"I hear you and Mystique had something of an altercation," Erik said drily as he walked slowly into the kitchen, careful to steady himself on various reliable surfaces. Charles was already present at the breakfast table, sipping his much satirized tea. He showed no surprise at Erik's arrival or his comment, which led Erik to wonder if Charles was even then reading his mind.
"I think you've surrendered the right to keep your thoughts to yourself, don't you? Who knows what dastardly plan you're scheming of next?" Charles said serenely in response to his unspoken question.
"You're gotten past the physical signs of your telepathy," Erik observed, deliberately ignoring Charles' comment and gesturing with two fingers to his temple. He hobbled over to the coffee maker to make a cup, only to find one already steaming on the counter. His back to Charles, Erik scowled, but made his way to the table and sat down with cup in hand. He took a sip. The taste was exactly the way he liked it.
"We must all move forward," the telepath told him, as much a figure of apparent tranquility as the Buddha himself.
"What direction does your 'forward' take?" Erik inquired. He had to be cautious in dealing with Charles, the man whose friendship he had taken, crushed as trash, and thrown back in his face.
Charles looked at him over the lip of his tea cup, blue eyes wreathed in whitish steam. "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?" He paused a moment, and then added, "I've never hidden my intentions." The silent reprimand hung between them, thickening the air.
Erik nodded, accepting the quiet accusation as his due. "I suppose, then, the more important question at the moment, is where I fit in this future."
"You don't!" Alex's angry voice said loudly from the doorway. Still in shorts and a wife's beater, rumpled by sleep, the young man stalked forward, nostrils flaring, until he stood between Charles and Erik.
"No warning, Charles?" Erik sighed.
Charles shrugged at Erik's plaintive attitude. "Alex, I appreciate your concern. Please be mindful of those still asleep."
Alex continued glaring at Erik, but did lower his volume when he hissed, "You and your Hellfire buddies should go terrorize someone else's house."
"I am temporarily indisposed," Erik informed Alex patiently as though to an uncomprehending child. "Charles has been kind enough to offer me sanctuary until my condition improves."
"The professor was 'temporarily indisposed' by the loss of his legs, and you put him in a metal cage! What makes you think you deserve any kind of kindness from him?" A red aura of heat glowed warningly around Alex.
Charles patted the young man's arm and told him softly, "Alex, please."
Alex's jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly. "Alright. One last thing, Magneto. You just keep up your asshole habit of abandoning or hurting people when you don't need them anymore. One day you'll find yourself completely alone, old and used up and needing help, and there won't be a single friend to care." He took a deep breath, uncurled his hands, and walked out of the room, back rigid with unspent fury.
Erik and Charles sat in silence for a few minutes after that passionate tirade. "I don't know how to—" Erik started to say.
"You can't," Charles said flatly. He changed the subject, and in a gentler tone asked, "How was your night?"
"Better," Erik replied, grateful but unsure of how to express his gratitude. Thank you seemed too trivial. "Now that you're actively monitoring the dream visions, I rest more easily."
"Good," Charles nodded.
Erik hesitated. "When do you expect I can leave?"
Charles smiles, very slightly, and does not answer; instead, he leaves the room, leaving Erik chilled and wondering how the tables have turned so completely.
/
After he recovers somewhat from his shock, Erik tries to follow, only to find himself outflanked once again. We'll continue our conversation later, Charles informs him. I'm occupied at the moment.
So he was going to have to play the waiting game. Erik
Mystique enters his room, unbearably bored with having nothing to do now that Erik was improving. The inhabitants of the mansion have made it frigidly apparent to her that they do not need anything from her when, desperate for diversion, had volunteered to assist them in some kind of mission. The X-men recoil at her suggestions and keep her at even more of a distance.
"Being involved in espionage," Hank informs her, "might be your job as Magneto's woman, but here we work to better an integrated society, not spy on it. "
Sean adds his opinion. "Next you'll want a police state. No? Labor camps. Or is it the total annihilation of humans? I forget."
