A/N: Charles is a brat. But at least he's a productive one.
…
Chapter 8: Senator
"Ow," he remarked flatly, arching an eyebrow as Hank shot him an apologetic look. "Feeling a bit like a pincushion."
"I'm not leaving them in you," he pointed out contritely. "After all, if I don't administer the antidote you'll be effected all day by the narcotic dose."
Grumbling mutinously under his breath, Charles held still as Hank stuck on a cheery little Band-Aid with bluebirds and sunflowers all over it. "Cute," he observed, unable to resist a wry sort as Hank grinned.
All that morning, since what Charles was sure could be considered the "wee" hours, he and Hank had been pouring over lab tests. After drawing a substantial amount of blood – or as Hank described it, "just a bit" – Charles had the opportunity to scrutinize at his own cells beneath the microscope. Fascinated, he listened as Hank narrated the different chemical reactions he'd noticed. Though Charles only had a hazy idea of what the shifting microorganisms meant, Hank's enthusiasm was just as infectious as ever and before he knew it they spent a good number of hours together positively geeking out over the shifting cellular plain squashed onto a slide beneath the microscope.
He supposed he couldn't blame Hank for the current haste used as he stuck Charles like a pig with the various needles arrayed on a now familiar metal tray. Charles had completely forgotten that he'd promised Captain Moira a full report on the library plans. Oliver had drawn up the blueprints for the greenhouse, and of course the books were currently crowding Charles' office. Moira had made her opinion of this activity very clear and so today was the unexpected deadline for Charles proposal. He only hoped that the state of progress of the project would convince the higher ups to set aside their bias and spring for the library.
After finally escaping Hank's clutches, Charles hurried back up to the office to lugg out the giant typewriter stowed under his desk. Without its absurd girth taking up space he'd managed to clutter it horribly with notes, lists of books, tea bags, and various plants brought by Louise or gifted from other officers.
Soon the busy sound of typing filled the office, a rhythmic ding marking the end of a line before clicking mechanically back to start the next. Charles pounded away furiously at the keys, determined to have it on the Captain's desk by afternoon. Lucky for him the tough parts – the parts that concerned finances – had miraculously worked themselves out in such a pleasant way. Beaming at no one in particular as he pushed out another page, Charles attributed it to the serious lack of optimism in the area. There was so much potential, but the crippling slump incurred by bias bureaucracy dropped a heavy veil over everyone's eyes. But now Charles was here and if he was ever called anything, it was optimistic. Foolishly so, some would say, but Charles didn't think about that.
…
Jogging down the hall, Charles nearly ran headlong into Logan coming out of the main office. The bigger man caught him effortlessly, setting him on his feet with an affectionate grin. Charles blushed, dusting himself off and returning Logan's smile. Though their... breakup-like conversation had been relatively free of awkwardness, they had yet to return to the easy-going nature of their former relationship. Charles felt a little childish about the whole thing, but he didn't have time to consider it further as Captain Moira appeared in the doorway with none other than Stryker himself, and some vaguely familiar politician from the nearby big city.
Charles spoke before he thought, "Captain Moira, I have the appeal for the Juniper library." Blatantly cutting his eyes to the politician, whose expression piqued with interest, he added, "It's going incredibly smoothly with a zero cost projection."
Moira had gone pale and her lips pursed in a very thin, very straight line. Stryker was glaring at Charles as if he were a bug.
"This, ah, hasn't been confirmed or approved as of yet," Stryker announced, voice hosting an underlying warning that Charles picked up crystal clear. He beamed at the older man.
"I'm not worried," Charles assured, "At this point there is absolutely no logical reason not to move forward." Out of the corner of his eye he saw the politician stroke his chin thoughtfully and stifled an audible thrill. "It will be a great gesture to the community that we... as an institution... care."
