Charles knew, of course. Knowing was different than believing though.
But he knew, before Hank and Warren and Bobby tumbled into his office, tangled together at the end of what appeared to be an impromptu race, as to who could alert him first. About the arrival of their unexpected guest.
It was a relatively new role, for him. Headmaster. To have these ebullient, excited young men looking to him for guidance, both in the use of their precious gifts, and in the racing, raging river that was life itself.
But perhaps a role he had been training his whole life for. First using his own gifts, his firsthand access into the thoughts of others, next his formal education into the realms of psychology and anthropology and genetics, then his travels, putting all of that information to practice.
So he followed them out into the library that Charles used as their main classroom, at least for their book studies, and then out into the main hall, where Scott, suspicious and vigilant, eager to protect this place and these people, that he already thought of as home and family, and Jean, calmer, appraising, trying to tap into her telepathy, were standing in wait for them by the closed front doors.
They were not wrong to be cautious. Not with the nature of this school being what it was, and not with the nature of the man standing behind those closed doors being what it was. But they did not realize how little protection those closed doors actually provided in this case, and Jean would not be able to read this man's thoughts at this stage in her development, no matter how much she tried, for even Charles had not been able, the first time they had met.
If he had, he would have realized far sooner they were one and the same.
Regardless of the mystery, of his intentions, Charles could not suppress his genuine joy, at his arrival and that they were finally meeting again; he had always known they would. Or perhaps always hoped, would be more accurate, however Charles had not expected that meeting to occur on his doorstep, and his students were looking to him. For direction. For his reaction to this – to them – stranger. So he bid Scott to open the doors, and the genuine smile on his face soothed them more than anything else he could have done, though no doubt his first words also served to reassure. His recognition, that this stranger was indeed known to him.
"My friend, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
His eyes did not go to the wheelchair, as Charles had assumed they would. Instead stayed locked onto his face, and did not waver. "Will your guard dogs allow me entry, now that you have arrived?"
"Hey!" Bobby exclaimed, automatically and passionately, though Warren was not far behind, in taking offense. Hank managed to hold his tongue, but Scott asked in dismay, "Is this really a friend of yours, Professor?"
Jean quickly rebuked him. "There's no need to be rude, Scott."
"He started it," Bobby butted in, only to have their visitor announce.
"That is quite alright, Miss. There is nothing wrong with being wary, in this world. But your professor speaks the truth. We are old friends."
"Do you have a name, 'old friend?'" Hank asked, seemingly politely, but also intensely curious.
"I do."
"...You feel like sharing it?" Scott inquired, after a long pause.
"Not particularly."
"Professor! Who is this?" Scott demanded, outraged, though Warren and Hank could not hide their growing amusement, at the audacity of this newcomer.
"Students, this is-"
But before Charles could answer, the answer was provided.
"Lehnsherr. Erik Lehnsherr."
He could delve into that privately, why the unfamiliar first name. For now, at least, his students had something to call this man, towering in a trench coat before them, as Charles introduced each of them in turn, though that did little to assuage them.
There was an electric charge around Erik that had nothing to do with his abilities. A gravity about his presence, a crackle to his gaze, a solidity to his words. An iron will and a sense of power, barely contained, waging a war of epic proportions within him.
Charles knew it would do little good, to tell his students that he had met Erik at a clinic in Israel, assisting Holocaust survivors. That in fact, one of the very first things he'd learned about Erik, was that he himself was one of those survivors, his sleeve rolled up, revealing the string of numbers inked on his arm for the world to see.
To bear witness, to what it had done.
And it would do even less good, to tell them of their conversations, going long into the night, about whether mutants would ever be accepted, whether they could ever exist peacefully with humanity, and that Erik strongly believed they could not.
So instead, he sent his students away, set their minds and their foci to other things, and was both amazed, to have his directions so easily followed, and grateful, how much trust they placed in him. He so wanted to be worthy of that trust, and this was the task he had taken upon himself.
The task he had taken upon himself at the cost of already harsh consequences, consequences Erik immediately asked him about, when they had retired to his office, and the door was shut behind them.
"I heard your woman left you."
