As John, the driver of his white, 1980 Cadillac Fleetwood Maloney limo, made a sharp turn on one of the busy streets of Manhattan, Charles Xavier's mind wandered to the purpose of his meeting with Agent Duncan. It seemed sort of strange that Fred had told him to come into New York City to meet him at new offices in Midtown. Charles hadn't even known that the CSA had offices in New York.
Normally, whenever there was a new Mutant who needed Charles' help, he would receive a phone call from Agent Duncan of the CSA, the Commission on Superhuman Activities, and Fred would send him a jet, which would take him to Washington. From there he'd be briefed and he and a team of agents would appear at the scene of the uprising and they would subdue the Mutant.
Unfortunately, there had been one or two cases of Mutants who could not be captured, even when Charles used his powers to calm them, and they had lost their lives. And some others had to be held at locations for their own safety and the safety of the American people. As the foremost authority on Mutant genetics, Charles had a reputation and had been tapped by the CSA to assist in dealing with the rising Mutant population.
Of course, nobody at the CSA knew that Charles himself was a Mutant.
Through the CSA, he had managed to get most of his students. Of the Mutants he and the CSA had worked on together, he had decided to personally take responsibility for Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Warren Worthington III, Hank McCoy and Robert Drake.
The limo came to a halt in front of a Midtown building and John turned around and said, "Hey, boss. We're here."
Charles suddenly snapped back to reality and looked through the window at the tall building before him and took a deep breath. He hadn't actually been to Xavier Pharmaceuticals in ages. Though he owned significant shares in the company, he very rarely ever turned up for board meetings (but his twin sister, Cassandra, was Chairman of the Board) or even cared about what new products had been developed by the company. He knew the company had been his family's legacy. But neither he nor his late father had gotten into the family business: in fact, they had both gotten into genetics.
John came out of the limo and opened Charles' side. Though Charles had never enforced it, John had always insisted on wearing a crisp, black suit, white shirt, black tie and black hat whenever he had to chauffeur Charles around. He took great pride in his job and could always be found taking care of the many vehicles in the Xavier garage with minute detail.
As Charles was coming out, he said, "Thanks for bringing me out to the City, John. I'll meet you in a couple hours. I'd say..." He looked down at his gold Rolex. "I think four is a reasonable time. At the address I told you, though. But I need to see Max."
John, a tall, portly man only a couple years older than Charles, nodded his head. "Not a problem, boss."
"Well I guess you can find something fun to do," said Charles. He dipped into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Maybe go see a movie? On me?"
"Thanks, Professor X," said John finally. "I've been dying to see The Beastmaster."
Charles already knew that.
With that, Charles turned his back on John and the limo and headed through the glass doors of Xavier Pharmaceuticals. The security guard behind a desk looked up and gave him a welcoming smile.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"What floor does Max Eisenhardt work on? I need to see him."
The guard's face dropped. "Is Mr. Eisenhardt expecting you?"
"No," said Charles, shaking his head. "But I'm sure he won't turn me away. Could you call him?"
"I could call his secretary," said the guard reluctantly. "But I'm afraid that isn't how we do things here at XP. Mr. Eisenhardt is a very busy man. I'm sure he won't have time to just see...May I ask your name, sir?"
"Charles. Charles Xavier. I don't have staff ID, I'm afraid."
There was a notable gasp from the young man and he instructed Charles to have a seat while he called upstairs.
While he waited, Charles gaped at his shiny, black shoes and fiddled with his grey, seersucker jacket, still wondering what this business with Fred was all about.
Didn't Fred know that he had better things to do than to be summoned for frivolity? He had his students to tutor and research to do. His friend and colleague, Moira Mactaggert, had recently isolated the X-Gene and had sent over a paper that she wanted his input on. He and his pupil Hank had been working on a machine that would amplify his telepathic abilities to locate Mutant signatures.
With a smooth, German accent, he suddenly heard, "Charles, what brings you to the City? High tea at the Waldorf?"
Charles looked up at Max Eisenhardt, who was standing in front of him with one hand on the hip of his grey, striped-linen suit, his other hand firmly fastened around some sheets of paper. His eyes, which looked as if he was in need of a couple days sleep, were busily perusing the documents.