That sold it. The politician cleared his throat. He was a tall, thin man with wire-rim glasses as a long nose. His small mouth was expressive and his lips quirked as he held out his hand for the report, which Charles graciously handed over. Sharp blue eyes skimmed the report and perused the blueprints. Careful not to look at either Stryker or Moira, Charles was delighted as a telltale gleam shone in the politician's intelligent eyes.
Speaking directly to Charles, McCone hinted, "This is a fantastic project."
"Yes it is," he replied confidently, rolling up onto the balls of his feet and donning a charismatic smile. "It truly is a win-win scenario, Senator. Good for morale, encourages better behavior here at Juniper, and creates a sense of ease and comfort in the community to know that inmates have a creative outlet." The politician was smiling now, eyes moving over Charles in a calculating angle.
The Captain was silently fuming and Stryker was just a silent heavy presence to Charles' left, which he staunchly ignored. He and the politician were still smiling easily at each other, McCone still holding the report in his hands.
"I'd like to discuss this further, if you would be available Mr...?"
"Xavier, Charles Xavier. But please, Senator," Charles informed him demurely, laying it on thick, "Call me Charles."
"Well, Charles," McCone acknowledged, smiling knowingly, "I'll be seeing you again soon. I'll review these documents and if I find no objectionable materials then I would like to get a photo of the groundwork in the paper as early as next week." Turning to Stryker almost as an afterthought, he added in a flippant tone, "If that would be acceptable, Commissioner."
They all were aware that this was not a request. Stryker's submissive nod said as much and Charles didn't spare an ounce of pity for his underhanded ambush.
…
Darwin rolled his eyes as he opened the cell to find Lensherr waiting by the door like a puppy. The inmate had been on his best behavior since jumping Logan, acting nearly angelic compared to his regular moody swing between silent an brooding or obnoxiously playful (which usually resulted in an annoyingly long negotiation to get him down from the roof). At least he hadn't scaled any walls in a while. Since Charles arrived, Darwin noted wryly. Not that Lensherr had ever been a problem inmate. If anything, he was a reasonably calm and personable fellow, though Darwin often got the sense that Lensherr considered Juniper only a temporary home despite the life sentence he'd racked up in light of his defensive massacre. For that reason guards kept a closer eye on him. That, and his Houdini-like ability to get out of the main prison yard and onto the roof in the first place.
"How are we doin' today, man?" Darwin asked, arching a quizzical brow when Lensherr obediently turned around and crossed his hands behind his back. "Someone's eager." Lensherr actually snorted and Darwin almost missed the cuff lock, shooting a suspicious look at the back of Erik's head. "You're not planning anything special today, are you?"
Craning his head around, Erik chuckled, "No, actually."
Shaking his head, amused, Darwin slid the door back open and marched Lensherr out. "Well, Cinderella, you're all ready for the ball." I just hope Prince Charming is expecting you, he thought.
Erik kept trying to urge the guard to walk faster as subtly as possible, his heart quickening in his chest. As they turned the corner Darwin pulled to an abrupt stop, holding Erik still as Logan approached them down the hall, arms full of files. Immediately holding a baton to Erik's back, Darwin murmured, "Steady, man."
When Logan noticed them he scowled openly and metal talons slid out an inch. "I just alphabetized," he warned, glaring darkly at the inmate.
To the surprise of both Darwin and Logan, Lensherr announced sincerely, "I'm sorry for the other day. It was uncalled for behavior."
Eyes narrowed, Logan gave him a cold once over and spoke to Darwin, "He planning something special today?"
"He says no," Darwin answered, unnerved by the relaxed smile on the inmate's face.
"Wait," Logan said, now smirking. "You're taking him to Xavier, aren't you?"
Darwin noticed the hackles rising slightly along Lensherr's shoulders and frowned. "Yeah."
"Then no wonder he's so happy," Logan laughed. "Charles Xavier does that to people." His tone was wistful and when he looked at Lensherr again the man was regarding him with intense curiosity, though it wasn't threatening. Shrugging, he began to move back down the hall. "Xavier is a goddamn good man. I don't blame you, Lensherr," he added.
