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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (7/?)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Back to chapter 6
Erik woke from a restless sleep, senses on high alert. He remained prone and listened to the soft sounds of pre-dawn while simultaneously reaching out with his power to catalogue the metal in the room. When it became apparent that no immediate threat loomed, he released his hold on the bolts and nails and wires that had stood ready to do his bidding, and sat.
The room Charles had provided was elegant in its simplicity. A utilitarian space, unsuited to a man of Charles' ilk and offensive to a man of Magneto's position, Erik had found comfort within the unassuming space. Charles had sensed Erik's pleasure upon seeing it, and had smiled, offering it over for however long Erik chose to claim it.
The floor beside the bed was cold beneath his feet, but Erik merely stretched his toes against it and then stood, moving to the window to push aside heavy drapes. Outside, the sky was a subdued shade of purple-grey, the sun not yet risen, though already colouring the morning with light. He spared the splendor of it a single glance before moving to retrieve his clothes.
They sat folded atop the room's solitary dresser, where Erik had left them the night before. His helmet rested at their side, a gaudy monstrosity of a thing, its weight a burden Erik had born for far too long--and would again, when next he assumed the cloak of Magneto. For now, having reached an understanding with Charles, he was content leave the helmet aside, to trust in Charles as Charles had trusted him.
It was strange sensation. There were so few he could bring himself to trust; fewer still for whom he was willing to set aside the name Magneto. The thought of seeing Charles without the security of his helmet still terrified him, but he had decided on a show of faith and it had paid off in spades.
His room was on the same floor as the kitchen where they had eaten the previous night, so Erik was easily able to find his way back to it. It was empty when he arrived, though a percolator of freshly made coffee sat on the table, along with a loaf of bread and a slab of soft butter. Erik stole an apple from a bowl on the counter and went in search of a mug.
He was midway through his first coffee when Charles entered the room. He seemed startled to find Erik already awake--though without Erik's helmet, Charles could have undoubtedly reached out and ascertained his location.
"Good morning," Erik said.
"Good morning," Charles answered, coming fully into the room. Erik had already retrieved a second mug. He filled it now and handed it wordlessly to Charles.
In many ways it felt like they were meeting for the first time. Magneto Charles knew, but Erik had long known he was nothing like his authoritative counterpart. Certainly he possessed the same passion, the same drive, even the same ruthlessness, but now he was exposing his vulnerable underbelly, something that tended to make him skittish and uncertain. He remained silent, waiting for Charles' cue to determine how their new found trust would settle.
"I thought after breakfast we could begin," Charles said, settling at the table. He reached for a piece of bread and covered it liberally in butter.
"Of course," Erik answered.
"I'll need all the information you have on this Wolverine. The more information I have the clearer picture I can form in my mind. It's still no guarantee of finding the man, but it'll certainly improve our chances."
Erik was prepared for this. He slid across a file-folder, its contents everything the Brotherhood had amassed on Wolverine and Striker's involvement with him. Charles hummed thoughtfully as he opened the folder. Inside, an aged, undated photograph drew Charles' immediate attention. He exhaled sharply.
"Dear God. I know this man," he said. Erik's breath caught.
"You know him? How?" He hadn't meant to sound so demanding, as though Charles was a subordinate rather than an equal and tentative friend. Charles glanced up and frowned, but he quickly schooled his features to stillness. He turned the picture with his finger and thumb, and then slid it across the table to rest between Erik's down-turned palms.
"This is your Wolverine?" he asked. Erik nodded. "That night I called, the payphone was outside a pub called Harry's Hideaway, not ten miles from here. This man," Charles stabbed the photograph with his index finger, "helped me get my chair up a flight of stairs. I exchanged no more than three words with him."
"Ten miles from here," Erik said, stunned. What were the odds? Erik did not believe in coincidence. It took seconds for the pieces to slot into place. "Oh God," he said. "You're his target."
Charles cocked his head. His forehead furrowed. "Target?" he asked. Erik released a steady breath.