Max, at fifty-two, still had the broad-shouldered masculinity of his youth. He was tall and strong and took pride in his body, never intending to look like an old man. He was still devilishly handsome: he had a rugged, square jaw with a deep cleft chin; thick, full eyebrows that accompanied his constantly furrowed brow; steely, grey eyes that could make you feel like the most powerful person on the planet or the most pitiful, depending on how he looked at you; and shiny, salt-and-pepper, curtained hair with a middle parting.
Where Max was tall and imposing, Charles had always simply been slender and some might even say delicate. He was about average height, with pointed ears-which had been the bane of his existence, at least until he'd started losing his beautiful, blonde hair at a young age; a small mouth; a narrow nose; and very arched, thick eyebrows.
If they had gone to high school together, he was sure that Max would have been a jock and he would have been a geek.
"What do you have there?" asked Charles.
"Oh, just some things from R&D," mused Max, with a nonchalant shrug of his broad shoulders. "Nothing to bother you about."
"I've come to bother you," said Charles, rising from his seat. "I'm meeting Agent Duncan at his new offices. And I'd hate to do it alone. He sounded ominous over the phone."
Max pulled his gaze away from his papers and locked eyes with Charles, only to give him a mischievous smile. "Well, well. How could I resist? I've always wanted to meet this Duncan. Let's run away before my secretary tries to wrangle me for a meeting with the CFO. They're the most god-damned boring things you'll ever attend, Charles. Arnold is just boring but his job doubles his natural level of boredom."
He slammed his papers down on the guard's desk and told him to protect them with his life he wanted to keep his job before they left the building.
"It isn't far," said Charles, as they casually strolled through Midtown. "It's actually about a block away."
They walked in companionable silence for a while, taking this rare opportunity to be alone. Back at the School, they were both always so busy. Charles was a slave to his research and to his students and Max was well known to bring work home.
And they hadn't exactly been on speaking terms for the past few days.
"Have you changed your mind about it?"
Charles exhaled at the question. "No, Max. I haven't thought about it. I...I'm not ready for that."
"I could just tell them myself, you know," said Max heatedly. "I'm an adult and they're my children. I don't need your permission for this, Charles. When I came to you, I wasn't asking permission. I'm tired of living a lie."
Charles grimaced. "We aren't living a lie, Max. I don't understand what you want from me." Though he understood exactly.
"Why should I, in my fifties, still be sneaking into the room of the man that I love like a thief in the night?" said Max, gripping Charles by the forearms and staring down into his face. "For what? It's 1982, for God's sake. And I'm tired of pretending that we're just friends when we know that we're a lot more than that. I deserve more than that and you deserve more than that, Charles."
"Well, I don't know if I'm ready to have that conversation with David, Max."
Charles wriggled out of Max's grip and started taking powerful strides towards the address Agent Duncan had provided for him, all the while sensing Max's mind very close to his, bombarding him with waves of disappointment, longing and pain.
He loved Max, of that he was sure.
He could remember the first time they'd met as vividly as if it were yesterday. Fifteen years ago, Charles had been introduced to Max Eisenhardt, the Executive Vice President at Xavier Pharmaceuticals. And from that time, Charles had never been more interested in visiting the offices. Suddenly he had reasons to drop by and before he knew it, Max had asked him out for and he'd accepted. And it became a weekly thing, then daily.
And then one thing had led to another...
Of course, Charles had reluctantly dated women in the past because it was the expectation that he would have an heir to pass on his family's vast fortune to even though he'd always known that he was gay. He'd managed to have the occasional dalliance with a man, but nothing had prepared him for Max.
German Max had had two babies that he'd adopted and had brought along with him to the US, Wanda and Pietro, and he was raising them all by himself. He was a doting father and he loved them like his own and, for a while at least, the four of them formed a little family. So Charles could often be found at Max's Fifth Avenue apartment burping baby Wanda or watching television with Baby Pietro. Charles hadn't shared that he was a Mutant for fear of being ostracized by Max. But, to his surprise, Max shared that he was a Mutant first. Which drew them even closer.
But then an old girlfriend of Charles', young, Israeli lawyer Gabrielle Haller, had resurfaced to say that her baby was his. Responsibility made him feel like he deserved to give the child a family so he broke up with Max and married Gabrielle.
They were simply a bad match, though they were great coparents. Gabrielle had fallen in love with Daniel Shomron, a childhood friend, and she and Charles had an amicable divorce. She and their son, David, now lived in Paris with Daniel.
And almost instantly Charles sought Max out.