Erik was silent the rest of the walk, contemplating Wolverine's words. A thin thread of hope wound around his heart and tightened painfully.
...
"It was brilliant," he gushed, trailing gaily along behind Alex and Sean as they did rounds in Gen Pop. Sean turned to give him a look and Charles laughed self-deprecatingly. "Can you really blame me?"
"I'm just impressed with how many positive adjectives you've come up with to describe blind-siding the Captain," Sean intoned teasingly. "I didn't know you were a musician."
Charles caught Alex's eye roll before he got the joke. "I'm entitled to toot my own horn," he protested, following them through the first set of iron doors leading to the free walkways.
"Don't you have a patient, like, now?" asked Alex, glancing up at the austere wall clock ticking mechanically over the foyer.
"Oh," Charles deflated, glancing up. "But aren't you on your way to-"
"Nope, not me today," he clarified distractedly, holding the door open for another officer. "Darwin's picking him up. Since we don't know his ability yet Darwin's still the safest staff to handle him."
Erik. He hadn't realized. Charles slowed down to a stop. Sean and Alex turned to look curiously back at him. "I have to run up to my office first," he murmured vaguely; mind flickering to the haunting newspaper picture of Erik after the police had apprehended him. It had been in the back of his mind and he'd brought the copy back with him. It sat inside his desk, a drawer all to itself as most of the contents ended up on the desktop anyway. As he pulled it out he made sure the picture was facing downwards. Though the image was practically branded on his mind, he preferred to be unclouded as possible when he met with Erik.
...
It was an uncomfortable wait. Darwin shackled him to the chair, double checking everything. Erik kept swaying in his seat, craning his neck to see out the door.
"Lensherr," Darwin warned, "Stop squirming. You're going to lose your cool guy card if you keep acting like a love-struck kid." The inmate blinked dully at him and Darwin cracked a smile, rolling his eyes. "Just remember to keep yourself in line. I can't stop you from looking but if you start shit, you'll never see him again."
The two men scrutinized each other, Erik slumping seditiously in his seat.
...
Charles looked a little flushed, Erik's file and the newspaper clutched in his arms. On the way down he'd run in to Logan, who warned him that Moira was on the warpath after Charles' little powwow with the Senator. And that he should keep a close eye on Lensherr.
"He's a sneaky bastard," he insisted, face partially obscured by sky-high stacks of files.
Now he tried to catch his breath, Darwin looking at him with droll amusement. And just past the guard sat Erik, green eyes already fixed on him with the same devastating intensity as always. They hadn't spoken since Erik accused him of being a mental rapist. Right after Charles had forcefully began removing memories from Erik's mind. He tried to slow his heartbeat, calm his breathing. Was he still angry? If he was being honest with himself, the horror of what he had almost done to an unwilling mutant haunted him.
"Do want me in here?" Darwin murmured, eyes on Lensherr. Charles glanced at him as if he'd just remembered he was there and the guard's frown deepened. "Maybe I should-"
"No, that would violate the policy of confidentiality," Charles said, shaking his head dismissively. "I appreciate that, Darwin. But I'll be fine."
"Someone will be stationed right outside," he let him know with a direct look. The counselor gave him a reassuring grin, though did little to alleviate Darwin's caution. He made sure to catch Lensherr's eye as he headed out.
Taking his time to sit down and situate himself comfortably in the chair, Charles' mind whirred with activity. He wanted to apologize to Erik; he wanted to punch him. But the fact that this was a patient reigned supreme and it was that authoritative voice that cultured his next words, "Well, Erik. I see on your file that you were involved in another incident-"
"I'm sorry," Erik blurted inelegantly. "You needed to hear that from me. Please."
