The light was all encompassing. It filled his vision and left him feeling dazzled by its radiance. Seated on the top of Caesars Palace, he had special glasses for protection against the glare of a radiation cloud bomb. He was seated up here, in the not yet blistering heat of Las Vegas. Instead of the desert sun baking the arid land, it was instead almost pleasant on this brisk, windy morning in Mid-February, 1961.
In so many ways Maxwell Erichson - no, that is not my name - Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, the name he made and built for himself so long ago, clawed to what he knew. It was a fight, not with this reality's persona, whoever he was - 'No, not the time, not yet.' he thought to himself, desperately honing his mind as Charles and life itself taught him. Swiftly, he managed to reassess the situation that they had experienced.
Something had happened. An unstable device - 'The boy on the Hudson' - and reality spasmed with every oscillation of the device's core. Each time it thrust the pair through time and space, and were losing themselves in each jaunt. Finally, after being buffeted about from reality to reality; he had managed in this last one to have a literal jolt to his senses, and not a moment too soon.
It shamed him he had not broken free of this alone. Each time, each place, he had struggled with this…falling into his sense of self that experienced that particular world. From landed gentry, to back on the Leningrad, to the Savage Land, and then…for a place he had no name. Prior to now he was lost to the place fate sent them to each time until he saw Rogue's eyes.
Those green eyes. Bright and heavy with knowledge of the heart and mind, they caused him to stop in abject arrest each time. Taking that pause each time allowed him to realize that this wasn't him. This wasn't his reality. It was her. Her and her eyes. They brought him back, every time.
It was fortunate that they were cast to that strange land, with its strange rituals that felt so familiar. It was a conundrum, he only felt that way because he was inserted into those places, and their memories felt like they had been his for the entirety of his li-
He knew how Rogue felt now. Intimately. It gave him an unaccustomed feeling that he hadn't had spark in him before. Humility. He often considered hers a gift he could never understand; how could someone feel their sense of self so subsumed that they forgot who they were?
That folly had almost cost him. He was so ensnared each time that he was beginning to suspect a psychic was at work here. 'Farouk?' he asked within the confines of his mind. He waited there amongst the murmuring crowd as the atom bomb's mushroom head remained a white and gray stain in the sky. So much like when he raised the Leningrad from the depths…
No. Focus on the here and now! He shoved those thoughts aside and itched to stand up. But the mind that housed this body usually was insistent. They had to wait for their contact. They didn't know who it would be, but it would be initiated by a dropped handkerchief. A ploy, of course, the documents, carefully stored on a prototype of mixing high resolution film with high quality microfilm-
Who cared about that, right now? He reminisced on the agony of the Savage Land, how even the pain hadn't roused him. He was unable to do anything until he caught sight of Rogue across the room, as she had been -
He cast the thought aside. He did not need to keep pondering this, he had to assess what he could do. When he tried to cast his senses out, to seek her electromagnetic signature, assure him that she was nearby - but she wasn't. This was due to his absolute lack of powers, he realized with his second revelation of the moment; he was a baseline human in this world!
And yet, he didn't feel weaker, he felt more than fine, really. 'Yes; something about that place, that moment. It was what we…needed.' It must have been the surge of power that had revitalized the pair after their ordeal that had very nearly killed them. No matter the reality, at Nathaniel Essex's hand. That seemed logical. Or at least, it made the most sense, and now, after all that, the important thing was to understand where he was. Where he was, and where this uncontrollable ride may take them next.
Uncontrollable…for now. He forced himself to remain calm. He would not panic from the loss of his powers; nothing would stop hi-
"Pardon me, suh." a soft, immediately recognizable voice said from his left shoulder. He turned his head to look up and there, in a smart, wool bouclé double-breasted jade green and its neighboring hues with smart white trim collared suit. Atop her head was a pillbox hat and the white glove-clad hands were extended. "You seemed to drop this a few minutes ago. Ah didn't want t'interrupt the show, so Ah waited."
A handkerchief. His eyes traveled upwards, and just as he knew, there she was. Her hair was scraped back into a severe bun and stuffed her streak to minimize its obvious unique shade in her auburn trails. Of course, it was styled as such to keep with the times, but he always longed to see her hair unbound. Free. Like she ought to always be. Though the outfit looked lovely on her, it was so thick and enveloping, that he longed to free her from her fabric cage. He often felt so. And it wasn't just for the pleasures of flesh; there were few mutants such as her that needed to be so aware at all times, on guard every moment. Yes, it was more than just carnal desire.
On reflection, though, she may not appreciate that as the cold wind blew off the desert's plain. It knocked a tendril of hair loose by one ear and she tucked it back as she continued to hold his gaze. In it was dawning recognition as each version of Rogue and Magneto, here in this reality, and from their own, realized that the other was who they sought.
A moment of panic in those beautiful green eyes. It spurred him to action, it always did.
"My thanks, my dear. Where are my manners?" he asked as he rose to take her hand and the offered handkerchief.