"Which one?" Charles tried to kid, but could not keep his tone calm. Things with Moira had not turned out, things with Gabby had not turned out. But that's not who Erik was referring to. He was referring to…
"Miss Voght."
"You've been keeping tabs on me? I'm flattered."
"I did figure out where you live, didn't I? Though it wasn't that difficult to find you. Not in a place like this. You failed to mention you had inherited a mansion, Charles. But from what I heard, you've been trying to keep tabs on us all."
Charles was tempted, to read Erik's mind. There was so much to unpack, in these statements. That Erik did know of his failed relationship with Amelia, maybe even of their dreadful final scene, her storming out of the very doors Erik had just entered, telling Charles that she could not stand by him, even though she had stood by him, supported him, lifted his spirit after he had lost the use of his legs. Telling him that he was not helping, starting this school, he was only going to make things worse, for himself and the children he claimed would benefit, by assembling a fighting force of his own.
Charles had so wanted her to understand. How was it better to let young Scott stay on the streets, with powers that he could not control, to be used and exploited. That they were stronger together than they were apart. Just as the two of them were stronger together than they were apart. And in his desperation, he wanted to make her believe it, by altering her thoughts, until in horror, he realized what he was about to do, and let her go.
She had apparently shared with others his ideas about Cerebro, of combining his talents with a machine, that would allow him to identify and locate other mutants. With the hope of providing assistance, and intervening before violence between them and humanity could begin.
How she saw that as an invasion of privacy, as a disaster waiting to happen, too much power in one person's hands, Charles' hands. But how to explain. He'd been invading people's privacy ever since he was a child. He'd been unable to help himself.
To him, the lines between him and others had been necessary to blur. He could not entirely sequester himself. He was always picking up on hints and fleeting images and wistful thoughts. That did not mean he gave himself permission to root needlessly in other people's psyches. He kept certain barriers in place.
And Charles realized when she left him, he couldn't explain. Everyone was so different, after all. And just because he could experience other people for a time, did not mean he was them, or that he understood them. He was always seeing them through the lens that was his own thoughts, his own experiences, his own self.
And that is why he stopped himself. For he had come dangerously close into forcing someone to believe what he believed. And that is why he stopped himself from using his telepathy now. Because he could sense enough, that Erik, or Magnus as he was more used to calling him, did not mean him or his students harm.
Even though he and Erik's philosophies also did not align.
"Certainly there were things from your past that you did not share with me. Like the name Erik, perhaps?"
"I gave you a more personal name, when we first met."
"Care to explain?"
"Not particularly… How are you enjoying teaching? It would come quite naturally to you, I imagine."
"I enjoy it very much. It has been a long time since these walls have felt like home to me."
"Care to explain?"
"Not particularly."
"You roamed for so long, yet this is a strange place to run from. I'm sure you have your reasons. But this school really meant that much to you? That you would sacrifice your relationship?"
"Is there a particular reason you are asking this?"
"Yes. It is the reason I came."
"My actions give you all the answers you need then, don't they?"
"You teach them how to control their powers. To enhance them. Even for combat. You are not as pacifist as you led me to believe."
"Are you wondering if there is hope for me yet?"
"Have you given up on me, Charles?"
"Never."
"Then you have the answer to your question as well… Yet who teaches you? Guides you? Yourself, and your books?"
"And the school of hard knocks."
"Of course."
"Are you suggesting you could?"
"Don't be offended. You believe the same about me."
"Yes… I believe I could help you to develop your powers. If that is something you wanted."
"The school of hard knocks has taught me, as well."
"That it has… Is that why you have come? To see if there is any way we align?"
"We would be unstoppable, Charles. You know that."
"Except for the fact that we cannot agree."
"What can I do to make you understand? The thing you are fighting for: it is a dream. A beautiful dream, I admit, but it will not become reality. You think I am damaged, traumatized by my past? As Gabrielle and the rest were at the clinic? What happened with that relationship, Charles? Could she too not agree with you? Did you dismiss her concern as cynicism? Believed that we can no longer see the good, can no longer dream, as you do?
"You think I would have believed the horrors I lived through were possible, if I had not witnessed them firsthand? People caged, branded, burned, corpses left to rot in the countryside after being forced to dig their own shallow graves? Why can't you see, we are trying to save you, from going through what we had to?"
