In one of the living rooms of the now horribly quiet and extravagantly large mansion, Alex sits in a similar posture to the one he held in prison, his head buried in his hands. Sean for once is silent, and that is telling of the tension under which they all labor, while Hank curves his furred, clawed hands and growls softly every so often. At last Moira breaks into speech, saying what is on all their minds.
"We need to get Charles back."
"But ..." Hank hesitates. "We don't know even know where he is."
Alex puts in, "There're the letters from Raven. Can you trace them?"
Sean reminds, "She warned us not to try to find them. If Magneto wanted, he could just have the scary-looking red dude move them somewhere else."
Moira straightens her bowed shoulders in determination. "It's been three weeks. We have to do something. Charles is owed that much, at least."
Her connections with the CIA are less than impressed with this line of reasoning. "I say good riddance, McTaggart," her superior snaps. "One missing mutant is not going to stir this department into unnecessary action."
"Charles Xavier is a hero!"
"He's damned dangerous and possibly on the run from state identification!"
Moira almost hits him before taking a deep breath to prevent herself from action which would only hurt her petition. More and more often she finds herself astounded by the incredible blindness and stupidity of her species.
"Is that what you're planning?" Alex demands, having heard the last part of the shouting match and coming up to them. "To round us off to jail when all we've done is prevent World War III? We saved your ungrateful asses-"
"You little hoodlum-" McCone glares threateningly and seems ready to call for backup.
"I'm quitting," Hank says suddenly, his yellow gaze cold.
McCone's lip curls angrily as he turns to the massive beast-like figure, and a look of disgust and fear is evident on his face. But McCoy is a genius. "You can't do that. You need to rebuild the Blackbird and show us how-"
"About that. I'm sure the minions working for you will figure something out." Sean guffaws at McCone's expression, and the strident sound drowns out the latter's furious reply.
/
After they have settled down from their ridiculous fit, Raven presses Erik to"take off that metal can" because "it's only Charles here."
Reminded, Erik withdraws immediately into himself. "He's why I have it on." The atmosphere in the room grows dismal. Raven bites her lip in vexation at her new leader's obstinacy and seems about to push the issue, but Charles pats her hand. "I'm sure Erik will divest himself of that uncomfortable monstrosity when he's ready," he assures her.
She smiles in reply, but is clearly troubled at this rift in the relationship between the two men dearest to her.
"Mystique." The commanding tone in Magneto's voice causes her to sit up straighter. "I think Angel needs someone to look in on her. After all, her wings are still recuperating."
"Yes, but-
" Raven isn't entirely fond of Angel, but at a glance from Magneto, obeys with a quick squeeze to Charles' fingers. She exits the room after a promise to Charles to visit him again soon. There is a hint of disapproval in Charles' demeanor at Erik's treatment of his sister, but he chooses to remain silent for the moment.
Silence fills the room as the last sounds of Mystique's retreating steps die away. "Would you like to go outside?" Erik asks abruptly.
Charles' lips quirk in a genuine, boyish smile of delight, and Erik feels that fission of comfort at the palpable ease with which Charles still treats him. "That would be splendid."
/
Erik wheels Charles through the hospital gardens. The latter is obviously basking in the little sunlight, somewhat dim as it is hidden behind greyish clouds. "Even you have to admit you were wrong." Erik convinces himself that he will not act smugly on the strength of his better acumen regarding humans and their inevitable negative reactions.
"About?" Charles queries innocently, trying unsuccessfully to lean down and pick a flower; the chair's arm blocks him.
Erik rolls his eyes and seizes a thin wrist, forcing Charles to look up at him. "Don't be an idiot as well as naïve."
Charles squints exaggeratedly as he meets Erik's exasperated gaze. "The light is glinting off the metal on your head," he complains in a plaintive voice. Then he sighs deeply, looking away. "That was a poor sampling of the much vaunted humanity of homo sapiens."
"Then, don't you see what must be done?" Erik lets Charles' hand go, only to crouch down and grasp his shoulders a moment later in his desperation to persuade the man.