His eyes lowered and he noticed Erik drop his head as if to stay in his line of vision. "Erik. I sincerely apologize for that entire encounter. And the others." Erik's face fell and Charles grimaced. "We need to move on from that." Swallowing, he went on carefully, "If it continues to be an issue than I encourage you to file a complaint-"
"Charles!" he barked, his aggravation waking the metal surrounding him. "You can't pretend-"
"As I said," he articulated with a raised voice, "You may file a complaint."
"You throw up this wall to lock me out, Charles," he insisted.
"The relationship between a counselor and his patient," Charles recited, "is like a river."
"It only flows one way," Erik concluded morosely.
As the mask he'd become increasingly familiar with began to descend over the inmate's face, he leaned forward, "Don't hide Erik. Please. You don't realize that I am here to help you."
"Charles, you know that there's something between us. I'm not crazy," he demanded.
"Sure-fire way to get people to think you're crazy," he joked lamely, ultimately sighing and rubbing his temples when Erik just stared at him expectantly. "Why did you attack Logan?"
"I didn't attack him," he denied bluntly. "I punched him."
"Big difference," he snorted, smiling. Erik seemed to relax, making a constricted movement with his hand that Charles guessed would have been a gracefully unconcerned wave. "Now why did you do it?"
It all rushed to the forefront; everything he wanted to confess to Charles. But that would only accomplish an even bigger gap between them; maybe he'd never see Charles again. After a few pregnant moments he finally conceded, "I apologized to him."
"If only all the troubles in the world could be fixed with an apology," Charles mused, flipping open Erik's file. Easily slipping into counselor mode, the tension melted off of him and with an almost detached, scientific eye he reviewed Erik's record. The newspaper sat there like a burning signal on the table, beneath a few papers. It wasn't time for that yet, though he was anxious to question the mutant about his past. It might shed some light on who he was.
"I just want to be forgiven," he murmured, catching Charles' somewhat surprised glance. When the counselor was caught off guard his face held the most beautiful open expression. Motioning to the file, he made the point, "I've had almost no issue; and that last... matter was high unusual behavior."
"Erik," he laughed, "You sound like a recording. I'll accept that you are truly remorseful if you can tell me why you punched a staff member. Or as the record does indeed list it: assaulted." Waiting patiently, Charles coaxed, "Maybe you don't know why you did?"
"Are you in my head?" he cautiously asked.
Sitting forward, Charles insisted fervently, "No, I'm not. Considering the circumstances I'm going to do this the old fashioned way and trust that you won't lie to me, Erik."
His heart jumped slightly. Charles had spoken his name in such an ardent manner. Stunned, he didn't reply before Charles began talking again.
"The staff here see you as a perfectly respectable person," he informed Erik. "But I worry you're winding yourself into a state of extreme emotional pressure. Any incident, as you've pointed out, has been antagonistic towards you, not from you. Minus the most recent occurrence." Taking a deep breath, Charles reached forward to uncover the newspaper. "From this point on, Erik, if at any moment you feel threatened or uncomfortable inform me immediately and I will stop."
"Stop what-" he began, and then he saw it. His own face. Slightly younger, darker, hollow. His eyes grew hard. "Where in the world did you pick that up? Lining bird cages, I'd suspect."
Pushing the article across the table, Charles quietly spoke, "I'd like to talk about this, Erik. It seems that you never got closure-" The inmate snorted and Charles' eyes widened in surprise. Gray-green eyes floated unfeeling over the print, looking at it as one would an unflattering picture from childhood. "Honestly, Erik, " he intoned earnestly, "It worries me that you aren't more effected by this. It's a very real concern that you may have – in shock – suppressed the emotions from this traumatizing episode."
"And you think that I'm just a ticking time bomb at this point," Erik replied dully.
"What do you think?" The question must have been funny to Erik because warm amusement filled his gaze and Charles pursed his lips, frustrated. "I'd appreciate if you took this seriously, Erik."
"I do, Charles," he insisted, sifting to the edge of his seat. "I take you very seriously."