"I know that, my friend. I've always known that."
"Then why? Why do you insist on driving us away?"
"Because… I…" But Charles was at a loss for words. How to explain. How all of his life experiences had led him to this. Witnessing firsthand the thoughts of nearly everyone around him, the mundane, the petty, the heartbroken, the horrifying, but also the loving, the noble, the random kindnesses people did for each other without anyone else ever knowing, along with the changes of heart that occurred at the strangest and most unexpected of times, that all had convinced him there was still hope.
"If you can't tell me, then show me."
"What?"
"Show me. So I can understand. So that I know I have done everything I can, not to have abandoned you to a world that wants to devour you; that is why I have come here."
"You… want me to share my own thoughts with you?"
"Yes."
"I have never tried that before."
"I told you I could teach you."
"You know you have a natural protection against my telepathy? I never got a chance to tell you that."
"I have been told that from other telepaths."
"You've met others?"
"I have met many of our brethren. Though no telepath as powerful as I suspect you to be. How effortlessly you set those soldiers against each other."
"I prefer to help, with my powers, rather than incite."
"Like what you did for Gabrielle, and all the others at the clinic; I know this, Charles. The other telepaths could not get past my natural defenses, but I had not imagined you had the same troubles… You truly mean to tell me you've never read my mind?"
"No, I have not."
"I have discovered new tricks, in the time since we have seen each other. I assume you have as well. Try now. I am sure you are able."
Charles was about to protest, that Magnus would not forgive him for this, even if it was at his own request, but Magnus preempted any arguments. "You have never truly understood me, either. This way, we will both know. Once and for all."
Charles did not agree with that statement. He felt there never would be some once and for all with Magnus. That they were always going to be bound, crossing paths, that even by doing this, they would not gain the answers they sought, of why they thought so differently.
Part of him was also afraid. Of what laid in Magnus' past.
But he could not deny that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. To at least try to understand, with permission, and he acquiesced. "I suggest you take a seat, then."
Magnus did, in one of the armchairs his students sat in, and Charles wheeled himself in front of him, eyes level with his for the first time in this conversation. The same gray he'd remembered from their first meeting. Cold for a reason, but warmth and light within.
Reasons that Magnus had tried to explain, all those nights they had sat up talking with each other, and reasons Charles was now going to experience for himself. And he thought he knew, what Magnus would want to show him. The growing worry, then fear, then dread, as the war progressed from whispered rumors to reality. How he and his family had ended up in Auschwitz, loaded into a train car as human cargo, and how they died, and Magnus lived on.
But that is not what he saw. Instead, Charles saw a young woman, barely distinguishable as such, with her bald head and her hollowed out body, and he knew Magnus loved her. Had lived for her, lived to protect her, giving him a reason to wake up in the morning, after going restlessly to sleep the night before, every time hoping to wake up somewhere else, far away from this nightmare, and the moment when they had finally escaped that nightmare, together, only to enter into another nightmare, alone in the wilderness, severely weakened, and still they held on to each other, clung to each other, survived once again, against all odds, against all reason.
Saw that young woman's hair grow back reddish brown, and her body fill out, and Magnus was not the jaded man he thought he would be. He built a life for himself, out of the wreckage. He worked but this time was paid for his efforts, he made friends, he studied. They smiled and laughed. He and Magda married, swore to be true to each other, and then, to Charles' utmost astonishment and utter amazement, there was a child, a baby girl.
They were happy.
Until a fateful decision, borne out of the restlessness of a curious mind, to relocate to a city, for higher education, and the hopes of providing a better life for his family.
Then, a terrible convergence of everything that could go wrong having done so. The emergence of Magnus' powers, powers that he had no way of understanding, flinging a crowbar at an unfair foreman who had denied him his promised pay, only to return to the hotel his wife and child were staying at to find it on fire.
Saving Magda with a combination of intrinsic talent and luck, but then being overwhelmed by the force that had come to apprehend him, for daring to speak out and for that fateful crowbar. The men restrained him, even when he begged for his release, begged for anyone to help Anya, as she pleaded for her poppa to save her, and both of their pleas fell on deaf ears.