Charles does not flinch, meeting his gaze squarely now. "There is still a chance for reconciliation. Humans and mutants can live together. I believe it."
"They don't." Erik starts to run his fingers through his hair before remembering the helmet. "How can you, who can read minds, still have this blind faith in their goodness?"
What do you know about me?
Charles smiles, in a manner sad yet strangely bright. "The same way I believe that you, my friend, will be the better man."
Everything.
/
"How are the others doing? Hank, Alex, Sean, Moira …?" Charles inquires of Raven, who is fussing with his blankets. He is dressed in casual clothing, the result of much irritation with hospital gowns.
"The last I heard, they were fine." Raven avoids his questioning gaze, looking somewhat guilty, a slight flush under the blue color of her cheeks.
"Fine?" he repeats slowly, sitting up despite his sister's attempts to make him lie down. She bites her lip at seeing the struggle even this small movement is. "When was the last time you heard from them?"
"A few weeks ago," she says defensively. "I was a bit concerned about your well-being, you know. And Erik's off building something-"
"I'm as recovered as I'll be without walking out that door," Charles says, a little more harshly than he intends. Raven flinches.
Perceiving this, Charles sighs and leans back. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you."
"Are you angry with Magneto?" Raven asks quietly, after a pause.
"Should I be? If I were to be trapped in this place, that would be adequate reason for me to harbor some resentment against him, wouldn't it?"
She is genuinely shocked. "Charles, how can you think we'd imprison you? As soon as you're well ..." Her face crumples. "On the beach, I thought we'd have to part ways forever. But if you stay with us, then-"
"Dear Raven." He takes her hand and holds it in his own. "Don't fret. I didn't mean to upset you." She tries to smile at him and doesn't quite succeed, and eventually leaves the room. Charles settles back into the bed and lifting his fingers to his temple, closes his eyes.
Moira.
A startled gasp. Charles! Are you alright? Where are you?
I'm doing as well as can be expected. How is everyone?
Bearing up. Don't worry. Now, answer my question. Where are you?
An island—the mental connection is suddenly cut off. Erik had come in unnoticed and immediately
guessed what Charles was doing. Swearing, he pulls Charles' hand away from his head and smashes it onto the metal railing. Charles winces but keeps silent, only looking at Erik reproachfully.
"You were contacting that woman, weren't you." It is not a question.
Charles does not bother to deny the accusation. "It's Moira. And you can't keep me here." He stares pointedly at the grip Erik still has on his hand. Erik expels an angry breath and releases his hold.
"Damnit, Charles!"
What did you just do to me?
"If you'd only see sense—"
"You mean your way of things. We will be forever divided on this subject. As you once said, do you have it in you to allow that?" Erik has to smile a little at how Charles is so dependent on his mind-reading ability that without it, he usually miscalculates people's reactions and chooses exactly the wrong words to say.
It was a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you.
With that prompting, he had moved the satellite, a veritable and proverbial mountain. He can't do without such strength, not when he needs it the most in the coming war against humans. And he certainly cannot let it be on the opposing side.
"Come with me," Erik says abruptly. Charles frowns in confusion, but is given no choice as Erik throws off the blankets and lifts him with less than maximum effort, depositing his burden onto the wheelchair.
/
"Where are we going?" Charles asks a little nervously but as yet without real fear; Erik wheels him through the empty hallways. His inability to read Erik's mind has him groping for a consciousness to latch onto. A few nurses are at the outer edges of the hospital; the center of the building is curiously lacking in people.
Erik doesn't answer him. There is a nearly visible aura of fury emanating from his body, and only belatedly does Charles, not seeing him, realize this. He cranes his neck to face his friend. "Erik, what's wrong?"
Erik laughs shortly, the sound harsh in both their ears. "You really don't know, do you?" The wheelchair whirls around to face him, and Charles grips the arms to stop himself from lurching. He frowns, clearly wondering what is going on Erik's erratic mind. "Sometimes I wonder who's the telepath, me or you."
