I know, I know, I'm seriously behind on responding to your reviews. That's why I have decided to devote the first hour and a half of school tomorrow replying to them! In the mean time, I'm extremely grateful for all of your support and kind words! Hopefully I haven't driven you all away from my lack of visible appreciation.
In the mean time (shameless plugging of new XMFC story)... if you're bored... I started a spin-off story for this 'verse. It's called 'The Winter of Our Discontent.' Feel free to read it... it's going to be 3 chapters long and be finished by December 25th.
And now, for your regularly scheduled broadcast...
The Perks of Being a Telepath
Chapter 17: A Question of Morals
Charles was slumped in one of the leather chairs, looking more tired than Erik ever remembered seeing him. He barely glanced up as Erik walked unsteadily into the room and all but fell into the seat across from him.
"Are you all right, my friend?"
Erik almost snorted at the irony of Charles' question.
"I am fine, Charles."
Charles nodded once, before sighing. He started fiddling the bandage on his wrist.
"What happened to your hand?"
A flash of followed by the sickening sound of flesh connecting to bricks floated through Erik's mind.
Charles visibly winced and brushed his hand against his temple.
"Sorry."
"What was that?"
The telepath closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again. He didn't look at Erik.
"It was an emotional imbalance caused by taking away your pain and an overuse of my telepathy."
"What?"
Charles sighed.
"For once, I would love not to have to worry about mutants or powers or the battle for good and evil and just play chess."
Erik pushed his knight forward, deciding to give in to Charles' wish to avoid the topic.
Just for a little while.
"Your move."
Charles smiled softly.
"Your sarcasm is amusing to say the least."
He moved a pawn to block Erik's knight.
The game continued in silence for a few minutes, before another thought occurred to Erik.
"You're wearing a t-shirt and jeans."
"Why is my change in fashion so confusing for you?"
"You don't look like a professor anymore."
"And that's a problem for you?"
Yes.
"No."
Charles smiled again as he maneuvered his queen to get away from Erik's rook and bishop. He left his king wide open.
"You always get offended when you think I read your mind."
"I thought we weren't talking about powers."
"I'm not. I don't need a power to know what you're thinking most of the time, Erik. Even when you're wearing that blasted helmet."
Erik moved his bishop into striking distance.
Charles' grin turned feral as he moved his knight.
"Checkmate."
Erik stared at the board, trying to figure out how his friend had beaten him.
"I've had a lot of time to study this game."
It was obvious he wasn't talking just about the chess match.
"And what is your conclusion?"
"There is always a way to win, even when you think you've lost all hope."
"That was profound, Charles."
Charles grimaced.
"What I meant was that you were winning this game. You should have won this game. But you didn't."
"And?"
"By all rights, the humans shouldwin this war. They were here first, they're infinitely more powerful than we are, even without special mutations, and there are a bloody ton of them."
"That makes it sound as though this is hopeless."
"Nothing is ever hopeless, my friend. You've taught me that. We will win this war, Erik, but we won't do it by slaughtering innocent people."
Like Shaw was heavily implied, though never explicitly stated. Like you was also there, but again, Charles never actually spoke the words.
Erik heard them anyway.
"We've tried being the better men, Charles."
"No, we haven't. You've tried shooting missiles at naval ships and breaking into the CIA while I have tried hiding out and peace talks. Neither approach seems to be working."
"So what do you suggest?"
"A compromise. I will help you take down the government's plan to exterminate the mutants if you promise not to kill anyone."
"Anyone?"
"Anyone."
"What if they absolutely deserve it?"
"No one absolutely deserves to die, Erik. Besides, wouldn't that be making them suffer less?"
Erik stared at Charles, confused.
"What?"
"If you killed them, then yes, you would be doing the world a favor, but you would also be doing them a favor. Killing them would instantly end the torture you could inflict on them."
"Are you condoning torture, my friend?"
"No. I'm just surprised you are not."
Erik raised an eyebrow.
"Why should I?"
"Why would you think someone should deserve to be killed?"
Realization dawned on Erik and he looked at Charles in surprise.
"Would you be okay with tying someone up in the basement and torturing them until you thought they had suffered enough? That what they had endured would equal what they had done?"
