For those of you who read ahead, you'll recognize parts of this chapter. Actually, you'll probably recognize most of this chapter. And, for the record, I have a particular fondness for this chapter, so if you like it too, feel free to let me know!
Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! Your words mean the world to me!
The Perks of Being a Telepath
Chapter 4: Interrogations
Charles had talked to Director McCone many times since his arrest four weeks ago. The man was beyond angry that Charles had managed to make a mockery out of him, but was satisfied to some extent that he had managed to dupe the mutants in the end.
Now, he wanted to know how Charles had done it. Charles, who was nearing the end of his rope, still had enough left in him to make rather snide comments about the intelligence of the CIA.
God help him, but Erik was beginning to rub off on him.
"Mr. Xavier."
"I prefer Charles. It's been a month now. I'm sure we've moved past the awkward last name stage and onto a first name basis. Don't you, John?"
His snarky attitude, like most times, earned him a smack to his face. For once, Charles wished that he had his paralysis there instead of in his legs so he wouldn't have to feel the pain from the CIA director's blows.
"I am going to make you a deal, Mr. Xavier."
"Seriously, it's Charles. Mr. Xavier was my father, may he rest in peace wherever he is. And I thought the CIA doesn't negotiate with terrorists."
"I thought you weren't a terrorist."
"Strictly speaking, I don't commit acts of terror. I prevent them. You, on the other hand, condone acts of terror. Shouldn't you be rounding up and not negotiating with yourselves?"
The only thing more nerve-wracking than a sarcastic telepath was the tall, imposing German who could possibly control metal.
"Where did you come from?"
Silence.
"Did you immigrate legally?"
More silence.
"How did you get your powers?"
Fingers drummed slowly against the table.
"Where did you meet Charles Xavier?"
Fingers drummed slightly faster.
"How long have you known Mr. Xavier?"
Arms crossed.
"How long have you had your powers?"
Left foot tapped the floor.
"What exactly are your powers?"
Blink.
"Who are you?"
Impassive face.
"Are there other mutants out there?"
An eyebrow raised in mockery.
"Where are the other mutants?"
His right arm rested on the table. His sleeve was pushed up far enough so that a small line of numbers became visible. Metal vibrated ominously in the interrogation room.
Charles was fluent in ten different languages, passable in three more, and could probably scrape by as a heavily accented tourist in a handful of others.
Erik lost count of how many different languages he heard the telepath swear in the second he opened the front door to his ridiculously large mansion.
It was six months after what was now referred to as the Cuban Missile Crisis. Erik hadn't spoken to Charles or really any of the other mutants since that time, short of asking Hank three weeks after the disaster if Charles was still alive.
Hank had replied with a gruff yes that held the connotation of death should the metal wielder come close to the Westchester home again before hanging up.
Thus, Erik did not know about the wheelchair, nor did he know that Alex had died two weeks before, or that Sean had been forced to return home. Nor had he heard that Charles was battling with a severe case of depression as a result of both his confinement to his wheelchair and losing yet another family member, that Alex's funeral had been the day before, or that Hank had almost gotten himself killed in a lab accident that morning.
At least, he hadn't until Charles opened the door.
Erik had left the helmet at his secret mutant base and was flooded with the memories the second Charles realized it was Erik outside.
Forced to his knees from the sheer weight of it all, Erik wondered how his—how Charles had survived it all.
"What are you doing here?"
Charles, for the first time since Erik had known him, was not being polite.
Though given the past few months he had had, Erik could hardly blame him.
"I don't know."
Charles had something akin to a glare on his face as he released his hold on Erik's mind. The metal wielder stood cautiously.
"Where's Raven?"
"She didn't know I was coming. Nor did I."
Charles raised an eyebrow. Erik shifted uncomfortably.
"Well, Hank's resting and there's no one else here, so you're not going to be kill—you're not going to have a fight on your hands if you come inside."
Erik could only watch with guilt-ridden eyes as Charles wheeled himself around and rolled further into the house.
"You are going to cause a scandal if you remain out there too much longer. And take off that ridiculous cape—you look absurd."
"You want one."
"Not on your life."
Erik almost smiled. This was the Charles he remembered.
He guardedly stepped inside the mansion and closed the door behind him.
It was easy to come across as perfectly all right, even when things weren't. Charles knew this from experience. Too many pain-filled nights coupled with early morning track practices and hiding things from an overly nosey sister who meant well taught him the value of being able to lie. It didn't even have to be a particularly good lie and he rarely had to rely on his telepathic abilities to make the lie stick. When people asked if he was all right, they rarely wanted to know the answer. Not even Raven, who loved Charles dearly, truly wanted to know what Kurt Markos had done in the dead of night, because she wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she had known.