Magnus' vengeance was swift, killing all who had stood in his way, but not swift enough to save her, and both his powers and his actions drove Magda from him, screaming he was a monster. And both the intensity of the events, and the intensity of Magnus' grief, to have lost both of his treasures, the deep and burning regret, that his powers had not emerged when he'd needed them most, both as a child, nor to save his own child – were enough to bring tears to Charles' eyes, and he could not say it was entirely because of his current connection to Magnus, it was his own grief, for his friend and what he'd endured.
"Do you understand? Tell me you understand."
Charles couldn't honestly do that. He could not truly fault Magnus, for what he had done – especially not after what he had almost done, to Amelia, on her way out of his life – it was a moment of insanity, after a lifetime of being caught up in insanity, and Charles did not know what it would be like to live with these memories, day in and day out. Though he could feel the physical ache Magnus had, to hold his daughter in his arms. His rage at the men who would not lift a finger to save her, but also the rage directed at himself. That he should have known better than to trust, the kindness of the people in the Highlands had made him soft, why had he thought things would be any different in the Soviet Union, his daughter had not been safe.
Only that there had to be another way. Charles could not believe they were doomed from the start.
So Charles tried something he never had. To share his own memories.
Standing at his father's grave, amongst the rest of his family's graves, back home after a long stay in the desert for his father's work, and his mother, crying and being consoled by one of his father's colleagues, that he would look after her, look after Charles too, yet Charles knew what he really wanted.
And he got it, to Charles' horror, and his mother's oblivion, as they returned to their house, with Dr. Kurt Marko along for the ride and their money.
And the false kindness he had shown to his mother while courting her slowly abated, to be replaced by angry words, and his mother found refuge in the bottle, the same bottle that drove Marko to his worst furies, screaming and throwing things, only to be met with profuse apologies afterwards, that it would never happen again.
Things only got worse, when Marko's son Cain came to live with them, expelled from his latest boarding school. And Charles saw how Cain was also not spared from his father's fists, and Cain in turn took his rage out on Charles, bullying him at every opportunity.
And Charles could sense it all, feel it all, and yet there seemed to be nothing he could do. His mother would not send Marko away, still believed they were better off with than without him, and then she just simply didn't care. Charles tried, tried so hard, to share her pain, to take it into himself, with his abilities he did not understand, and was too afraid to tell anyone of, but he was not skilled enough, or her heart was too broken, and how Charles watched the life drain out of her, washed away by the drink, hoping, praying, anything, that what he feared would not come to pass, until it finally, painstakingly did, and they were standing at his mother's grave.
Charles threw himself into his studies. He felt it was all he had left, and it was something to pass the time, until he came of age, until Marko's hold on him and this place would be no more.
But despite Marko's terrible treatment of his mother and his own son, he was always kind to Charles, and his praise only increased, the more Charles excelled, which only fueled Cain's hatred of him.
Until the night that rage came to a boiling point, and Charles listened in as Cain confronted his father in his in-home laboratory, demanding money, always the money, and Marko did not want to give it to him, telling him to go earn it himself, to which Cain replied he knew how Marko had earned his money, that was no accident, in Alamogordo, and Charles could not contain himself, or his own fury, stepping out from the shadows to demand an explanation, and Marko denied him even that, saying it was all a joke, and Cain said it was not, and in his continuing rage, knocked over a tableful of vials, and that was that.
Explosion. Flames. And the sensation of being carried. The one truly noble thing Dr. Kurt Marko ever did in his life. He saved his two sons, and he rectified his previous mistake, as he told Charles in a whisper, his last words, "Your father's death was an accident, but I could have saved him, had I not been in such a hurry to save myself. Forgive me."
Charles retreated then, from Magnus' mind and from his own past, for a moment. He had never told anyone about his childhood, at least, not these parts of his childhood: Cain quietly sobbing in his room after another beating from his father, and he would only emerge all the more angry for it; his mother passed out in her bed as bruises formed on her body, still in her day clothes, with empty bottles laying abandoned on the floor and by her side; and knowing that when Marko came out of his self-imposed exile in his laboratory, the whole cycle would start up all over again, and it was Charles alone who was untouched, if he managed to avoid Cain's vengeance, which he became more and more expert at, reading his thoughts to know where he was.
