September 3, 1974
"-and they all lived happily ever after," Charles read.
"Always," David said.
Charles swallowed and ruffled his son's hair.
"Always," he said.
David snuggled under the covers as he settled in for his afternoon nap. It was a little past one in the afternoon, but David had begged to be read to. It was hard to deny him that. Charles folded his hands and stared at his son. He looked very much like him, his face already giving hints of what he would grow into. He'd been given his father's blue eyes, that had been apparent since his birth. Other features had been less obvious, but they had become apparent in time.
However, he also had enough of Moira in him. He could see his son's auburn hair growing in, his skin a softer version of his mother's. There was something in the nose too. Charles had prided himself on being able to point out his wife's features in David to others. He'd been adamant about them to Moira when David had first been born.
Charles sighed and turned away. He left the room and wheeled down the hall to his office. He locked the door behind him. Now that his son was asleep, classes were over, and the X-men were training, he had some time to himself. There was no more time to run from his fears, nothing left to distract him. Nothing should have distracted him in the first place.
He closed his eyes. Moira's words to him had been in the forefront of his mind since she had spoken them. It had only been a day that she had been gone, but he missed her. Her words were also becoming heavier with every second. He'd known it was coming, known that Moira wouldn't put up with his lack of care for very long. He knew that she deserved more than that, but he had hoped that he'd had more time.
He'd also been surprised. He'd expected that her confrontation would come in the form of a sheaf of papers requiring his signature, papers that would give her her freedom. She would leave Westchester and find some place far from him, but close enough to continue to be a good mother. It was likely that she would get custody of his son. She would find someone else and move on.
The idea of her with another man made his blood boil, but what else could he do? Charles was well aware that Moira wasn't the type of woman to be shoved away, and he knew that he'd been doing exactly that. Ignoring their problems wasn't making it better. He'd known for months that Moira wasn't going to tolerate what he was doing for much longer.
And yet he hadn't done anything. He'd just sat back and waited for things to take their course. He felt surprised at his own lack of action, his own resignation to what he believed was the inevitable. At the same time though, he'd felt that there was only one outcome, that there had only ever been one outcome when she had married him. She would leave him one day.
He had thought, originally, that it would have been over the lack of children in their lives. Moira had wanted children and Charles had known that he would be unable to give them to her. He had tried to tell her that when their relationship had become serious. It appeared that she had already thought of that, had already decided to adopt when the time came.
Instead she'd given birth to a boy. It had been an unexpected and surprising miracle. He still remembered the day that David was born, remembered her cries and the worried faces of the doctors. He'd been so scared that he was going to lose them both. Charles had been prepared to force the doctors to let him in when one of them caved.
He bowed his head, ashamed. How had he digressed from being willing to violate his own personal beliefs on mutations for his wife to watching with apathy as she slipped away? It had only been a few years. Charles dug his fingernails into his forehead, right underneath his thinning hair.
Moira was right. Something had happened to them. He'd thought long and hard about it since she had spoken to him. They both knew something had gone wrong. The only difference was that he knew exactly what it was that had happened, and it was his fault. It made him feel even more ashamed because, instead of giving him the divorce papers like he knew he deserved, Moira had wanted to give him a second chance.
He rubbed his temples. He knew that Alex, Sean, Hank, and all the rest of his students saw him as some great man, a man with a vision to help mutant kind. He knew that they saw him as a strategist, a man who could no longer lead from the field, but led nonetheless. Charles knew that they saw him as intelligent, an eloquent speaker, someone that they could depend on.
In the end though, he knew who he really was. He was a bad son, a boy whose mother had shunned the very sight of. Charles was a failed friend and a terrible brother. How else could he have managed to lose his only real friend? Why else would his sister leave him, never even once looking back? He had tried, he had failed, and his failures had been complete.
On top of all that, he couldn't even walk anymore. He was a good teacher, and that was it. He'd come to terms with it when he'd sent Moira away. What could he offer her? Charles had seen the love that had began in her mind, and he knew that he could return those feelings, that they could be something that he had never had before. Then he would hurt her and ruin everything. Just like everyone else, she would leave him. It was better for him to send her away then to allow the inevitable to take its course.
Then she had returned. She had been angry, and he'd understood. At first he'd hoped that it meant that she wouldn't try to love him. Nothing good ever came of that. He'd been wrong. He'd tried to dissuade her, but against his better judgment, he'd allowed her to convince him otherwise. He'd managed to put his fears behind him and marry her. For years he'd lived happily, sure that he'd been wrong.
When David had been born he'd started to feel that fear creep up again. If he failed as a husband, that was one thing. It would be shameful, but it was different from failing as a father. The fears had returned and, scared that he would do something, he had started to distance himself from both his wife and young son.
And she had noticed, just like he'd known that she would. He'd been trying to push her away, both through conscious means and unconscious ones. He'd denied what he'd done, afraid to make himself too aware of his fears. It was easier to get angry, to ignore the fact that he was hurting the people who mattered the most.
The only thing that he hadn't really thought about was Moira. She was a fighter. Instead of wanting him gone she had told him that she still loved him, that she was willing to continue after everything. However, she had to think of David. He had to come first in her mind, and she couldn't let him grow up in a household where his parents no longer talked to each other.