Being in a cell constituted as far from all right. The cell meant the possibility of interrogation, torture, and other unpleasant things that Charles hated to think about, but wasn't actually naïve enough to ignore. He had seen and experienced enough from Erik's memories to understand the true dread behind the government constructed 10 x 10 cinderblock room.
And Charles himself was far from all right. He had been exposed to many telepathic inhibitors over the past three years—the government always liked to experiment on new ways of controlling said telepaths instead of gaining cooperation—but that didn't make the effects any less powerful every time he was given them. And it also didn't help that he was one of the most powerful telepaths in existence—and that wasn't arrogance either—and therefore developed an allergy to the stupid drugs.
The effects ranged from mild dizziness and slight disorientation to full blown hallucinations, uncontrollable telepathy, blackouts, and nausea.
The effects this time were somewhere in between.
Combined with the fact that the serum Hank had created that gave Charles the ability to walk again was wearing off, Charles was left with a constant, blinding headache, shaking and sore limbs, and barely able to stand, let alone hike the three miles to the interrogation room in the pouring rain like the government wanted him to.
Was it any wonder that he blacked out on the way back and had been dragged through the mud?
Erik had become mildly concerned (actually, he had come close to a full blown panic attack, resolved only by Charles' sudden, but well-timed awakening or otherwise the metal structures holding their cell together would have collapsed and killed everyone—including them) and asked if Charles would be all right.
From experience, Charles knew that he could lie and probably make Erik believe that he was fine, even if it meant a little telepathy involved.
But Erik was one of those rare people who not only knew when Charles was lying, but actually cared enough to want to know if he was all right. And Charles really didn't have that much control over his telepathy any more when it did decide to work for him, so erasing Erik's memory about the lie was out.
Honesty it was then.
"No."
They drifted off into silence, broken only by Charles' ragged breathing. Erik had long since given up his manic pacing to sit next to Charles and place a comforting hand on his heaving shoulders.
"Erik…"
The comforting hand turned into a clenched fist as Charles brought up the age old argument of the possibility and logic of Erik escaping on his own.
"Don't, Charles."
"Don't be daft. The others are going to need you."
"They need you more."
Charles really wished the room would stop spinning and Erik really needed to stop drifting out of focus. It was already hard enough to concentrate with the lives of every single mutant in a ten yard radius pushing for attention in his mind.
"We both know I won't be worth anything when the time comes."
"Then I'll carry you out."
"That's not exactly what I meant."
"You are not going to become a martyr for the mutant race, Charles."
"Nor are you going to become noble on account of me."
They had reached their familiar stalemate, the one they usually reached in arguments such as these. Both men were stubborn to a fault and both believed that they alone were right.
"Do you honestly believe Raven will let me leave you behind?"
"Do you honestly think she or you will have a choice in the matter?"
"You promised never to control us."
Old arguments that never died. They would both do what they thought was right.
"Promise me one thing, Erik."
"I cannot do that in good faith when I know what you are going to ask me."
"You don't believe in faith."
"Don't be coy, Charles."
Charles paused long enough to close his eyes and quell the dizziness before continuing.
"I don't want you to see me die, Erik."
It was a quiet, heartfelt admission that almost broke both of them.
"Who's to say that you are going to die?"
Images of the past three weeks since they had been captured and what the government had in store next for them filled both of their minds before Charles had the time to fully realize what was happening. He quickly severed the connection, but the damage had already been done.
"The CIA fears telepaths above all mutants."
"That's absurd. Who would fear you?"
His dark humor that was completely out of place, though it elicited sorrowful chuckles from the both of them.
"It appears, my friend, that the Americans don't have the same faith in me that you do. Or the lack of faith."
"I will not stand by and let them murder you."
Charles sighed heavily.
"I am not worth your life, Erik."
"You're worth more."
The silence of the mansion made Erik feel distinctly uneasy, more so than the plastic wheelchair (it was obvious why Hank had constructed it that way) or the fact that Charles was in the wheelchair in the first place.
The last time Erik had been there, it had been full of laughter, tension, and above all else, love.
"A lot of things change."
"Stay out of my head."
There was a heavy sigh as they reached the library.
"I don't have to read your mind to know what you're thinking."
Whatwe'reallthinking.
The thought floated unbidden between them, but Erik decided not to comment on it. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here—he had wound up wandering the New York countryside after his last CIA government attack gone wrong—and stumbled upon the mansion by accident.
The fact that he hadn't brought his helmet just seemed like fate was calling out to him. So he decided not to push Charles, who was obviously on edge about Alex's death and Hank's injuries and Sean's disappearance.
They walked through the silent halls. Erik knew without asking that they were heading to the library.
"What happened to Hank?"
Charles closed his eyes and stopped his wheelchair. Erik could see the battle in his eyes about trusting the one man he once counted as his friend or protecting his family.
Erik knew which one Charles would choose. He didn't ask again.