Time is a toy.
These characters are not mine.
Hoodoo is my beta. :)
Thanks for sticking with me.
Present Day 1962 – Langley, Virginia
Erik was now never too far from either Moira or Charles, whether they knew it or not. He felt compelled to protect both Charles and Moira…and he had no idea why. To be sure, he still distrusted Moira, but from his almost weekly surveillance of her home, Erik could tell that she was not traveling to Westchester to bewith Charles.
And Charles was not traveling to Langley, Virginia to bewith Moira.
So, what the hell went on between Charles and Moira?
Mid 1962 – Westchester, New York
Charles finally found Scott Summers. He was in an orphanage in Omaha, Nebraska.
"Omaha, Nebraska? Why the fuck would he be placed there?" Alex said once he was told the news.
"Language, Alex, language," Charles told him mildly.
Alex rolled his eyes and said again, "Why would they place him in Omaha, Nebraska? We crashed in Alaska, not Nebraska."
Charles stayed silent for a moment, trying to assess the situation. There was something definitely going on with the orphanage in Omaha - when he tried to peek into the mind of the orphanage director, he found that he could not. This was definitely a cause for apprehension and pause. Charles knew that the young men trusted him with their lives. He did not want to give them a reason to start mistrusting him, but how much should he tell them?
In the end, Charles decided to tell Alex everything he knew.
"I believe that your brother might be in terrible danger," Charles began, his hands steepled under his chin.
"Then what the fuck are we doing here? We need to rescue him!" Alex said, beginning to stand.
"Calm yourself, Alex. It's not as easy as that…"
Charles feels his mind flying over several thousand miles, searching, searching, searching for a young man with a distinct yet familiar brain pattern. He has not found him in Alaska, which was his first guess. He has not found them surrounding the area where Alex was found. Charles almost gives up for the day, when he senses a particularly bright sensation coming from the Midwest.
He zooms in close and begins to search the area for the sensation. Charles suddenly feels a sharp pain in his head and almost rips the Cerebro's helmet off. Charles does not realize that he has growled until Hank's voice pops into his head.
"Professor? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Hank," Charles states trying to breath normally. "Give me a minute."
"Certainly."
Charles refocuses his attention and begins to do a mind sweep of the building that he finds his consciousness in. Blank slate grey walls. Bland food. Beds set up side by side by side. No privacy. No joy. No happiness. Fear. Terror. Guilt. Over and over again. Charles' jaw sets into a hard line. This is an orphanage and it might as well have come straight from the nineteenth century. His hands are clenched into fists. Charles jumps from one bright consciousness to another until he finds the one he has been searching for.
Scott's eyes are closed, but the fear is completely evident in the terrorized thoughts and rapid heartbeat. Charles can smell the urine staining his clothing and the pain coming from various places on his body. Scott wants to cry but is trying very hard not to. There's no knowing what these people will do to him.
Charles feels hands roughly pull the boy up into a standing position and is forcing him to walk into another room. He is shoved down into another seat. The blindfold that was binding his eyes shut was ripped from his eyes. Scott tried not to squint in the sudden light.
"So, Mr. Summers, will you not steal food again?" asks an unfriendly voice.
Scott really wants to respond back to the director, but a voice in his head suddenly tells him not to. No, Scott. Don't say it. We'll get you out, I promise.
"No Sir. I won't steal food again," Scott says through gritted teeth. He knows; he knows that this man is doing the children wrong. He knows that the director is keeping basic necessities away from the children. And, mostly Scott knows, that this man is doing terrible, terrible things to the others in the orphanage.
The director nods at Scott and he is again roughly pulled up from the seat and escorted back to his room. Scott shakes off the hands of the other person and lies down on his head.
Are you there?
Yes, Scott, I am here.
Who are you?
Someone who will get you out soon.
What about the others?
Charles is silent here. He had not planned on rescuing other children – just Scott.
Sir?
Yes, Scott?
What about the others?
Do you have a plan?
Actually, yes I do. And Scott proceeded to tell Charles about his plans.
Alex could only stand there as the Professor proceeded to tell him of Scott's plans.
"How could that possibly be a good idea?" Alex finally said. "Are we hiding or not?"
The Professor sighed. "We're doing a bit of both actually. This…man is conducting experiments on the children in the orphanage – both mutant and human alike and the authorities have either ignored the situation or have chosen to remain ignorant. This must be rectified," Charles said. Alex sighed. He agreed, but he wanted to get Scott out first. Charles smiled thinly at him. "You do realize that this whole plan is Scott's idea, yes?"
Alex's mouth dropped open. "What? Are you serious?"
"Yes, unfortunately, I am," Charles said. "I can't turn my back on this, you know that Alex."
Alex only sighed again. "I don't like that we're busting out my brother at the same time that we're taking down bad guys….especially since we're so low on manpower."
Charles smiled. "Sometimes, it's helpful to have the CIA in our back pocket, yes?"
Alex suddenly smiled.
Present day 1962 – Langley, Virginia
Now, that Erik had a taste of how camaraderieworked, Erik needed someone to talk to. He had summarily dismissed everyone that he could have considered a colleague and the one person he wanted to talk to probably would not want to see him much less talk to him. He even considered marching back to Moira's place just to talk to her. But he doubted very much that Moira would want to talk to him either.