Working his lips, Charles craned his neck as the collar of his shirt suddenly felt hot. "I acknowledge that, thank you. But," he continued firmly, "The purpose of this session is to explore your state of being here at Juniper." Maybe that was laying it on a little thick. "I would just like to know where you're at. How you are."
"I'm fine," Erik was quick to retort, snapping his mouth shut sheepishly when Charles shot him a look. "I'm... I feel fine." Somewhere inside a part of Erik was frowning. When had his vicious little songbird grown such sharp talons? "I don't understand why we need to find something wrong when there isn't anything wrong." He faded into silence as he saw the painful, disheartened expression drifting over Charles' face. Chest tightened with an unnamed emotion, Erik's face went blank as Charles gingerly folded out the rest of the article, spreading it out over the low table sitting between them. Erik stared down at himself impassively.
He was just about to do what he was sure his very cold and distant mother would call nit-pick when a slow, nauseous ache spiraled through him. Lips twisting, he pitched forward, pressing his palm to his forehead.
"Charles?" Erik asked immediately, "Charles, what's wrong?"
"It's nothing," he groaned, half in irritation, half in pain, "Damn injections, Hank."
A blessedly cool hand pressed his forehead and he leaned into it thankfully, relief spreading from the touch.
Wait.
He leapt up, spilling Erik's files all over the floor. Standing half out of his seat, hand still poised where Charles had just been sitting, Erik suddenly realized what he was doing. Switching gears, he quickly retreated into his chair and held up his hands defensively, "Charles, please..." He trailed off lamely.
Eyes darting all over Erik as if he was made of smoke, Charles asked with exaggerated calm, "How did you get out of those?"
Gaze beseeching, Erik forced a laugh, mentally berating himself. "They didn't lock them properly."
He narrowed his eyes, the blue glittering like sapphire in the light. "Again? Interesting." Sitting back down, Charles crossed one leg over the other casually, leaning back with a skeptical expression. "Are you some sort of lock pick?"
Glad that the other man wasn't hailing the guards or yelling at him, Erik shrugged convincingly. "I told you. Houdini."
"That was awfully fast," he mused, eyes snapping up to lock onto Erik. "Even for Houdini."
Shying under the disquieting calm with which Charles was looking at him, Erik meekly suggested, "I could put them back on."
Charles took his time to contemplate, filing away every tiny reaction he could see on Erik's exression, which bled into his countenance until his strong handsome face had reverted to childish guilt; waiting for the parent to administer the punishment. Witnessing all of this, Charles felt no threat from Erik; the inmate had reacted out of concern for him in the first place. The ache currently lording over his head was secondary to the myriad of emotions moving through Erik's suddenly expressive eyes. "Don't," he said simply, smiling behind his fingers when Erik's brows knit together comically. "You feel more comfortable this way, yes?"
"Not if you're just going to use it against me later. Don't forget you dislike crossing boundaries," he pointed out petulantly, sitting back with an attractive grace to mirror Charles' relaxed posture. Outside the sun had shifted so that an almost savage orange light swamped the room. Across from him Charles was a statue of dripping gold, his eyes breathtaking pools of muddy cerulean. "I don't want to cross any boundaries without clear consent."
Quieting the nervous flutter on the edge of his consciousness, Charles smiled around the finger pressed thoughtfully to his lips. "You're safe. After all," he remarked. "I am a telepath."
Erik smiled secretly and nodded in acquiescence.
...
Somehow they both had found themselves sitting cross-legged on the floor, elbows resting on the low table. Charles had his chin set on his folded arms, peering up at Erik who was leaning on one hand, looking back down at Charles with a smile so radiant that every tooth was visible.
"It certainly sounds better than tripe," he gasped through peals of laughter. "Though I'm hopeless to pronounce it."