"I wasn't entirely honest with you. I told you Striker intended to turn Wolverine into a weapon, but it would perhaps be more accurate to say he already has. If the Wolverine is free, then there is a good chance he's already hunting the mutants on Striker's list. You're the most powerful telepath in the world, never mind a symbolic figure to the mutant revolution. You can't honestly believe Striker wouldn't target you?"
Charles looked skeptical. "Then why didn't he kill me when he had the chance? I'm hardly defenseless, but he did have me at his mercy, never mind the element of surprise." He shook his head. "No, I refuse to believe that. I think we ought to operate on the assumption that Wolverine's on his own and running from Striker."
Erik shook his head, even as he delighted at the exchange of ideas. This is what he lacked in the Brotherhood; someone to discuss ideas and strategies with, someone to debate courses of action.
"You really think it's coincidence he's here?"
A flicker of doubt settled over Charles' features, but he shook his head a second time.
"We won't know until we find him. Come on," he said, pushing himself away from the table.
Unlike the night before, they left the dishes sitting where they sat. Erik followed Charles from the room and down the same corridor they had traversed the night before. Across from the entrance way, they took a lift down into the basement.
"There are two sub levels beneath the house," Charles explained when the lift had brought them to their destination. Erik followed him into a vast, well-lit space more suited to a military base than an antiquated mansion in Westchester, New York. Erik stared, agog. A hall branched to their left, leading to an immense vault door. Erik thought it perfectly suited to an underground lair.
"The first sub level, above us, houses Hank and my labs and several storage rooms where I keep most of my research. This level houses Cerebro, though the structure connects with several underground caverns, which I may someday claim as my own."
Charles made the statement with no trace of arrogance; only cold certainty and a keenness that Erik equated to his scientific mind. In the years since Erik had created the Brotherhood, he had had several organizational headquarters, most of which could have been called lairs. Even Genosha's capital building, built to Erik's specifications, was impressive, but this; the Xavier mansion had potential beyond Erik's wildest imaginings.
Might I remind you that I do know what you're thinking, and the answer is still no; also I'm certainly not going to let you woo me into giving the Brotherhood access to the house.
It was the first time Charles had spoken directly into his mind, and Erik found the experience unsettling. He opted against complaint, instead employing a trick Emma had taught him--under duress, or course, but that was neither here nor there. He draped a thick, iron-plated curtain over his thoughts, tightening it securely against stray telepathic tendrils. It was not his intention to negate the trust that had grown between them, but rather to secure some measure of privacy. At his side, Charles flinched, but refrained from comment.
Whether it would keep Charles out remained to be seen, but at the very least Erik trusted him to be a man of integrity and honour. He thought Charles would respect his wishes.
Beyond the vault doors, Cerebro was unlike anything Erik had imagined. A cavernous room, hollowed into a sphere, occupied the space beyond the doors. A suspended bridge served as walkway and led towards what Erik assumed was Cerebro's interface. The entire room overflowed with metal. Erik could feel its pull; the sheer magnitude of its weight. He doubted he would ever understand the more technical aspects of the design, but he understood the metal--could recreate every panel that covered the room's walls.
"And this is Cerebro," Charles said, as though introducing an old friend. He lifted a helmet, not unlike Erik's, and placed it on his head.
"Do I need to step outside?" Erik asked, suddenly wary.
"Not at all," Charles said, closing his eyes, and just like that they were transported.
Whether it was Cerebro or a trick of Charles' mind, Erik watched the room fall out from beneath them. He stood, suspended in space, floating while held secure by the weight of gravity. The sensation was dizzying. Without meaning to, he reached out and curled a hand around Charles' shoulder.
When next the room materialized, it was overlaid with a world map. Countless points of red lit the surface. "Those are the world's mutants," Charles said. Erik could only stare, overwhelmed by the thought of so many.
The map shifted, focusing on the North American continent, shrinking rapidly until the state of New York resolved, Westchester eventually jumping forward to fill the space. "And these are the mutants local to the area. That's us," Charles said, gesturing to two red points that glowed brighter than the rest.
