Surprise! It's alive, ALIVE!
I'm sure you thought I'd abandoned this fic, and I wasn't entirely sure I hadn't, to be honest. But all of a sudden... the muse, she has returned!
A huge, huge thank you to Sue Penkivech and Beaubier for their beta reading expertise on this chapter. It scared the hell out of me, and you two were tremendous help. I've said it once, I'll say it again, you both rock, and I have no clue what I'd do without you guys. :)
Chapter 13
Charles sat behind his imposing cherry wood desk, flipping through the file of a young boy whose parents had some… concerns about some odd behavior. Most notably, their son's sudden ability to speak more than a dozen foreign languages, none of which he'd ever studied. It was quite the intriguing case, and Charles most definitely felt he knew the answer to the poor parents' questions… however, whether they really wanted to hear the truth was another matter altogether.
Closing the folder, Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing slowly and firmly.
He was at a loss. No matter how delicately he approached these situations, which were becoming more and more common, it seemed most parents were unable or unwilling to see their children's gifts as just that. They wanted them "fixed" or "cured", or otherwise returned to "normal".
They didn't grasp the fact that what they wished was impossible. Their children weren't suffering from an illness or an infection that could be treated with a few shots or a round of antibiotics. It was in their DNA, and could be changed no more easily than the parents themselves could change the color of their skin or their gender.
However, as the instances continued to increase, it was becoming more and more evident to Xavier that he needed to do something. Though he was no precognitive, he had a very bad feeling about what the future would bring, as more and more children reached puberty and began to manifest their mutations. It would be harder for the media, for the general population, to ignore. And if it wasn't introduced with just the right angle, they could be looking at mass hysteria.
With a sigh, Charles turned his chair and moved it closer to the window. Below him in the yard, Scott and Jean, the two students who represented so many years of work and commitment, his pride and joy, were cleaning up the grounds. A storm had ripped through Bayville two days prior, and the trees had suffered for it. The lawn was scattered with leaves, twigs, and branches of all shapes and sizes, the trees bearing white, jagged scars from where their limbs were torn away.
It was actually an exercise for them, in addition to being a chore. They had been instructed to use their powers as much as possible to complete the task: Jean, her telekinesis to lift and bundle the branches, Scott his optic blasts to break the larger branches into a more manageable size. It was about teamwork as much as anything; something they both desperately needed to work on. Both teenagers were fiercely independent by nature (not to mention terribly stubborn), and reluctant to ask for help. The fact that they were inseparable best friends didn't come into play – they rarely asked each other for assistance, even when they very obviously needed it.
A familiar presence outside of his office door had Charles turning his chair around in surprise, just as the knock sounded.
"Come in, Magnus," Charles intoned in his steady, calm voice.
His old friend opened the door and stepped into the room, seemingly filling it with his presence. Always an imposing figure, it seemed to only increase with age. A long, black trench coat was carried casually over his arm, white hair (prematurely so, he always insisted) perfectly combed, posture almost regal.
"Charles," he greeted with a smile, closing the distance between them with three long, confident strides. He grasped Charles' hand in his, and shook it warmly. "It's been a long time, old friend."
"Indeed," Charles agreed, a smile touching his eyes now, as he shook the hand of his long-time friend. "Too long."
Magnus withdrew his hand and straightened, surveying the office curiously before turning his attention back to Charles. "You look well."
"As do you," came the sincere reply, although not for one moment was Charles lulled into a false sense of security. Magnus wanted something, Charles was sure of it. There was no other reason for this impromptu visit. It was just a matter of what, exactly, that something was. "Please, make yourself at home," he invited, motion to a chair.
The other man accepted with a nod, folding himself gracefully into one of the Queen Annes on the opposite side of the desk.
"What can I do for you, Magnus?" Charles finally asked, the bluntness of the words softened by a small smile and cordial tone.
This drew a laugh from Magnus, a rumbling from deep within his chest, and a matching smile spread across his face. "Come come, now, Charles. Why so suspicious? Is it so inconceivable that I could have simply decided to pay a visit to an old friend? One I haven't seen in far too long? Why must there be this assumption that I want something?"
"I've known you too long, I'm afraid," Charles replied easily, still smiling, though now some wariness crept into it.
With a dramatic sigh, Magnus shook his head in mock sorrow. "Charles, Charles, Charles," he said sadly, "why must you be so untrusting?"
"Experience, Magnus. Our friendship has taught me well."
Still obviously amused, Magnus raised his hands to shoulder height in mock surrender, and leaned forward just slightly. "All right, I surrender," he chuckled, then grew serious, slowly lowering his hands to his lap. "Times are changing, Charles. I'm sure you're aware of this."
"Change is what keeps us alive, Magnus," Xavier noted. "And keeps life interesting."
"But this change… it's going to bring about terrible things. A war, Charles, between mutants and humans. You know this, though you continue to choose to deny it."
"I know no such thing," Charles denied, his voice changing neither in volume nor tone. "It is a sad possibility, I admit, but I strongly believe that it can be avoided. We simply need to introduce mutants to the general population slowly –"
Magnus cut him off. "Gradual desegregation won't work."
"You don't know that."
"History has proven it."
"History has taught us how to do it poorly," Charles pointed out, "and how to fix the mistakes that were made in the past."
"History has also taught us how intolerant homo sapiens are," Magnus argued, his voice growing slightly louder, colder. "History repeats itself, Charles, that's what the books teach us. Once the existence of mutants is made public, humans will go thundering down the path towards yet another genocide."