Without even looking at it, he stuffed it into one capacious pocket, designed to hold more than it seemed. The tailors employed by their agency were superior and far from inexpensive. The data would be protected from any potential accidents barring the Rapture. Or so the gentiles in their Research and Development assured him, someone who spoke little on his own faith. He allowed them theirs, though.
"I am Maxwell Erichson, in town this weekend for an early Monday meeting. And you?"
"Margaret Alice Adler." she said cheerfully. "Hadda chance to try something new in life, an' here Ah am."
He raised her now unburdened hand to his lips and kissed it very softly over her glove, all the while never letting go of her gaze. It spoke of a need to keep the charade up, but at the same time, his eyes darted to the back of the hotel's rooftop, where various refreshments were stocked.
"Our lads out at the testing site just radioed in. They're resetting for the second bomb, right now. The test to see how it affects the previous mushroom cloud will commence within minutes. Don't stray too far; we've got snacks up here for everyone, and you won't want to miss the Big Boom!" the loudspeaker crackled with the voice of someone obviously new to the job, and excited to play the part of announcer.
Rogue looked over her shoulder at the explosion's remnants and her face lost a bit of joviality. "This is amazin' technology…but…it can't be good for the world, can it?" she asked, playing the part of innocent naif in a large city for the first time.
Their ploy was to remain a simple pair that happened to meet up here and spend the weekend sight-seeing together, but there were more important things to discuss. Discreetly. Magneto wasn't certain how much more time they had, and he knew he needed to be quick.
"Would you like some coffee?" he asked, knowing he was moving a bit faster than the dossier they were briefed on warned them about. He couldn't bring himself to care about this world overmuch; it was almost like he was racing against a stopwatch…how much more time did he have before they were once again cast into a void?
Before she could respond, he was already walking, and like any gently reared woman in the early 1960s she followed, but only with the slightest of protest. It wasn't seemly to make a big deal in public, after all. It was easy to stand by the large silvery-chromed carafe and finally, finally take a moment to speak to one another.
"We must be quick," he murmured under his breath to her as he used the rattle of tea cups and saucers to hide his words. "I do not know who is manipulating this, but here in this place we have -"
"No powers, me too. But Ah still feel peaky. How 'bout you?" she asked him. When he affirmed he felt the same, she nodded. "Reckon we won't be here much longer, what should we do?"
He wasn't too certain and said as much. It was a testament to one another that they didn't respond with fear or panic. They trusted one another. "There will more than likely be another flash, and we will find ourselves elsewhere."
"Or when," Rogue said, grimacing as she sipped her coffee. He knew it wasn't because he forgot to add three spoonfuls of sugar; he remembered. How could he forget? Sweet and with a dark streak, his Rogue.
"I expect soon," he said softly. "What a splendid idea," he said louder. "I would love to be escorted about town by someone as clearly lovely as you are, my dear miss."
"Oh you're such a charmer, when you said you were just a simple businessman" she purred, playing the part as they knew they needed to.
Their counterparts from this reality were screaming that others were watching, and to maintain their cover. For whatever apparatus they both worked for, that could be determined later, and the pair obliged their inner selves desire to remain discreet. She sipped her coffee again and whispered.
"Why, Ah trust you must be very important if your company has sent you all alone out to the big city of sin." 'Margaret' said, clearly planting the keyword their realities were supposed to use to signal to their handlers that first contact was successfully made. "What a lovely accent you have, suh. You said you were from New York, but are you from -"
"Ladies and Gentlemen, would you take your seats please and -" Reality and light flickered. First one, then the other. The pit of dread opened once more in his stomach; Magnus knew what both meant. They were about to leave this place, but only as a nuclear bomb erupted.
And then that predicted mushroom cloud, this one much larger, and much closer erupted suddenly, obliterating sound first, before the light swelled. That was the exact opposite of how explosions were supposed to occur. Magneto dropped the coffee cup and saucer. They shattered without a sound. He threw his arms around Rogue, intent on pulling her behind the nearest largest structure on the roof - the access room for the stairway!
But before they could do more than stumble a few blind steps reality splintered, squealing with the noise of a thousand speakers and they were both cast into a fractured kaleidoscope of moments. There was a frisson, as he felt himself part from that powerless body, and the return of his gifts.
Stars wheeled overhead, underfoot. Galaxies froze while the firmament collapsed into a pinpoint and swelled back out to the time of his heart. There was so little time as they hurtled pell-mell across all that is, was and could be. He had to reach out. Straining himself, he found what he needed, in the shadow of decaying tachyons. He pulled with everything he had, and he felt the two of them begin to right their course. Reality was settling back within them, and as awareness began to fade into the mind of another him, he resolved that when those green eyes woke him next; he would find a way for them to fix this and return home.
Resolve and sorrow shrouded his mind, and as he sank into this new reality, he remembered it with a pang of dread. This was one of the most difficult moments of his life; for it meant that it needed to start…with a funeral.
Though Magneto closed his eyes, he felt the light bleach through, and his vision was cast with a bright fuchsia glow once more.