It occurred to Erik then that Charles likely could have started his search in the immediate area. Instead he had widened his gaze to the entire world. He was showing off, trying to impress. An amused smile settled on Erik's face. He thought back to their first meeting, to dragging a crate across the room by its hinges, and realized now that he'd done the same.
On the map, Charles flittered between points of light, dismissing each in term. Time passed. Erik could not be sure how long. It seemed like hours, and yet it could have been mere moments for all he could tell. It was possible he would leave Cerebro to find years had passed.
"There," Charles eventually said, pointing out a single dot on the map. "He's obviously been trained against telepaths; I can't breach his mind, not without him knowing, and that would give him advanced warning that we were coming."
"We?" Of all the things Erik had meant to focus on, that was not it.
"Of course we. The question is do we risk it? Are knowing his intentions worth the risk of him running?"
Erik glanced back at the map. He didn't know the area as well as he imagined Charles would, but he was fairly certain the tiny dot was somewhere in the Catskills. A quick trip; he could be there and back before nightfall--that was, of course, provided it was still morning.
Aloud he said, "I'd rather find him in person."
"Excellent," Charles said, the map disappearing, Cerebro lurching back into existence beneath their feet. Charles withdrew the helmet. "When do we leave?"
"I leave immediately. You are staying here," Erik answered, Magneto creeping into his tone. He squared his shoulders and drew himself to his full height, suddenly wanting his helmet.
"Don't be ridiculous, Erik. How are you going to find him, exactly? I'll know his mind as soon as I'm close enough. I'll be able to guide you to his location. It just makes logical sense to have me along," Charles answered. There was no irritation in his voice, only calm certainty, like he honestly believed Erik was being ridiculous and would soon see the error of his way.
Irritation and something Erik suspected might be affection blossomed in his chest. He wasn't used to people questioning his orders--he certainly wasn't used to people countermanding them.
"This guy is dangerous, Charles, and if he means to kill you, I'd rather you not get anywhere near him. I can call in a team. It might take a little longer, but we'll find him."
To Erik's surprise, Charles smiled, eyes lighting up with something Erik didn't want to question--whatever it was it made his heart lurch in his chest and his breathing go shallow.
"I appreciate the concern you have for my person, Erik, but I'm hardly defenseless."
He wasn't, Erik knew; was probably more capable than Erik's entire team combined. Still, something ugly settled in the pit of Erik's stomach at the thought of Charles in danger, which was frankly stupid, because this was what he wanted--Charles fighting by his side, the two of them forming an unbreakable partnership.
"Erik, if you bring in your team things are liable to get out of control. I don't want anyone getting hurt."
The way Charles said it, it wasn't clear if he meant himself, Erik or Wolverine. Probably all three, Erik reasoned. Agreeing went against all his instincts, but faced with Charles' pragmatic excitement, Erik found himself incapable of refusing. He suspected he might never be able to refuse Charles anything. Their continued friendship didn't bode well for Erik's authority, never mind his sanity.
"Fine, but you are to stay safely out of sight while I talk to this guy. You can piggyback in my head if you need to"--something he'd let Emma do once, then never again--"but until I deem him no longer a threat, I want you well out of the line of fire."
Charles beamed at him--actually beamed--and then reached forward to take Erik's hand. For a moment, Erik thought he intended only to hold it, his heart racing at the thought, but then Charles offered a firm, if lingering handshake before pulling back, radiating satisfaction.
"Come along, Erik. It's a long drive," he said, wheeling past Erik and out of the room. Erik was forced to take several steadying breaths before he felt capable of moving. Even then, he left the room on shaking legs.
~*~
Leaving Cerebro, Erik in tow, Charles felt a good ten years younger. In his youth, back when writing his thesis contended only with trips to the pub, Charles had wanted adventure the way some men wanted success or fame or money. He'd lost that, somewhere along the way. He missed the feeling; his entire body humming with unused energy, his mind sharp and focused in a way it only ever was when connected to Cerebro. It was a good feeling, and he let it carry him up the lift, then into the hall where he turned to face his companion.
