles cleared his throat and then called out to the person waiting on the other side of the door. "Come in."
At Charles' call, Jubilee cautiously opened the door and stepped inside, looking a little warily between the two men, making Charles wonder how loud he and Erik were being in their . . . exchange of words, but perhaps the girl was just rightfully wary of Erik.
"Um," Jubilee began hesitantly. "Mystique said that you would want to know that Mr. LeBeau is here."
Great. Just what he needed, Charles thought, already feeling a headache coming on.
"Thank you, Jubilee." Charles responded, resisting the urge to rub his fingers over his temple again.
"Who is Mr. LeBeau?" Erik asked, taking his seat, but he wasn't speaking to Charles; instead, his heavy gaze was on Jubilee. Charles imagined that Erik addressed the girl because he expected he'd be able to get a straight answer from her, whereas Charles might only share what he believed was necessary for Erik to know.
"Uhh . . ." Jubilee fumbled again, glancing at Charles before answering Erik. She was clearly not expecting to be addressed directly by the metalbender and was a little uneasy about it. But when Charles inclined his head slightly, Jubilee mustered the courage to respond. "Remy LeBeau. He stays here sometimes and—and, if he stays long enough, he tutors French and does some combat training for those who want it."
"A mutant?" Erik asked, turning his attention back to Charles.
"If that's all, Jubilee, please don't let us keep you." Said Charles, ignoring Erik for the moment.
Jubilee, grateful for the dismissal, nodded rapidly and then withdrew from the room at an impressive speed.
"Yes, Erik, Remy is a mutant, though may I remind you that who I let stay in my home and my school—mutant or human—is none of your concern."
Erik pressed his lips together, as though he thought it was very much his concern. "What abilities does this Remy have?"
"Come now, Erik. You know that can be a personal question for some. If you like, you can introduce yourself to him, and if he wishes to share his abilities with you that's his business, though, I should warn you, Remy is not one to join a grand cause."
"I was only asking. You seem less than thrilled by his arrival. Does he perhaps not share all of your sensibilities?" Erik asked raising an eyebrow.
"Once again, despite what you might think, Erik. I don't require everyone at this school to share my beliefs. In fact, I encourage discourse. What I do not tolerate is violence and superiority. So long as one follows those—dare I say—reasonable requests and poses no threat to the others in my care, then any mutant who needs sanctuary is welcome here. Remy might try my patience" much like you, went unsaid "but he understands my conditions for his staying here, and he has thus far respected them. I have no reason to doubt that he will continue to do so."
Erik picked up his glass, once again swirling its contents for a moment before taking a drink. "And you think I respect your conditions as well?"
Charles leaned forward in his chair. "I think you and I will never see eye-to-eye, Erik. And I hope that one day you realize that all I have ever wanted for you is to show you what it feels like to have a home, and to feel loved and safe. That's what I want for all of my students. For You. Peter. And all the children that pass through these halls."
"I have had a home, Charles. Homes. And I've known love. But I have never felt safe, not since a badge on my clothes turned into a permanent brand on my arm. And we will never be safe. Humanity will always use every bit of its power to keep mutants on the edge of society. Teach your students that, Charles, or the world will do it for you."
Charles tried not to, but Erik's emotions were rising, and with it, his mental shields falling, so Charles caught the thoughts passing through Erik's mind as images. He was thinking of his parents being torn from him; of Shaw breaking him; of Angel, Azazel, and Sean experimented on and dying while knowing no one was coming to save them; of a house burning and a woman screaming; of his wife and daughter silent and still with an arrow through their chests; and finally, there was Peter in En Sabah Nur's clutches, moments from apparent death.
"Erik." Charles called out to his friend for he could feel him slipping further and further into the past and into despair. Erik's hand was shaking, and Charles could see that the metal chess pieces in front of them were beginning to shift, threatening to fall off the board.
Erik closed his hand into a fist and the chess pieces calmed to a small quiver, and when he tucked the same hand under his opposite arm, the pieces stilled completely. The action oddly reminded Charles of Peter and how he had attempted to calm himself in a similar manner in his office.
Erik closed his eyes, and Charles felt his mental walls go up again. When he opened them, he had collected himself, but Charles knew his pain and anger was still there, just beneath the surface.
"I'm tired, Charles. Of this game. Of this conversation. Of you thinking you know what is best." Erik said standing up. "My business with Peter is my own, and if he wants to cut me out of his life, that is his choice not yours, and it would save us all a lot of time, if you realized that sooner rather than later."
With that, Erik strode from the room, the door shutting behind him on its own accord, and perhaps more forcefully than was absolutely necessary.
{Author's Note: So nobody get too excited. The mention of Remy, might be just that—a mention, but who knows? Not me. But there definitely won't be any pairings because I would suck at writing that. To be honest, the only reason I added Remy was because I found this old YouTube video from The Pete Holmes Show, and I thought it was pretty funny. Of course, then I went down a rabbit hole because there are a LOT of those spoof videos. Also, I usually have it in my head that it's obvious that Raven is Kurt's mom, but for some reason, this time, I was like, huh, maybe it's not that obvious, though the fact that Azazel is Kurt's dad does seem a bit more readily apparent to me (see Erik's points). And Erik had to be in the pentagon when Kurt was born, and Charles obviously wasn't hanging out with Raven and Azazel at that time either, so maybe it would be more of a secret?}