"Why this? Why these memories Charles?" Magnus asked, and when Charles opened his eyes, Magnus was looking right at him, and Charles supposed he could understand his confusion. How did this relate, to his beliefs.
"Because… it has to stop. The violence has to stop."
"That's what you take from this?"
Charles nodded.
"You believe it inevitable? That if Cain's father had been good to him, he would have been better to you? That he drove your mother to her death? I cannot argue that is false, certainly your life would have been vastly different, if your father hadn't died, and your mother had never married Marko, but what of the inner will? By this theory, you should be heartbroken and drinking, just as your mother was. I should be out slaughtering every Nazi I can find."
"Are you debating nature versus nurture with me?"
"...Yes. That has always been our debate, hasn't it? You believe if humanity is taught, nurtured, in a certain way, they will accept us. I say, it is in humanity's very nature to reject the outsider, to separate, segregate, to divide into classifications and clans. Even this century, they have tried to give the Jews their own homeland in Israel, knowing they wouldn't be safe, and still it is fought over. And even I see humanity as the other, and we as the mutants. Perhaps one day we will have to do the same though. Create our own nation."
"I… want there to be another way."
"Your dream. Yes, I know. And round and round we go. Except I do understand now. Why you roamed from this place. Why it is so important to you, to create a home here. Why you were so furious when Miss Voght refused to."
"...I am truly sorry about your wife and child, Magnus."
"You can at least understand then, why I chose not to use that name anymore?"
"It will take me a little getting used to, but I can manage the change, Erik. Both names suit you."
"You find the meaning 'absolute ruler' fitting? I'm flattered."
"Or 'greatest' with Magnus."
"I had no idea you thought so highly of me. And what does 'Charles,' mean?"
"Man'. Or 'free man'."
"...Of course it does."
"Would you consider staying for dinner, at least, Erik?"
"Afraid not, Charles"
"I see."
"Is there truly nothing that can be done, about your paralysis?"
"In the future, perhaps, but nothing at present that I am aware of."
"Your students may be used to seeing you like this, but I never will be."
"It's somewhat fitting, isn't it?" My focus so much on the mind, as it is…"
"Another reason, isn't it? The focus on the school. Even on your mutant location project. Something else to focus on."
"You've caught me."
"If only. You will never be caught, Charles. Even without the use of your legs. This visit only confirms that for me."
"So you found what you were looking for?"
"What I needed yes, but not what I wanted."
"I am still glad you came. It truly is a pleasure to see you again, old friend."
"Is it truly?"
"Yes."
"Hmm… Well, at the very least, I have shown you another power of yours. Perhaps a mistake on my part."
"You fear me?"
"You always are, and always have been a threat. Do not delude yourself, and do not attempt to delude me. And you, even more so than your students. You teach them, but they are coddled, here in this place. They did not have to learn, to struggle as we did."
"I believe Miss Gray has the potential to surpass me."
"Perhaps the potential, but does she have the desire? They grow up safe, amongst their own kind."
"But isn't that what we would have wanted? You even spoke of our own nation for just that reason. And I… I was terrified, of my powers. I thought I was losing my mind. People said one thing, I heard another. To have voices in my head, it was agony."
"Your beloved evolution, once gain. Survival of the fittest. You fought for control over your powers, you survived."
"Magnus, I know you don't mean that." Charles felt the need to rebuke him, from continuing a dogma that was chilling similar to Nazi Germany's, and Magnus forfeited, "...You're right. I apologize. But you understand my point, don't you?"
"I understand. Your value on the inner will, to persevere."
"But who knows how many of our brethren and their talents have been lost. If only they'd had a helping hand."
"Are you starting to understand me now?"
"...I suppose."
"Can I show you another memory? Before you go?"
"Something to help me further understand?"
"I hope."
"Very well."