"You'd have to be born with it," Erik joked back. Underneath the table he could feel the heat from Charles' knees just centimeters from his own. It was hard not to focus completely on it, though listening to Charles laugh, seeing his smile, was more than enough to keep him distracted from his juvenile pining. "Try again."
"Now you're just making fun of me," Charles sighed, though his eyes sparkled. "All right. Hulooztis."
"Huluptzes," he corrected, loving the way Charles fumbled the name.
"I'm at an unfair disadvantage," he complained, stretching.
Erik leaned back against the chair, crooking one leg up to prop his elbow upon it. Though he didn't want to talk about it the way Charles had planned, he couldn't help but be curious about how the counselor had gotten his hands on a copy of the newspaper. Prodding said article with a finger, he mentioned casually, "I didn't think this was around anymore. Did you go rooting around in historical records for it?"
"Not quite," he said, spinning the article back towards himself to glance over it again. "I happened upon it while collecting books for the library."
Sitting up straighter, Erik cleared his throat, "Oh?"
Giving him an amused look, Charles said, "I'm sure you've heard of it. It was supposed to be kept quiet, so of course the entire prison knows about it."
Embarrassed slightly by the obviousness of his feign, Erik shrugged. "I've heard it's going to be manned by inmates. Don't you think that's risky?" He tried to keep the hopeful note out of his voice, but Charles didn't seem to notice anyway.
"But that's the beauty of it," he said excitedly. "I want the inmates to know that this is their space. Not all of them might get to see it in person-" a few distinct faces flashed through his mind in rapid succession "-but they know it's there for them. Even those in solitary will be able to check out books."
Erik could do nothing but stare at the delight on Charles' face. There wasn't a scrap of selfishness about the man; his enthusiasm for the library was solely because it would benefit the inmates. Shaking his head in disbelief, Erik confessed, "You baffle me, Charles."
Waving the other man off, aware of the damning blush creeping up his neck, he glanced at the clock and cursed. "How in the world did you do that?" Cutting a mock-frown at the other man, he narrowed his eyes. "You sure you're not a telepath? There's no way the entire hour could've gone past without my noticing it."
"Time flies when you're having fun," he boasted. But the counselor was standing, real concern written over his fine features. He saw him looking worriedly at the abandoned shackles. "Charles," he beseeched, "I'll put them back on. Please don't think that I'd ever-"
"Get down!"
The suddenness of the order shocked Charles and he whipped his head over to see Darwin standing in the doorway with his baton raised. His smooth, dark skin was shifting like water beneath colorful lights.
"Lensherr," he barked, "Get. Down." Moving swiftly, he kicked the low table out of the way. The tinny smell of blood wafted up as the organic shield covering his chest kept a malleable form as if in waiting. They still didn't know Lensherr's power after all.
Hands placed on the back of his head, Erik slowly dropped to his knees. His eyes were on the baton the guard held in his hand, raised to strike. It was made of heavy wood. Erik knew how much those hurt.
Acting quickly, Charles placed himself in between the inmate and the guard, wincing when a shadow passed through Darwin's usually warm brown eyes as he did so. He sent calming waves towards the guard and reached gently into his mind.
I'm in no danger. You're in no danger. Darwin, please. I undid the cuffs.
Baton still raised, he glared at Charles with real anger. "You what?"
"Look, I'm putting them back on," Erik interrupted, slipping back into the cuffs and resisting the urge to use his power to speed along the process. He snapped the first one closed before Charles was at his side. Gentle hands assisted Erik and Darwin's obvious curses melted away as Charles's fingers slid along his wrists.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "This is entirely my fault. I won't let them punish you for this."
"It would be worth it," Erik said quickly, meeting Charles eyes at level.
Gruffly Darwin pushed Charles aside and tightened the cuffs. Keeping Lensherr pinned with a stony glare he radioed for backup. Alex appeared only a few seconds later, the air sharp with the electric bite of his power.
"There's no need for that," Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alex, please."