By then, Max had been living with Susanna Dane, a junior Human Resources Manager at Xavier Pharmaceuticals, and they had had a child of their own, Lorna. Max, who was really unhappy with Susanna, asked for a divorce and decided to get back together with Charles. And Charles, out of guilt for destroying her family, ensured that Susanna received a promotion to the post of Executive Vice President of Worldwide Human Resources. After the divorce, she began seeing Arnold, who was the CFO at the company.
Charles realized he'd arrived at the building-in big, silver letters over the revolving door of the five storey, glass building were the letters M-U-S-E-and he pushed through, Max still following at a safe distance, so as to not ruffle Charles' feathers any more than he already had.
The lobby itself wasn't very large with only a few, dingy, grey chairs and very bad, fluorescent lighting. There were several large photos of the commissioners Charles had met since he'd been dealing with the CSA and below them was a picture of Agent Duncan: a very recent one, it seemed.
Of course the flag featured prominently behind them and he was staring at Charles with his usual scowl. Agent Duncan had never come across as very approachable, though he really did have respect for Mutants. He seemed to understand that it wasn't their fault that they had been born different.
Either way, Charles could never read his poker face: he forever had a scowl on it.
Charles supposed that Agent Duncan was attractive. He engaged in a lot of exercise even though he was in his fifties so his body was on par with Max's. The consummate military man, Agent Duncan had always kept his hair low. He was tall and his wardrobe seemed to be made up of mostly black or navy blue suits. He had dark, almost black, eyes with little smile lines all around them (which made no sense, since he never smiled) and skin the colour of warm, dark chocolate.
In the lobby, a young, brunette lady dressed in a stuffy, brown turtleneck was busily writing something behind a desk and on either side of her were two armed men in crisp, navy blue suits and dark sunglasses with very stern expressions on their faces. And beside each of them was a single elevator.
"Hello," she said. "Welcome to MUSE. Can I help you?"
"Yes," said Charles. "I'm Professor Charles Xavier. Here to see Agent Duncan?"
"Is he expecting you?"
Charles couldn't help from rolling his eyes again. "Yes. He is. We have a meeting for two-thirty."
"Of course," she said, picking up the phone from her desk. "Let me just call upstairs. And is he also expecting your friend?"
Charles looked over his shoulder at Max, who was standing behind him with his arms folded across his considerable chest.
"No," said Charles. "But he's coming with."
After she confirmed that Charles was expected, he and Max were thoroughly rubbed down by the men standing next to the young lady before they were told to go into the elevator and up to the top floor, where they'd find Agent Duncan.
Charles and Max didn't speak a word to one another on the way up and as the elevator door sprang open, there stood Agent Duncan, waiting for them.
"Charles," he said, in his deep voice.
"Fred."
"Is this the Mr. Eisenhardt you've told me so much about?" he asked.
"Indeed."
Agent Duncan put his hand out and Max took it. And they shook hands before Max let go and led them through the small, open plan office, which was full of men and women whispering into their phones, to a medium-sized, corner office that provided sprawling views of Midtown. The office itself was sparsely decorated with cracked club chairs and a stained sofa and there were big, metal cabinets in a corner of the room as well. There was a large, wooden desk with a computer on it and a big, leather office chair behind it.
On the table was a copper nameplate with SAC Frederick Duncan on it.
Agent Duncan pointed to the club chairs in front of the table as he closed the wooden door behind them. And, as they sat, he went around and sat down.
"Charles, do you know why the CSA was formed?" he began.
"Well, if I'm not mistaken, with the development of the superhuman population being what it is, the government felt that it was important to oversee them."
"That would be correct," said Agent Duncan. "It started in Central City, California with a girl who can turn invisible, a guy who can stretch, another who can spontaneously combust and a third who looks like a giant brick going around calling themselves the Fantastic Four. In New York we got a guy swinging from building to building on webs. There's a mad doctor hitting us a Jekyll and Hyde. And this Hyde is big and green and strong. We got a guy flying around in an iron suit. And then there's Captain America, the wartime hero who was trapped in a block of ice since World War I, if you'd believe it. Among others."
"What are you getting at, Agent Duncan?" asked Max.
"Well, what the government wasn't ready for was the appearance of Mutants, which puts a whole new twist on things. As you may have gathered, I've been promoted by the Commission," he began. "I'm now the Special Agent in Charge of MUSE."