Humiliated and deeply injured, Mystique retreats to Magneto's room, where she proceeds to air her grievances, about which Erik can do nothing.
/
Merely to feel he had some control of the situation, Erik pulls a chair over to him with his power of magnetism. Then he says through gritted teeth. "I admit my surprise on the surprisingly flexible nature of your morality. You have no qualms on invading personal space, do you?"
Charles smiles, perfectly calm. "As I've mentioned to Mystique, my ability is a natural extension of myself. I don't see what I do as unfair if we're speaking as mutants, not humans-not any more than that useful display you just performed with the chair. Isn't that what you would teach your disciples? Funny how a fraternity can have unequal membership of pawns, assets, and key players. Yes, I know about the activities of your terrorist group, the Brotherhood. Very attractive name, by the way. Simple yet effective. Much better than X-men; I'm afraid we merely sound like the afterthought of a pornography film."
"This is not a game!'
"Of course it is," Charles contradicts. "Chess, to be more precise."
Erik gets to his feet so quickly becomes dizzy, and he wavers. Looking concerned, Charles rises to guide his once friend back to a sitting position before returning to his own seat.
When he regains his bearings, embarrassed by his weakness, Erik explodes. "What do you call your brainwashed little fledglings?"
Charles' penetrating gaze becomes even more intense. "Friends. Loyal allies who will not desert each other."
Erik's hands curl on the arms of his chair. "So if they follow you, mutants are companions. If they belong to the Brotherhood, well, they are derided as minions. I could name you something unflattering myself—hypocrite."
Charles raises his brows mockingly. "Tell me, then. Where is Frost? Azazeal and Riptide? In your moment of need, they have parted ways to seek more lucrative opportunities elsewhere." He continues, "You lured them to you by a show of power. Admittedly, an admirable show, but you gained only a hollow victory."
Knowing this to be true, Erik counters, "You insist of keeping me here! And … Mystique stays with me."
Charles ignores his first comment. "Ah, Mystique? I congratulate you on creating a soldier fanatical in your cause. She follows an illusion … one might even say, a lie."
Deeply buried guilt stings him at his own duplicity. If Mystique knew the entire truth … would she remain firm on his side? Or would she abandon him like all the others? Shoving the doubt down deeper, Erik says flatly, "I'm leaving."
The phone rings. Charles shrugs and reaches for it. "Hello? Yes, this is Charles Xavier. My application for opening the Xavier Institute was approved? This is wonderful news! I can hardly express …"
Erik stiffly walks to the door. Before he fully exits the room, however, Charles has the last word, as he always seems to do, lately.
I invite you to try.
/
Upon reaching his room he finds that the helmet is already on his desk, courtesy of Mystique, who tells him sullenly that Charles had informed her that Magneto would be wanting it—as though Mystique were Magneto's maid rather than his first lieutenant. Petty, Charles, Erik thinks.
Wary of tricks yet undeniably eager to be free, Erik reaches for the helmet. He almost expects an explosion, a violent reaction of some sort. Instead, his fingers slide off as though there is a thin layer of something that feels like … nothing, around the dark red metal.
Increasingly uneasy, Erik's automatic reaction is to call the helmet using his powers. Again, nothing, an empty space. The other metallic objects in the room respond as usual, but the helmet merely sits on the desk, glimmering still and quiet in the firelight.
Mystique stares at him in wide-eyed shock. "Erik, why aren't—oh my God, you're trying, but you can't!"
Interesting, isn't it? The mind has so many wonderful possibilities … so many potential traps. He can see Charles in his room reclining against his bedframe reading a book, still casually turning the pages as he destroys every source of control Erik has in his life.
A laugh resounds in his head. You've taught me a lesson in trust, and I have learned it well—in the future I will keep my enemies closer than friends, as the saying goes.
What have you done!?
Recall that the helmet tunes out telepathic interference. I really can't take a chance with you again. Therefore, I've implemented a mental block in your mind specific to that particular metal.