So, Erik Lehnsherr had taken to staking out both Moira and Charles. Instead of sketching people's faces, Erik drew schematics of Moira's and Charles' homes, this was admittedly more difficult to do with Charles' mansion, but Erik did the best that he could. Moira's home was laid out as such: basement with laundry facilities, storage and a storm door (metallic, of course, something Erik could easily manipulate); first floor with a foyer, closets, powder room, living room, dining room and kitchen (the front door, which he obviously familiar with) and the back door (something that would have be closely watched); the second floor with Moira's bedroom, several more closets, an extra bathroom and two spare bedrooms; and finally the third floor (This can't be all paid for by the CIA. Money has to come from somewhere in her family.)that essentially served as the attic, with space for an office and another (unused) bathroom. It gave Erik comfort that only he could easily slip into Moira's apartment without notice. And strangely, it gave Erik comfort that Moira was obviously still very, very cautious –whether her fear came from the CIA or from him, Erik could not tell.
Erik was very much aware of how extremely ludicrous this all was, but if he were truthful with himself, Erik Lehnsherr would have to admit that he was a very, very lonely man.
Once or twice, Erik had almost been found out by Moira, herself. Erik had been too careless of late, distracted beyond belief from Trask's visit and his encounter with Moira herself. The first time he was almost found out by Moira happened almost two weeks after they had slept together. He was carelessly standing out in the open sitting on the steps of the apartment across the street from Moira's, instead of in between the two buildings in the shadows, when Moira stepped out of her house. Upon seeing Moira and realizing where he was sitting, Erik dove behind the two garbage bins and crawled into the shadows of the building – hopefully safe from Moira's eyes.
"Erik?" Moira called out. "Erik?" He heard her footsteps coming to where he was hiding. Erik had to run out of his hiding place as fast as he could. Later on, when he was safely ensconced in his hideout not too far away, Erik ran a hand through his hair and wondered (again) how he arrived at this point in his life; how he had taken to protecting a humanwoman.
It was crazy. It was incomprehensible. It was the actions of someone who cared.
Erik pulled out the bullet that had pierced Charles' spine and using his powers floated it above his hand and in-between his fingers. He paid little attention to the tears that seemed to come out of nowhere from his eyes.
The second time Erik was almost caught by Moira, Erik began to think that maybe he wantedto be caught. He was lonely after all, a feeling that was completely foreign concept to him. He could hear Moira's voice calling out to him with a hint of what? Need? Pleading? No, Erik shook his head. That could not be what he had heard in her voice.
He pulled out the drawing her had made of her face and stared at it silently, thinking.
"I believe we're being watched Professor," Hank said to Charles one day. Hank had taken to coming into Charles' study in the mornings just to keep him company. They often said nothing, opting instead, to just look out the window. Hank never commented that they both ended up looking at the large satellite dish in the distance.
"Oh? Have you seen who might be watching us?" Charles said casually. He began to send his consciousness out into the surrounding area but could find nothing alarming.
Hank turned to look at the Professor with an unreadable look on his face. "You know damn well who could be watching us," Hank said.
"Do you think he's working alone or are Shaw's followers with him," Charles said stiffly. Neither Hank nor Charles would ever mention Erik by name.
"I think he's working on his own," came Hank's response. Charles turned to look at the young scientist. He found Hank had turned back to the window and was again watching the scene outside. Alex and Sean were sitting on the lawn reading the assigned material that Charles gave them the other week.
"Do Alex and Sean know?" Charles finally asked, the silence wearing thin on him.
"No, not yet," Hank said, still looking at the satellite dish. "I wasn't going to tell them anything until I talked with you," he said. Hank lapsed back into silence, his eyes scanning the horizon for anything out of the ordinary.
"What do you think we should do?" Charles asked suddenly nervous and angry at the same time.
"I think we should kill him," Hank said stiffly. He had not turned to look at Charles.
"Perhaps, a little extreme, don't you think?" Charles replied, his anger winning out over his nerves.
"Was killing Shaw and willing to kill a bunch of faceless and nameless people a little extreme?" Hank shot back.
Charles said nothing, his anger overtaking all sensible thought.
It was a while before Hank finally broke. "Charles?"
"Say nothing. I'll try to talk to him," Charles said gritting his teeth.
"I'll have your back," Hank said.
Charles shook his head vehemently. "No."
"Yes," Hank said just as vehemently.
"No," Charles said feeling a headache coming on.
"Yes," Hank said again. "Look what happened the last time he was with us! He fucking paralyzed you. Did you forget that? This," Hank said gesturing to Charles' wheelchair, "was not genetics. It was not an outside 'act of god.' And although it was done unintentionally, Lehnsherr did it without thought as to what might happen in consequence. He killed Shaw, as justifiable it might be, plus, he was (and perhaps still might be) willing to kill anyone who does not think the way that he does. Charles, I know you have feelings for him. No, I know you love him, but do not think of a second that he would not turn against you if he thought you didn't have the same ideologies," Hank spat out. His anger was clearly evident on his face and body. Hank shook from the emotion that he felt. "Do not ask me to stand by while you try and reasonwith a madman. Do not ask this of me."
Charles nodded once and lapsed into a tense silence.
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