So Charles took them back, to the spring, to that city on the sea, the warmth of Israel, the very supposed safe haven Erik had mentioned, and the very country where they had first met, Charles excited to see what lay ahead, excited to see an old friend, only to be introduced to a man all in white, with a shock of white hair to match, standing by the doors of the clinic, and Charles' hasty invitation later that evening, to dine together, where they'd sat outside on the terrace in the cool evening breeze, lingering until the stars appeared above them, for they found much to discuss, and much to discuss in the following evenings as well, going long into the night, and the lazy afternoons spent wandering labyrinth-like streets, exploring both marketplaces and temples, and seeking out the longer vistas of both shorelines and deserts, they and Gabrielle, after Charles had helped her out of her catatonic state, and perhaps that intensity had been because he had known, known they would have limited time, and even though he had wandered on his own, and in many ways quite enjoyed it, he wanted all the time they would be given, allowed, allowed each other, before their philosophies tore them apart, and when the Hydra soldiers attacked, destroying their sanctuary, it was something he would never forget.
Seeing Magnus' powers, for the first time, what a marvel they were and having all their theoretical discussions suddenly no longer be theoretical. Understanding that they were incredibly personal, and how sad he was, to see Magnus go, after they had finally revealed to each other who they really were, and how he continued that ill thought out relationship with Gabrielle, when she was hurting, even when he knew she wasn't truly in love with him, only infatuated and deeply grateful, and even when he knew he wasn't truly in love with her, only that he wanted to love and be loved in return, just as she did, because what he had not been able to admit to himself was that he was hurting too, after his family, after Marko and Cain, after Moira and their shattered engagement, after the explosions and artillery and bloodshed of Korea, and he'd never met anyone quite like Magnus, and the pain it caused him, to see Magnus go, and to know they never really would be together, that they would have meetings, like this one, but they would never be a united front, because trying to keep them together, even just in the same room, was like forcing magnets of opposite polarities together, and how terribly that grieved him, to a depth he did not understand, only to say that he thought of Magnus as a kindred spirit, and then as though he was plunging underwater, he had Magnus' recollections of that first meeting, pressing in around him, how he had been told of Charles' arrival and had heard much of his skill before they had even met, that had given him pause, wondering if that skill came from something else, something Dr. Shomron had never even considered, another sort of gift, akin to his own with metals, except this one with minds, and his anticipation of Charles' arrival, to put his theory to the test.
Charles was not what he'd imagined: youthful, despite the loss of his hair, and humble about his talents, but an angularity to his features and a knowing in his eye in direct contrast with a curious and friendly nature.
A strange combination. Regardless, as he made note to himself, someone difficult to deceive. Yet Magnus was hopeful, as Dr. Shomron led Charles to poor Gabrielle, hopeful for the first time, that she could be aided, and the doctor's descriptions of Charles' "miraculous" talents were not false. She awoke, distressed, bewildered, but she awoke.
Taking Charles up, on his invitation to dinner that night, and when their conversations turned to the supposed existence of mutants, he wondered if Charles had the same sense about him, and though they disagreed, he was impressed that Charles did not back down, and that he still sought out his company, and he could not say for sure what it was that drew them together, when most everything they believed seemed to draw them apart, that he thought Charles an idealistic fool, and even when it was obvious Gabrielle wanted a fair amount more of Charles' attention, only that he appreciated in Charles his keen mind, that he was strong enough to be given an opposing argument and not collapse, but continue to debate, for as long as it took for all sides to be revealed, and until events forced them to reveal their own mutations, and how freeing that was, despite the circumstances, to have someone look upon what he could do not with horror but with wonder, with appreciation, with possibilities, however he still departed, with the Nazi gold, knowing that he could never force Charles' hand, could never make him see as he did, yet even knowing that, he had mourned every tragedy Charles had endured afterwards, the loss of his legs, the loss of his love, as though they were his own, and he had not been able to resist coming here, with the slimmest hope that something had changed, only to find, as he had mostly suspected, that it had not.
There were other memories as well, of Magnus' mother singing to him and calling him Max, of his father shielding him with his body from bullets, and being covered with dirt only to crawl out afterwards, only to end up in Auschwitz regardless, until the memories seemed like they were Charles' own, and his memories were Magnus', Erik's, Max's, that they were one in the same, and that was what Charles had always known about this man, even though it went beyond reason, that in him was a soulmate, and he hadn't been able to recognize it, because it wasn't what had been described to him, the love of his life, his wife, someone he would spend the rest of his life with, yet somehow it was true, and he would spend the rest of his life with Magnus, separate and apart, yet somehow always connected, but it frightened him, that distance, to have this piece of his soul outside of him, when he wanted it with him, just as he had wanted Amelia with him, just as Magnus had wanted Magda with him, only to have them both leave, and he couldn't say how long it had been going on, but it was then that he became aware that Magnus was physically no longer in a chair in front of him, and that his wheelchair was not where he had last parked it.