That's not—
-humanly possible? Of course not. Isn't this the kind of power that make us "the better men?" And—oh, tell Mystique I wouldn't bother.
Mystique extends her arms to snatch the helmet. She can touch it, and Erik feels a spark of vindication, but-she can't pull it off the table. Or sideways, or move it even the tiniest bit from its starting position.
"If your X-men knew your methods-" Mystique begins in a rage.
Well, we all have our secrets. Don't we, Erik?
While confined, Charles had lured Erik into complacency and subsequently taken advantage of a serious lapse in judgment. But the situation is different now. Charles will be on his guard, and moreover, is aware of any plan before it is even fully formulated.
It is then that Erik realizes he will not be able to escape this prison without his jailer giving him the key.
/
Dinner the next day, as it has been since Erik and Mystique's arrival, is tense and a quiet affair. The young people in the mansion generally don't wake up for breakfast, meander off on their own for lunch, and everyone only congregates for the last meal.
Apparently unaffected by the sullen, unforgiving silence, Charles chats amiably, asking the boys about their day out loud, but responding in such a way as to make clear he is also speaking to them telepathically.
Finally Mystique can stand the situation no longer and drops her utensils with a clatter. "How are you doing that?" she demands, slashing through the conversation.
Charles pauses in the middle of cutting his salmon into tiny pieces. "With a knife," he replies mildly.
Although they realize the timing of Charles' powers increasing exponentially, coinciding with his captivity and subsequently his escape, Alex and Sean say nothing, allowing the professor to explain himself. Hank has a theory on how exactly Charles has grown so powerful, but it is a dark conclusion and something he for once is afraid to explore.
"You used to get headaches if you used your abilities too much. Now you're showing them off all over the place!" Mystique says hotly.
Charles forks the salmon and brings it to his lips, chewing slowly before he says, "People change."
She flushes, the red standing out oddly against her blue skin. "That's not an answer."
"Isn't it?" Charles asks nonchalantly, his calm thinly concealing a stronger emotion.
"Mystique," Erik warns, placing a hand on her scaled arm. "We can talk privately about this."
She rises, glaring around the table. "Havok, Banshee, Beast, you should know that—"
Sean's lips curl in scorn. "My name is Sean at home. I'm not defined by what I can do."
Hank stares back, his expression difficult to decipher beneath the fur on his face. "I suppose that's what you see me as."
"I don't just cause trouble, sweetheart," Alex tells her in aggravation, words slightly garbled by the food in his mouth.
"Will you let me finish!" Mystique shouts. "Don't you get why Magneto and I are still here? Believe me, we'd like to leave as much as you want us out! But your Professor is keeping us here!"
They are taken aback. Hank is the first to recover and ask, "What do you mean?"
Mystique snarls, "He won't let us just walk out. He's using his newfound powers to trap us."
Alex blinks several times and turns to Charles. "Professor?"
Perfectly tranquil, Charles reaches for his drink. "On the contrary. Mystique and Magneto are welcome to exit the premises at any time."
Sean asks tentatively, "Then what is she talking about?"
Charles takes a sip. "Mystique refers to the fact that neither of them will be able to take the helmet with them, should they choose to depart."
At this, Alex shrugs. "Makes sense."
Sean nods in agreement.
Hank looks somewhat troubled, but does not verbally comment for the moment. Charles looks at him and inclines his head. "Of course, Hank."
"Are you all insane!" Mystique is livid. When no one answers, she storms from the room.
His face set in stone, Erik merely sits in absolute silence.
Smiling wryly, Charles gets up and begins to clear his plate off the table and begins to say, "Good night, everyone—" when he abruptly stops and his eyes widen. He whirls and hurriedly utters in a shocked voice, "Hank, Cerebro! Hurry!"
/
· I realize that Sean, Alex, and Hank actually accept their mutant designations, but for the purposes of this story I went with this interpretation.