Erik seemed slightly dazed and a brief glimpse of his thoughts--the few that leaked through, Charles respecting Erik's barriers--showed he was struggling to account for their time spent in Cerebro.
"It's only been an hour or so. Hard to tell inside Cerebro, I know, but you get used to it. I have a few arrangements I need to make. Can I meet you out front in say thirty minutes?"
Erik nodded, thinking briefly--loudly--about his helmet, so Charles knew it was something he intended to retrieve. He left Erik to it and wheeled to his room. The trip would take the better part of three hours, then three hours back, plus however long it took to locate and talk with Erik's Wolverine. They may even end up staying the night. There were things he would need, so Charles packed a small bag, then set about hunting down Mr. Thompson, who oversaw the running of the Xavier household. He left a note for Hank with Thompson, not particularly wanting to endure the argument he was sure Hank would start, especially once he discover who it was Charles intended to run off with.
Twenty-three minutes later, he exited the house via the small servant's entrance that stood adjacent to the front doors. He found Erik standing, half leaned, against a small, shiny black car. Charles quirked an eyebrow.
"A sports car? Really, Erik," he said, eyeing Erik's car.
Erik glanced over his shoulder at the car, then back to Charles. "What's wrong with it?"
"Absolutely nothing. I'm just wondering where on earth you got it. Surely you don't have a fleet of sports cars waiting for you in each city." When Erik didn't answer, Charles let his expression grow incredulous. "Dear God, Erik. You stole it?"
"Appropriated," Erik corrected, looking smug.
"You're absurd. We can't drive around in a stolen car. Are you insane?"
Erik smiled, a shit-eating grin that showed too many teeth. Charles suspected it was meant to be intimidating. Instead it made him look boyish. Charles found it entirely too charming.
"I don't think we have too much to worry about," Erik said. "I am travelling with a telepath. You can just," he mimicked the gesture Charles had used the night before, when he'd asked after Erik's drink preference, "can't you?"
Charles shook his head.
"I could, but that doesn't mean I will. Some of us have ethics, you know," he said. He wasn't sure how he was expecting Erik to respond to that, but he certainly wasn't expecting Erik to burst out laughing.
The sound of it carried, wrapping around Charles until he wasn't certain if he should respond with indignation or mirth. "What is so funny?" he asked, mustering his best glare.
Erik's laughter trailed off, but his smile lingered. "Within twenty minutes of meeting you, you used your telepathy to manipulate at least four people. God knows how many minds you've played with in the last week. You, Charles Xavier, are completely unethical," he said.
Indignation won. Charles drew himself up, jaw clenching as he tried and failed to come up with a retort. How dare Erik--Magneto of all people--question his ethics? If Charles wanted to, he could rule the world with a single thought, and yet here he sat, alone in this drafty old house, conducting research that might someday further the mutant cause, all through a selfless need to help mutantkind. How was that unethical?
He opened his mouth to tell Erik exactly that, but before he could get a word out, they were interrupted by a furious, growling Hank.
"A note, Professor?" he said, appearing at Charles' side, piece of paper clutched in his hand. Damn Thompson for not following Charles' instructions to deliver the note after Charles had left. And this, he realized, was exactly why he sometimes used his telepathy to his advantage, because otherwise his life was simply far too complicated to tolerate--and all right, Erik might have a point.
"I thought it best to inform you, but didn't wish to disturb your work," Charles said, but it was obvious Hank was no longer listening. He was staring at Erik, eyes growing wide as he connected Erik's presence with Charles' leaving.
"Absolutely not," Hank said. Charles sighed, absently rubbing his temple against the stirrings of a headache. When he caught Erik's pointed expression, he dropped his hand as though scalded.
"Hank, I really do appreciate your concern," and he did, but sometimes Hank tended to treat him like a wayward child, especially since the accident--ironic considering Hank had started as Charles' graduate student, "but I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, and right now I've decided to accompany Erik on his trip."
And now he was faced with a dilemma, because it was obvious from Hank's stance that he wasn't going to back down, something Charles could easily overcome with only the slightest of nudges, but he was hardly willing to prove Erik's point--though he could concede now that Erik did have a point.