He gripped the arms of his wheelchair. Why did he have to continue to be the failure? Why did he have to push away the one person who had been willing to take him as he was? No one had wanted him just for him. His mother had wanted a less bookish son. Erik had wanted a more militant friend. Raven had wanted a brother who was willing to burn the world for her. None of them had wanted him for him.
Moira had though. She had taken him with his faults and failings. Moira had accepted that he didn't hate his friend or sister, even after everything that had happened. Him being a mutant hadn't fazed her. She had accepted him as a man who couldn't even even carry her over the threshold on their wedding day. He was a man who, until a few years ago, they had thought that he couldn't even give her children. It hadn't mattered. Everything that he was, everything that he wasn't, she had accepted.
In return he had pushed her away. He had consistently put his work in front of her and the son that they had managed to have. He hadn't appreciated her presence, the constant and silent support that she had always given him. He hadn't even recognized the mercy that she had shown him in not discussing their problems with Alex or any of the others. She hadn't wanted to make it real either.
He took a deep breath. How could he not want her? How could he not want a woman who stayed, understood, and fought? He'd understood that she was an amazing woman for years. It turned out that he hadn't understood just how amazing she was though, how deep her loyalty and love ran.
Charles wanted to fight, wanted her to stay. He wanted to forget everything that he feared and focus on the love that they shared. He wanted to ignore the past few years, to start again. He wanted to tell her everything that he had felt, to apologize for it all. Charles had wanted to apologize for a long time. He just couldn't find his voice to do so.
He opened his eyes. Charles gripped the arms of his wheelchair even tighter, his knuckles turning white. He would have to find his voice. The next time he saw her, he would tell her everything. Charles didn't care what he had to do to force the words from his lips. He didn't care if he choked on them as he came out.
He had kept his inadequacy inside himself for years. Charles hadn't been able to break through his mother's self-loathing and over-indulgence in her partying lifestyle. He hadn't been able to fight hard enough to keep Erik from giving into his darker nature. His inactions to see what Raven had wanted and needed had led to her leaving and never coming back. It meant that he had failed her too.
Charles hadn't been able to fight for any of them. However, if there was one person he would be able to fight for, it was going to be Moira. He was going to succeed where he had failed before. She was his wife, his second half, and probably the only person who could even begin to understand him. There was no front he had to put up for her. He would have to understand that and beg her forgiveness.
He leaned back in his wheelchair. She would forgive him. It was in her nature. The rest of the fight would be following through with what he said. He had to begin a plan to hand over more of his classes to Alex, to put some of the school's burden on others. Sean had come back to work there. He might not stay forever, but they could use him for a while. He would have more job duties, giving Charles more time.
He would give Moira more time too. They would be able to be a family for the first time in years, a real family. He would do things with his wife and son, would make time. It was going to be difficult, but he was going to be a husband and a father again. He couldn't let Moira or David go, couldn't see them leave his life.
He felt like a fool for letting things continue on for as long as they had but, no matter how much he wished otherwise, he couldn't change the past. He just had to make sure that the next few years weren't like the last. Moira had taken a gamble when she had married him. He couldn't let her think that it had been for naught.
Charles wheeled himself over to his desk. He had to get started. There was a lot to be done if he was to save his marriage. He was determined to win though. Out of ashes he had built a school and a safe haven for mutants. Surely he could save his marriage to the only woman he had loved enough to give her all of himself.
There was still a chance.
"Should we move in?"
Sinister tapped his chin as he looked at the conference center. He looked down at the clipboard that one of his men had stolen. It seemed that most of the talks were scheduled in another hour. A half hour after that it seemed that everyone would be in one conference room or another.
"No," he said, "We'll wait for another hour and a half. Start securing the perimeter, and then move from there."
He pressed the cold metal of the clipboard to his lips and grinned. It was all coming together. He knew that not everyone inside the conference was a mutant, but enough of them were for things to work out. The only other place that they could get so many mutants together was Westchester, and they certainly didn't have the firepower or strength to take the Institute.
If they did, he'd have already gotten a perfect specimen in the younger Summers. He had to be grateful for what he had though.
"Hold position," Sinister said.
The guard nodded at him. Sinister put the clipboard down. He walked towards the back of the room in the office building. He'd been watching the conference center for a few days. He could see that a few protesters had gathered outside it an hour ago, but it was for the best. He'd already had a few men disguise themselves as protesters and report back.
He turned left and came up on a reinforced door with a panel on the wall. He punched in the access code and the door swung open. He walked up to a dark safe. It was tall, but it had to be. He could detect the faint whirring of refrigeration. Sinister had been worried that his men would be too clumsy to put the delicate piece of machinery in place. He had watched them like a hawk, but it appeared that they were at least a little competent.
Locking the door behind him he spun the dials a few times. Inside a refrigeration unit burned out twice the cold of a normal one. He'd had to design it himself. A great deal of careful preparation work had been put into just making sure that he could safely transport his masterpiece, let alone make it.
He put on a glove and reached out for a delicate vial. Inside he saw black sparks inside the simmering liquid. He could already feel the heat coming up through the glass. He smiled at it adoringly. With very gentle movements he put it back in the refrigeration unit and closed the door. He twirled the dial a few more times and shut the safe.
It was ready. In a few hours he'd have enough data to move forward. He unlocked the door to the room and locked it again behind him. Taking off the glove he stuffed it into his pocket before he walked to the window. Once more he could see the conference center that would have the honor of being his testing grounds.
He couldn't wait.