No, Magnus had pulled it closer, as he himself had come closer, his hand braced on the arm of the wheelchair and his hand bracing the back of Charles' head, holding both of them in place, until Charles belated realized he had a hand around the back of Magnus' neck and the other covering the hand on the arm of his chair, and how they had come to be joined like this was a mystery to him, just as how they had come to be kissing, and how heavy Magnus' mouth and lips were, moving against his, that it gave him the sensation of suffocating, and yet he couldn't let him go, could only continue, pushing his fingers between Magnus', that he returned with an iron grip, could tell Magnus wanted to grip onto locks of hair that were not there with his other hand, and how much Charles' would look like everything Magnus hated if he still had those locks, blond and blue-eyed, and telling him to try again, to have faith, and how impossible it all was, and was Charles really going to give up someone else he loved, to pursue this philosophy of his, and yet he knew he was, that he would, and all he could offer, was that he would try as hard as he could, to build this school up to something even Magnus would acknowledge had worth, that his words weren't empty, at least, not to him, that he sincerely believed in them, and he sensed Magnus knew that, was the only reason he respected him at all, and that is why they could not be together, because he knew Magnus sincerely believed the opposite, and they would only cross each other, impede upon each other's paths, and it was then that they started to pull apart, piece by piece, and now Charles felt he was suffocating without the pressure from Magnus' mouth and lips, and he felt weightless, without Magnus' hand on the back of his head, and he felt empty, without Magnus' thoughts connected to his, as Charles withdrew, separating the two of them and returning them to themselves, and then they were only connected by one set of hands, and then they were not, they were free, until Magnus pressed his forehead to his and whispered,
"This is a surprise. But you can take heart, for at least we would have been together in the camps. A pink triangle for you and a yellow star for me. Or would they have marked me twice? As perhaps we will be together, if they ever decide to do the same to mutant-kind. What symbol will they give us then? But believe me when I say, I will do everything in my power to prevent that possibility."
"So will I."
Magnus stood, looking down on him, and his eyes were just as cold as when they had first met. With a reason, but the warmth and the light was still there.
There was still hope.
"We'll meet again, old friend."
"Of course we will, seelenverwandter."
In the mixture of Magnus' thoughts, there were many languages, many words: the Yiddish of his home life, associated with his roots and with the fight for survival; the German of the city around them, at first neutral, but now triggering helplessness and rage; Polish in the Highlands, the happiest time in his life, the language he took his marriage vows in, the language he spoke to Anya in; Russian, only briefly, and only with a vengeance; English as well, somewhat enjoyed, but only for the reason that it had no particular associations, tabula rasa, a clean slate.
So why Magnus chose German to speak his parting words to him in, Charles could not say. Only that even though there was rage and helplessness, it was also one of the oldest, of his languages, the first language he used to communicate with anyone outside of his family. Perhaps, though he was sure Magnus would once again call him an idealistic fool for this, it was Magnus' way of telling him, there was still light in the dark, there was still the possibility for redemption, because the word he gave him in German was beautiful. It was the same word Charles associated with him now, in the innermost part of himself, spoken aloud for the first time.
Seelenverwandter.
Soulmate.
Magnus walked away then, and Charles heard his students saying goodbye to him, perhaps they hadn't listened to his instructions as obediently as he'd thought they had, but stayed where he was for the time, as they peppered Erik with more questions, as to why he had come, who he was. He did not answer them, but his last words to them were intriguing as well. "Keep training. You have vast potential."
"Professor, does he… does he know we're mutants?" Scott asked, when Charles did eventually wheel himself out into the main hall, where they stood in wait for him.
"He is one himself," Charles replied.
"So… we're on the same side?" Scott questioned.
"…Not exactly."