"Hank," Charles tried again, this time giving a slight nudge so that Hank turned to meet his gaze--it wasn't cheating, it really wasn't. "I promise you I will be safe."
If anything this only made Hank angrier. "Safe? There is nothing safe about this man, Charles. The authorities may not classify him as such, but make no mistake, Magneto is a terrorist. I don't know what it is about him that interests you, but you are not safe in his presence."
Hank's animosity where the Brotherhood was concerned was an old thing, born from the loss of a woman to their cause. He still resented their existence, blamed them for wooing the heart of the girl he'd wanted to marry. Charles hadn't realized that that hate extended to the Brotherhood's leader.
It was as irrational as Charles not using the part of himself that made him who he was. Ignoring what Erik might say on the subject, Charles brought his fingers to his temple.
"I will be fine, Hank. You can--and will--yell at me when I get home, but right you're going to retrieve the Land Rover and then head inside and cross reference those samples we got last week. I expect a full work up by the time I get back."
Hank was moving the second Charles finished speaking. Charles hazarded a glance in Erik's direction, only to find Erik eyeing him speculatively, slight smirk tugging at his lip.
"Oh, shut up," Charles said.
Wisely, Erik didn't comment. "Land Rover, Charles?" he said instead.
"Well, we're certainly not taking your stolen sports car, which you will be returning as soon as we get back," Charles answered.
To his surprised, Erik acknowledged the request with a nod of his head and then retrieved both a bag and his helmet from the back seat of his car. A minute later Hank returned with a vehicle actually suited to trekking through the Catskills. Erik ignored Hank entirely as he claimed the driver's seat, leaving Charles to pull himself into the passenger's seat.
"Hmm," Charles said, glancing at his chair, but Hank, still operating on Charles' earlier instructions, had already left, heading into the lab to do Charles' bidding. At his side, Erik chuckled, then lifted a hand, flicking his wrist almost absently. Charles watched, captivated, as Erik manipulated his chair into the truck, all without ever once glancing in its direction.
"We good?" he asked when he was done.
"We're good," Charles said, and then they were off, driving through the iron gates that had once seemed so ominous--and now seemed a gateway to adventure.
On to chapter 8
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Back to chapter 6
Erik woke from a restless sleep, senses on high alert. He remained prone and listened to the soft sounds of pre-dawn while simultaneously reaching out with his power to catalogue the metal in the room. When it became apparent that no immediate threat loomed, he released his hold on the bolts and nails and wires that had stood ready to do his bidding, and sat.
The room Charles had provided was elegant in its simplicity. A utilitarian space, unsuited to a man of Charles' ilk and offensive to a man of Magneto's position, Erik had found comfort within the unassuming space. Charles had sensed Erik's pleasure upon seeing it, and had smiled, offering it over for however long Erik chose to claim it.
The floor beside the bed was cold beneath his feet, but Erik merely stretched his toes against it and then stood, moving to the window to push aside heavy drapes. Outside, the sky was a subdued shade of purple-grey, the sun not yet risen, though already colouring the morning with light. He spared the splendor of it a single glance before moving to retrieve his clothes.
They sat folded atop the room's solitary dresser, where Erik had left them the night before. His helmet rested at their side, a gaudy monstrosity of a thing, its weight a burden Erik had born for far too long--and would again, when next he assumed the cloak of Magneto. For now, having reached an understanding with Charles, he was content leave the helmet aside, to trust in Charles as Charles had trusted him.
It was strange sensation. There were so few he could bring himself to trust; fewer still for whom he was willing to set aside the name Magneto. The thought of seeing Charles without the security of his helmet still terrified him, but he had decided on a show of faith and it had paid off in spades.
His room was on the same floor as the kitchen where they had eaten the previous night, so Erik was easily able to find his way back to it. It was empty when he arrived, though a percolator of freshly made coffee sat on the table, along with a loaf of bread and a slab of soft butter. Erik stole an apple from a bowl on the counter and went in search of a mug.