"Take him back down," Darwin ordered flatly, ignoring the obvious affront on Alex's face at his curt tone. "I want him in solitary. No contact."
Raising his eyebrows, Alex glanced between the three of them. Charles looked the most upset, but the counselor was keeping quiet while Alex unclipped the inmate from the chair and led him out. He met another guard out in the hall and together they escorted the silent mutant back down to solitary without any incident.
Back in the counseling room Charles and Darwin were looking at each other silently. The shorter man stood in a defensive pose, arms crossed protectively.
Darwin sat heavily in the chair Erik was supposed to have been bound to throughout the counseling session. He snorted, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand. "Charles," he started. "I don't have to tell you how stupid that was - is."
"Yes." He tried not to sound sullen, but he'd never done well with lectures. Even if he was clearly in the wrong. "I'm aware."
"You're aware," he mimicked, rolling his eyes. "You're gonna need to do better than that. Especially if I'm not going to report you."
Startled, Charles slid into his chair across from the other man. "You mean-"
"I don't mean anything right now," he said sharply. But he quickly deflated, staring at Charles in exasperation. "I know the good you're doing here. I've never seen Juggernaut so content and even Sinister is cracking a smile. And this library-" Shaking his head, Darwin threw up his hands. "Who knew these guys could get so excited over books. Everyone's on their best behavior so that they can get a chance to check one out."
He could do nothing but blink at his friend. Was it true? Had the library made such an impact in such a short time? At a loss for how to reply he instead mentioned, "We don't have a name yet. I wanted the inmates to have a say."
"They'll like that," Darwin agreed thoughtfully. "Listen, Charles. Don't do this again. No more exceptions for Lensherr."
Swallowing down a tight throat, Charles nodded. "No more exceptions."
…
"The senator's here," Sean announced the next week, poking his head into Charles' office.
Hank glanced up from his work curiously. "Now? I thought he wasn't scheduled for-"
"Quaint," Senator McCone observed, easily pushing past Sean into the cramped office. His eyes moved over the books then over Charles messy desk. "Very quaint. Where's the counselor?"
"Out," Hank supplied helpfully, meeting Sean's eyes over the Senator's shoulder doubtfully. "He's meeting with the potential library assistant-"
"The inmate," the senator interrupted.
"Ah, yes," he confirmed, eyebrows shooting up when McCone abruptly turned and left.
Sean stumbled after the lanky man, sparing Hank a panicked glance.
A few minutes later Captain Moira McTaggert herself opened the cell door with a tight-lipped smile, ushering the Senator inside. The two men seated on the bare cot both stood, Charles moving forward to take the Senator's hand in a firm grip, his surprise at this sudden appearance smoothed away and replaced by the same radiant grin that had won the man over in the first place. Sinister was endlessly amused by Charles Xavier's effortless shift of gears into shameless schmoozing mode. He waited patiently until Charles drew the Senator over to him, introducing him as Mister Nathaniel Essex.
Prepared with his own cultured charm, Sinister extended a greeting and shook the Senator's hand, "It's my honor to meet you Senator McCone. Welcome to Juniper." His voice was practically a purr. The counselor might be charming and equally disarming with his boyish features and enchanting accent, but Sinister came from the Old World. Lingering effects of the Victorian age awarded him infectious magnetism that in his prime sent these gauche Americans swooning regularly. And if the Senator's pleased grin was anything to go on, Sinister had done a smashing job.
With the Senator listening attentively, Charles finished going over every stipulation the Captain had decreed for an inmate working in the library. Once the roof was cleaned and polished Sean – and any other guard on observation duty - could see in easily from the tower. The library's interior was also visible from the Captain's office and the guards' regular rounds would now include the library.
"If I may," Sinister interjected smoothly, crimson irises vivid in the shadowy light of the cell, "with this much supervision, I believe including a rehabilitation aspect for well-behaved inmates would be possible."
Looking dubious, the Senator grunted, "What's he mean, Xavier?"