"He thinks we won't ever be accepted, doesn't he," Jean asked, but with the confidence of a statement.
"You caught his thoughts?" Charles questioned in surprise.
"No… I just… could tell, that's all." Jean answered, and an uncharacteristic melancholy descended upon them.
"And what do you all think?" Charles addressed the group, in an attempt to confront it.
"It's not like we're oblivious… we know we're weird, we know people might be scared of us, but…' Bobby started, turning cold as ice, seemingly as a defense, against a world that had already tried to prosecute him, and Warren took up the torch, after he trailed off. "Yeah, I mean, I've got wings growing out of my back. We're different, and people who are different often get… but it's worth a shot, right? And what's that they're always saying in history class? About forgetting history?"
"'Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it?'" Bobby asked.
"Yeah, that one. We… know what we're getting into. That's got to count for something, right?"
"I've always preferred Twain's 'History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme.' More poetic, and allowing more subtleties." Hank contributed, displaying his strong scholarly bent, compared to Bobby and Warren's heartfelt enthusiasm.
"'History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.' Winston Churchill." Scott declared next, in this impromptu revealing of philosophies, and it matched him just as well. The confidence of a true-born leader that Charles had always seen in him, even when he had not seen it in himself, and of course Scott looked to Jean for her reaction.
"'History is a set of lies agreed upon.' Napoleon Bonaparte. I've only gotten a glimpse but… everything is so different, isn't it, Professor? When you know, what people are actually thinking? Why people are really doing what they're doing? It takes all the black and white, all the certainty out of it. Even just this conversation, all of us will remember it differently. Who is right, who is wrong?"
"'History is written by the winners.' That is another Napoleon quote." Scott said, but Jean shook her head.
"It's more than that. The winners can sway it, tell it how they want, but even if you could ask them what honestly happened, I doubt they could tell you. Not all of it. There's always these blanks and empty spaces. It's so frustrating… But enough about me, what about you, Professor?"
"There is nothing wrong with what you said, Jean. In fact, there is much truth in it." For even after his exchange with Magnus, after sharing his memories and his thoughts, there were still so many blanks and empty spaces, so many places where their paths diverged from each other, even looking at his own past, he could not explain entirely to Magnus why he believed as he did.
And however much he hoped this group of students would stand united, by each other's sides, as they did now, he knew their paths could diverge as well, and there was little he could do about it.
But for now, they were together, and Charles would attempt to guide them as best he could, while allowing their individuality, and allowing his own, so he left them with his own pairing of quotes.
"Thank you for sharing everyone, and I will share in return with you two ideas, both from the same man. Sun Tzu, whom you may know as the author of the ancient Chinese military treatise, The Art of War.
"First, 'The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.'
"And second, 'The greatest victory is that which requires no battle.'
"I train you all for battle in the hope that you may never need to battle. I teach you about diplomacy with the desire that you shall never need to put it to the test. I hide you here with the dream that one day you never need to hide.
"If this all sounds contradictory, it in fact is. If one day you see things differently, then I will wish you all the best, and continue to support you in whatever way I can, or whatever way is amenable to you.
"I cannot guarantee an easy path or even a path at all, of acceptance for us. I can only tell you that I sincerely believe in this dream, and if you remember anything from your time with me, may it be this: any dream worth having is a dream worth fighting for."
"I'm with you, Professor," Scott pledged, straight and true.
"You saved my hide, I can tell you that. I'm here to stay. At least for awhile," Bobby seconded, with a wink.
"Count me in too. Besides, you've got great digs here," Warren concurred, in jest.
"I'd be lost without you," Jean confessed.
"I am very grateful to you, Professor," Hank finished, while Charles was grateful to them all. That as much as they felt they were in debt to him, he was equally in debt to them. For giving him purpose, for giving him hope, for allowing them to help him, and helping him in return. For easing the heartbreak of Magnus' inevitable departure.
"Since I doubt you all were actually studying during that interruption, shall we continue?"
"Sure, but really, Professor, who was that?" Warren asked.
"And are we going to be seeing him again?" Bobby furthered.
"I think we shall, but I cannot say when," Charles attempted to answer, "and he is an old friend, as he said. He has the power of magnetism. We met at a clinic in Israel…"
Finito