He was midway through his first coffee when Charles entered the room. He seemed startled to find Erik already awake--though without Erik's helmet, Charles could have undoubtedly reached out and ascertained his location.
"Good morning," Erik said.
"Good morning," Charles answered, coming fully into the room. Erik had already retrieved a second mug. He filled it now and handed it wordlessly to Charles.
In many ways it felt like they were meeting for the first time. Magneto Charles knew, but Erik had long known he was nothing like his authoritative counterpart. Certainly he possessed the same passion, the same drive, even the same ruthlessness, but now he was exposing his vulnerable underbelly, something that tended to make him skittish and uncertain. He remained silent, waiting for Charles' cue to determine how their new found trust would settle.
"I thought after breakfast we could begin," Charles said, settling at the table. He reached for a piece of bread and covered it liberally in butter.
"Of course," Erik answered.
"I'll need all the information you have on this Wolverine. The more information I have the clearer picture I can form in my mind. It's still no guarantee of finding the man, but it'll certainly improve our chances."
Erik was prepared for this. He slid across a file-folder, its contents everything the Brotherhood had amassed on Wolverine and Striker's involvement with him. Charles hummed thoughtfully as he opened the folder. Inside, an aged, undated photograph drew Charles' immediate attention. He exhaled sharply.
"Dear God. I know this man," he said. Erik's breath caught.
"You know him? How?" He hadn't meant to sound so demanding, as though Charles was a subordinate rather than an equal and tentative friend. Charles glanced up and frowned, but he quickly schooled his features to stillness. He turned the picture with his finger and thumb, and then slid it across the table to rest between Erik's down-turned palms.
"This is your Wolverine?" he asked. Erik nodded. "That night I called, the payphone was outside a pub called Harry's Hideaway, not ten miles from here. This man," Charles stabbed the photograph with his index finger, "helped me get my chair up a flight of stairs. I exchanged no more than three words with him."
"Ten miles from here," Erik said, stunned. What were the odds? Erik did not believe in coincidence. It took seconds for the pieces to slot into place. "Oh God," he said. "You're his target."
Charles cocked his head. His forehead furrowed. "Target?" he asked. Erik released a steady breath.
"I wasn't entirely honest with you. I told you Striker intended to turn Wolverine into a weapon, but it would perhaps be more accurate to say he already has. If the Wolverine is free, then there is a good chance he's already hunting the mutants on Striker's list. You're the most powerful telepath in the world, never mind a symbolic figure to the mutant revolution. You can't honestly believe Striker wouldn't target you?"
Charles looked skeptical. "Then why didn't he kill me when he had the chance? I'm hardly defenseless, but he did have me at his mercy, never mind the element of surprise." He shook his head. "No, I refuse to believe that. I think we ought to operate on the assumption that Wolverine's on his own and running from Striker."
Erik shook his head, even as he delighted at the exchange of ideas. This is what he lacked in the Brotherhood; someone to discuss ideas and strategies with, someone to debate courses of action.
"You really think it's coincidence he's here?"
A flicker of doubt settled over Charles' features, but he shook his head a second time.
"We won't know until we find him. Come on," he said, pushing himself away from the table.
Unlike the night before, they left the dishes sitting where they sat. Erik followed Charles from the room and down the same corridor they had traversed the night before. Across from the entrance way, they took a lift down into the basement.
"There are two sub levels beneath the house," Charles explained when the lift had brought them to their destination. Erik followed him into a vast, well-lit space more suited to a military base than an antiquated mansion in Westchester, New York. Erik stared, agog. A hall branched to their left, leading to an immense vault door. Erik thought it perfectly suited to an underground lair.
"The first sub level, above us, houses Hank and my labs and several storage rooms where I keep most of my research. This level houses Cerebro, though the structure connects with several underground caverns, which I may someday claim as my own."
Charles made the statement with no trace of arrogance; only cold certainty and a keenness that Erik equated to his scientific mind. In the years since Erik had created the Brotherhood, he had had several organizational headquarters, most of which could have been called lairs. Even Genosha's capital building, built to Erik's specifications, was impressive, but this; the Xavier mansion had potential beyond Erik's wildest imaginings.