"No."
"Then why bring it up?"
"Because there are other ways to torturing someone than tying them up in a basement and causing them physical pain."
Charles casually brushed his bandaged hand against him temple before looking away.
Erik was silent for a moment as he realized what Charles was offering him.
"I think I can take your compromise."
"Good Lord, I think I might have just created a monster."
"Charles…"
I don't want to lose you again.
Charles looked back at Erik and nodded once.
"I told you I'd help you. So I will."
Pain, screaming, agony, horror, pain.
"Charles!"
Millions of minds crying out in fear.
Gunshots, followed by more yelling.
Darkness started taking over the light as millions of minds vanished.
"Get him disconnected from that thing!"
Fear. Pain.
Oh god, what had he done?
"Charles!"
The pain started to fade.
"Come on, Charles, don't do this!"
I'm sorry, my friend.
"NO!"
I am so sorry.
"Erik, let go! He's gone."
Nothingness.
They started a new game of chess as Charles poured himself another glass of scotch.
"Just how much have you had to drink tonight, Charles?"
The telepath gestured to a bottle of scotch that was down to its last drops.
"That was full an hour ago."
"You're a functional drunk."
"I'm not sure if I should be proud of that."
"There are worse things you could be."
"Like a drunk, raging, murderous psychopath?"
"Yes. Though I have to tell you, the leaps your mind makes are astoundingly absurd."
"It's part of my power. And at least I rank above drunk, raging, murderous psychopaths."
"I believe that's my position."
"Please. Like you could be a raging drunk. I've seen you drunk—you pass out at the drop of a hat. Actually, I believe the last time, you did drop your hat and I had to come in after you."
"I wasn't drunk that day, Charles."
"You were afterward."
"As I recall, so were you."
Charles grimaced.
"It was a bad day."
"Indeed it was."
"I think I might have just put you in checkmate."
"No, Charles. You're white. I'm black. You're in checkmate."
"Damn. I honestly thought I was winning."
The room looked as though an earthquake had hit it. Broken glass and scraps of metal littered the floor, along with chunks of ceiling and cinderblock from where the walls had been blown apart.
Unconscious men littered the floor, some underneath the debris that had piled up. A ginger haired man was among them, his black jumpsuit white from the dust.
Two men stood in the middle of the room, one tall, thin and imposing, the other, slightly shorter with a dust-covered military suit. The former as carrying the gun.
"You'll never get away with this. The government will kill you."
"I don't care."
A shiver went down the military man's spine at the truthfulness of the other's words.
A small gasp of pain broke the silence of the room. The man with the gun turned toward it, his eyes widening slightly as his gaze rested on the fallen form of a man with shaggy brown hair. His eyes were closed and blood was seeping steadily from his nose.
It was the advantage the military man needed. He pulled his fist back and slammed it into the other man's face, breaking the soft cartilage of his nose.
The tall man dropped the gun with a grunt of surprise. The military man picked it up and aimed it at the first.
"Surrender now."
The man with the broken nose laughed. It was a bitter, hateful sound that had no joy in it whatsoever.
"You don't know what I can do."
The military man's hand quivered slightly. The man with the broken nose grinned, a sadistic expression filled with blood, malice, and hatred.
"Shooting me won't do anything."
The military man's hand shook even more.
"Drop the gun, Stryker."
He didn't. Instead, he aimed it at the unconscious man with the shaggy brown hair.
"No!"
"You will surrender, Mr. Lensherr, or I will kill your telepath friend."
"I'll deflect the bullet."
"If I recall, the last time you did that, you wound up breaking his spine. You wouldn't want to do that again. Not when he's barely alive as it is. Though you might be doing him a favor. Who knows how many mutants he killed before you turned the machine off? How will he ever be able to live with himself after that?"
Erik's hands clenched into fists as he tried to get a handle on his powers. Hatred and rage welled up inside him and it took all that he had inside of him to not turn the gun on Stryker and kill him. He had promised Charles that he would never kill anyone again. No matter how much they deserved it.
The metal in the room throbbed with the anger. The gun shook in Stryker's hands.
"I will shoot him, Erik."
"My name is Magneto."
The gun fired.