"Which stands for?" asked Max.
"Mutant Underground Support Engine. I don't like the name. But I didn't choose it, the Commission did."
"Congratulations, Fred," said Charles. "Max, Charles was my handler while I dealt with the CSA and he often led our recruitment endeavours. So they've moved you to New York? How is that?"
Agent Duncan gave Charles a nondescript shrug as he leaned back in his chair. Notoriously private about his personal life, he continued:
"Mutants are the unexpected phenomenon. Unlike those other guys-except for that spider guy, I'm not convinced he isn't a Mutant-these people are born with their abilities. And some Mutants are benevolent while others are less so. Either way, the CSA has been working to find these Mutants so that they don't harm themselves or others. And, Charles, you've been indispensable to the organization."
"Thank you," said Charles, cracking a smile.
It's always nice to be recognized for one's contributions, even though it was more self-serving than anything else. Charles hadn't met many Mutants while growing up so he'd felt alone for most of his life. He never wanted another one of his kind to feel that way again.
"Charles," said Agent Duncan, "the reason I called you here is because MUSE was put together to do what you and I have been doing all along: remove Mutants from volatile situations to protect them and others. We now have full control of all the resources, we have more agents than we did before, we got a whole science division on the third floor that I'm sure you'll love. And I'd say that we've worked well together over the years, right?"
"Of course," said Charles, nodding his head. "Quite well."
"Good," said Agent Duncan. And an uncharacteristic smile spread across his face. "Because while finding Mutants is still going to be our primary focus, another one of them is to maybe influence public opinion a bit on Mutants. We're sort of taking our cue from the Fantastic Four. MUSE has been mandated to form a team. A team of Mutants who can offset some of the bad PR their kind has been receiving lately."
"What nonsense!" exclaimed Max, a horrified expression on his face. "You can't be serious."
"Look, mister," said Agent Duncan, "don't shoot the messenger. MUSE has been put together to support this team."
"Wait," said Charles, putting a hand on Max's forearm. "Wait. This idea is actually inspired. Max, Mutants are showing up all the time, to sometimes catastrophic results. Some are attacked, some of them don't even know what they're doing and they hurt others, and some have been using their abilities for wrong. If a team of Mutants is formed to counteract that, to show that all Mutants aren't bad or dangerous or volatile, isn't that a good thing?"
"No, Charles," protested Max. "It isn't. Why not check the ignorance of the humans who fear and hate them? It isn't a Mutant's fault that he's born with his abilities. Why doesn't the government educate the public?"
"We're working on that," said Agent Duncan. "But we're getting some pushback, Mr. Eisenhardt. Some officials-there's a Senator Kelly who's especially vocal against Mutants and he's gaining support-who think that all of them should be imprisoned because of the threat they pose. But the CSA, as an independent agency, disagrees and, instead, wishes to show the public that a lot of good can come from these people. If they could love Mr. Fantastic, why can't they love a Mutant? And this is where you come in, Charles."
"Me?" gasped Charles. Had they discovered that he was a telepath?
"Yes. Your students-the good ones who you have up in Westchester. Jean, Scott, Warren, Robert, Hank. They...Well, they pass, Charles. They would be more palatable to the public because they look like you and me, Charles. Well, that Hank is kind of big but still. From a PR perspective, it would be a good thing."
Max got up from his seat. "Charles, let's go. Agent Duncan, I don't believe we're comfortable putting Charles' students-children, need I remind you-in that kind of danger. Superheroics? Really? Robert Drake is fifteen-years-old, for heaven's sake. Preposterous. And the gall of this agency to think that it could just use our-Mutant-people conveniently!"
He started heading towards the door but when he looked over his shoulder, he noticed that Charles hadn't yet made a move: he was still seated where he was.
"Charles, are you coming?" he barked.
"No," said Charles, in a small voice. "I think I'd like to hear more about this initiative."
Immediately Charles felt waves of rage emanating from Max, telling him that he needs to follow him out of that building immediately.
But Charles remained immobile.
"I really can't believe this," said Max, shaking his head. "You would put the lives of children in danger for something like this without a second thought. But for something as simple as your relationship you can come up with all the excuses in the world to protect the children. I'm so disappointed in you, Charles."
Charles felt his eyes burning as he tried to keep it together. He was not about to have this conversation in front of Agent Duncan.
"I'll see you back at the estate, Max."
But Max was already gone.