"It's Nathaniel's personal project," Charles said slowly, scrambling for a lie. "Mister Essex, could you elaborate for Senator McCone?" They hadn't discussed this, but Charles didn't want to outright contradict Sinister in front of the Senator.
"I seek to give opportunities to the young men in this institution who may benefit from task-based work," he described easily. "It seems unbalanced to allow only myself to work within the library. My qualifications come from my spotless-" he glanced at Xavier "-behavior record and relevant experience." Pausing for the Senator to work through his words, he continued, "An apprenticeship program." Xavier looked thoughtful out of the corner of his eye.
"The walls are set to be reinforced and besides the main entrance connected directly to Juniper's main building, there is a highly secured staff entrance. I can't foresee any foundational reasons why that would be objectionable," Charles informed McCone with flawless delivery. Though it was the first he was hearing of it, he trusted Sinister enough to support what sounded like a viable and positive program. No harm could be done with an apprenticeship, and if Sinister thought he might need help around the library then Charles wouldn't be the one to stop him.
"You sound like you have someone in mind," McCone implied ingenuously.
"Yes," Sinister admitted, smiling. "A perfect candidate."
He considered opening a side conversation with Sinister, maybe to divert this current route. Charles wanted to be able to okay whoever Sinister had in mind before the Senator was brought on board. Then he'd be left with his hands tied.
"His name is Erik Lensherr," Sinister divulged innocently. "I'm sure you've heard of him."
"The mutant that slaughtered all those people," McCone confirmed, expression darkening.
"A perfect opportunity," Sinister corrected.
Charles was fully aware of the artful way Sinister had shoved him aside in order to gain the senator's full attention. At the risk of seeming unprofessional, Charles held his tongue. A tendril of thought lashed out none too subtly at Sinister, but the other telepath batted it aside.
"How so?" McCcone asked bluntly.
"This library is already a smart move on your part, sir," Sinister practically cooed. "Humanizing the prisoners, comforting the families on the mainland with the knowledge that all good little boys get tucked in at night with a bedtime story." A smile curled along his mouth, eyes flashing. "But there are those who will still know about the monsters hiding out here on the island. Let's not beat around the bush, Senator. This can be inordinately beneficial to your up-and-coming campaign."
"I'm not following," the senator said curtly, his demeanor changing into something more defensive.
Charles wondered what Sinister was getting at.
"An achievement of the mutant prison system," Sinister revealed masterfully, sweeping his graceful hands out dramatic flare. "To rehabilitate such a monster; faith in the mutant prison system will be renewed." Settling back, holding the Senator's gaze unflinchingly, Sinister reassured him, "Voters will see that you are a humanitarian who works tirelessly to keep them safe and civilize the mutants. You can create an island paradise the dangerous mutants wouldn't dream about leaving."
Biting his lip, Charles opened his mouth to execute damage control, but McCone beat him to the punch by laughing.
"No bullshit, Mister Essex," he acknowledged with grudging respect, "I like that."
"Life is too short," he agreed, voice like velvet.
"Well, you men handle the logistics of this place and I'll handle the public," he sanctioned happily, standing. "I'd like to get a photo before I leave here today, gentlemen. Get this in the papers sooner rather than later, eh?"
As soon as the crack of the bulb flashed, temporarily blinding him as the Senator sped off to make plans and the harried photographer went chasing after him, Charles turned to Sinister. "I have no idea what to say."
"Don't worry yourself then, Xavier," Sinister drawled.
"But why him," he murmured, pulling the mutant aside. "Why Erik Lensherr?"
"Just as I said; he's the perfect candidate," Sinister cryptically answered.
Charles didn't miss the coy smile, nor the faint whisper across his consciousness; Why Lensherr indeed, Charles Xavier?
...
A/N: I feel like this has been a very boring stretch of chapters. Things will be picking up next chapter—my target is all your feels.
-Villain