Listen to me very carefully, my friend.
"So clueless," Erik mocks with an affected air of carelessness. "Defenseless. Pathetic." Despite his words, Charles' earlier, heartfelt words and others, said over the course of a few weeks, has reverberated in his head and embedded themselves into his skin, and he wonders if Charles really isn't in his mind.
Charles' mouth tightens and his eyes narrow. What would surely be a painful mental blow to Erik dissipates into a pressure hard enough to make him stagger back, but only for a few moments, while Charles falls back, exhausted from the effort as well as his weeks of enforced bed rest.
Two nurses come running, a blank expression on their plain faces, presumably called by Charles. "Will you take me back to my room, please," Charles requests of them, a hard look on his face as he glares at Erik. So he has ruffled the great telepath's composure. He wants Charles to be angry, to make his own ire rise, to make this easier for himself
Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.
No, peace is not an option, not when a formidable dilemma presents itself so blindly, so idiotically before him. Erik grins, though amusement is the last thing he feels, and blocks the blank-faced women from assisting Charles. "Call off your slaves."
"They're not my slaves, and I'll do as I please-" Charles starts to say indignantly.
Erik interrupts him. "Not slaves? Seems like the worst kind of domination to me, that power you have. You're no saint; can you really say you haven't abused it?" He doesn't wait for an answer, and suddenly jerks his elbow a hair's breadth from one of the nurse's abundant belly. "Call them off, or they'll get hurt."
Charles stares at him, shocked at this turn of events. "But ... they're innocent," he begins tremulously.
"Not as long as they're under your control."
After a long moment, Charles takes a deep breath, and as if on cue the two women turn around and stiffly walk back down the hall. "Very well. I've done as you wanted. Now will you kindly inform me of the reason for such threats of violence?"
Erik ignores his demand. "If you call anyone else, I promise you there will be casualties." This is Charles' main weakness, one of many; his care for these wretched, weak humans.
"You've made your point quite clear. No need for demonstration, thank you," Charles says tightly. Erik surprises him by laughing. "So proper, even in a dire situation."
"Is this a dire situation?" Charles asks carefully.
They've reached an innocuous-seeming door, and he maneuvers the young man in the wheelchair through it. Inside is a white-washed room, much like any other in a hospital, except that it is bare of any but toilet accessories and a shower; there are curious slits in the roof.
Depleted of energy by his mental exertions, Charles has had his eyes closed until he feels the wheelchair movements stop. "Why are we stopping here?" he murmurs tiredly.
Erik smiles oddly, though since he is behind Charles, the latter can't see it. "You could say we've reached the end of a long hallway and are standing at a door."
"Well, of course-" Charles says irritably, fingers coming up to rub aching temples. Suddenly he sits up and takes stock of his surroundings. "Where are we?"
"Would you care to repeat your response to my invitation?"
Charles stares at him, knowing immediately this time what Erik means. "I won't be a part of this—this genocidal devastation. Can't you see it'll only end in total destruction for everyone involved?"
"Is that your final answer?" Erik inquires, in an eerily quiet voice, the game-show humor of the question lost in the tense moment.
Charles on a subconscious level realizes Erik's plans but still cannot bring himself to believe his friend capable of such action. "I—yes-"
In a smooth motion, metal screens fall into place from the slits in the roof. Charles' eyes widen at the sudden silence in his ever probing mind.
"Nice, isn't it? It's designed of the same material as this helmet. If you can be kept out, surely … you can be kept in."
"Erik … let me go." Magneto does not answer, his eyes hooded and dark beneath the helmet's shadow as Charles tries to suppress his growing fear at the awful silence of the void into which he has been forced. "Let me go!" He pulls ineffectually at his wheelchair, but the metal of the wheels is rooted to the ground.
When you can access all that, you will possess a power no one can imagine.
"It's your decision, Charles." Magneto pauses at the door, his back to his former friend as he speaks. "But there's only one choice." And then he is left, utterly alone.
Not even me.
"Erik!"