"That won't happen, Magnus."
"It can, and you know that as well as I!" Magnus roared, then seemed to take a step back in an attempt to compose himself. "It has happened time and time and time again. Germany, Croatia, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Bosnia, Africa." He ticked each country's bleak history off on his fingers. "America. It has happened here before, Charles. All under Presidential decree, no less. Native Americans removed from their land and shipped to prison camps. The Japanese, during World War II. Slavery."
"And while your examples represent shameful, dark years in our history, none of those instances were intended as exterminations," Xavier argued, but the other man appeared to not hear.
"It's never ending, Charles," he insisted, his voice beginning to rise again. "The platitudes of 'never again' are meaningless words, and the proof is in the nightly newscasts. You know how it will begin. Small things at first, beginning the polarization of humans – the normal ones – and mutants. The next thing you know, we'll be expected to wear our very own versions of the yellow star of David that the Nazis were so very fond of using to identify Jews." Magnus plucked at his suit jacket, disgusted by the very idea. "Our rights will be revoked, our actions limited by law. Hate groups will be formed, and will slowly, surreptitiously gain government support. And then, mutant camps, for the 'protection' of humans. What next? Enforced sterilization to prevent mutants from reproducing? Isolation camps?"
"Magnus –"
"No, Charles! I will not stand by and watch while homo superior is eradicated like some lesser, insignificant species by the beings that are the true insects!"
Charles simply sat there, looking at his old friend impassively. It was an old argument, and their sides would never change. They knew that, but it didn't keep them from revisiting the topic from time to time, when the air was ripe with the promise of change, of strife.
Or, as Charles chose to see it, of endless possibilities and potential for great things.
Magnus had grown silent and pushed himself from his chair. He paced the length of the desk, back and forth, then stalked to the window.
It was only then that Charles tensed.
"So young," Magnus mused softly, peering down at the two teenagers still clearing debris from the yard. "So full of promise."
"Yes," Charles agreed carefully.
"Children are the future, they say," Magnus continued, and Charles rolled his chair over to the window so he could observe what it was his old friend found so fascinating below.
Jean had levitated a large branch (a small tree, really), and Scott was very carefully blasting it into smaller chunks to be used as kindling.
"Jean Grey."
The sound of her name on Magnus' lips had Charles' eyes snapping up immediately. How had he…?
"Telekinesis and telepathy. A rare double gift," Magnus continued. "Omega level." His eyes lowered to Charles fleetingly, then back out the window. "Unlimited potential, in such a young, impressionable girl." He shook his head slowly in admiration. "Fascinating."
Charles felt himself growing ill. Magnus knew about the children. He had obviously done a fair bit of investigating. And the tone in his voice told Charles that he liked what he'd learned. Liked it far, far too much.
"Oh, don't look so surprised, Charles," Magnus chastised, almost teasingly. "I have my sources, just as surely as you have yours."
That did little to settle Xavier's nerves.
"And Scott Summers. Alpha level. Enough raw power in those optic force blasts to punch a hole clean through a mountain." He paused and smiled to himself. "Or to take down a building."
"Magnus, don't," Charles said warningly, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. Magnus was talking about using children – his children – as weapons. Absolutely unacceptable.
"Just imagine it, Charles," Magnus said, a wistful tone to his voice. "We could assemble an army of young mutants, just like these," he motioned out the window, his voice growing more excited, "and train them, prepare them for the coming war. And then we can strike first, hard and fast, and rise to take our proper place as the dominant species on the planet."
"No –"
"Think about it, Charles," he continued, turning around to look down at his former friend. "We'd be invincible. There would be no force on Earth, no weapon known to mankind, that could stop us." He leaned down and grasped Charles' hands in his, eyes unnaturally bright in his excitement. "Just imagine!"
Charles remained silent, face impassive, though inside he was reeling.
Magnus was serious, of that Charles had no doubt. He would form his army, and he would do everything in his power to eliminate human beings, as an entire race, from the planet.
Unless someone could stop him…
"Please leave, Magnus." His voice was calm, clipped, formal. And his face betrayed nothing.
But Magnus knew him well enough to not be fooled. He stood, releasing his friend's hands, and picked up his jacket from where he'd draped in on the back of the chair. Pausing near the door, he partially turned, speaking over his shoulder. "The road to hell, Charles, is paved with good intentions." He reached for the knob and opened the door. "Remember that, my friend."
The door clicked shut behind him, and Charles felt himself slump slightly in his chair. Wheeling over to the window, he peered down at his students, teenagers he looked upon as his own children. The very fact that Magnus would even suggest – no, imply – that they could use them to wage a war…
That brought him up short.
No, not use them to wage a war. Use them to help prevent a war. Magnus was right, there were no weapons on Earth that would stand a chance against a mutant army.
Another army of mutants – defenders – were another story entirely, however.
It was a loathsome idea, he accepted that. To train students as a mutant police force, of sorts, to protect the world against a rising mutant army…
It was horrible, but it just might be the world's only chance.
Watching as Scott and Jean abandoned their work for a few moments of play, laughing and smiling, to be carefree children, it broke Charles' heart to think about what he might have to do to them.
And to the masses of students, scared and confused by their abilities, who would inevitably seek out his school as a sanctuary. Once word of the Xavier Institute as a safe haven for "the gifted" got out in the right channels.
Coming soon (no, really, I mean it!), Chapter 14
As always, feedbackwould be greatly appreciated.