Might I remind you that I do know what you're thinking, and the answer is still no; also I'm certainly not going to let you woo me into giving the Brotherhood access to the house.
It was the first time Charles had spoken directly into his mind, and Erik found the experience unsettling. He opted against complaint, instead employing a trick Emma had taught him--under duress, or course, but that was neither here nor there. He draped a thick, iron-plated curtain over his thoughts, tightening it securely against stray telepathic tendrils. It was not his intention to negate the trust that had grown between them, but rather to secure some measure of privacy. At his side, Charles flinched, but refrained from comment.
Whether it would keep Charles out remained to be seen, but at the very least Erik trusted him to be a man of integrity and honour. He thought Charles would respect his wishes.
Beyond the vault doors, Cerebro was unlike anything Erik had imagined. A cavernous room, hollowed into a sphere, occupied the space beyond the doors. A suspended bridge served as walkway and led towards what Erik assumed was Cerebro's interface. The entire room overflowed with metal. Erik could feel its pull; the sheer magnitude of its weight. He doubted he would ever understand the more technical aspects of the design, but he understood the metal--could recreate every panel that covered the room's walls.
"And this is Cerebro," Charles said, as though introducing an old friend. He lifted a helmet, not unlike Erik's, and placed it on his head.
"Do I need to step outside?" Erik asked, suddenly wary.
"Not at all," Charles said, closing his eyes, and just like that they were transported.
Whether it was Cerebro or a trick of Charles' mind, Erik watched the room fall out from beneath them. He stood, suspended in space, floating while held secure by the weight of gravity. The sensation was dizzying. Without meaning to, he reached out and curled a hand around Charles' shoulder.
When next the room materialized, it was overlaid with a world map. Countless points of red lit the surface. "Those are the world's mutants," Charles said. Erik could only stare, overwhelmed by the thought of so many.
The map shifted, focusing on the North American continent, shrinking rapidly until the state of New York resolved, Westchester eventually jumping forward to fill the space. "And these are the mutants local to the area. That's us," Charles said, gesturing to two red points that glowed brighter than the rest.
It occurred to Erik then that Charles likely could have started his search in the immediate area. Instead he had widened his gaze to the entire world. He was showing off, trying to impress. An amused smile settled on Erik's face. He thought back to their first meeting, to dragging a crate across the room by its hinges, and realized now that he'd done the same.
On the map, Charles flittered between points of light, dismissing each in term. Time passed. Erik could not be sure how long. It seemed like hours, and yet it could have been mere moments for all he could tell. It was possible he would leave Cerebro to find years had passed.
"There," Charles eventually said, pointing out a single dot on the map. "He's obviously been trained against telepaths; I can't breach his mind, not without him knowing, and that would give him advanced warning that we were coming."
"We?" Of all the things Erik had meant to focus on, that was not it.
"Of course we. The question is do we risk it? Are knowing his intentions worth the risk of him running?"
Erik glanced back at the map. He didn't know the area as well as he imagined Charles would, but he was fairly certain the tiny dot was somewhere in the Catskills. A quick trip; he could be there and back before nightfall--that was, of course, provided it was still morning.
Aloud he said, "I'd rather find him in person."
"Excellent," Charles said, the map disappearing, Cerebro lurching back into existence beneath their feet. Charles withdrew the helmet. "When do we leave?"
"I leave immediately. You are staying here," Erik answered, Magneto creeping into his tone. He squared his shoulders and drew himself to his full height, suddenly wanting his helmet.
"Don't be ridiculous, Erik. How are you going to find him, exactly? I'll know his mind as soon as I'm close enough. I'll be able to guide you to his location. It just makes logical sense to have me along," Charles answered. There was no irritation in his voice, only calm certainty, like he honestly believed Erik was being ridiculous and would soon see the error of his way.
Irritation and something Erik suspected might be affection blossomed in his chest. He wasn't used to people questioning his orders--he certainly wasn't used to people countermanding them.
"This guy is dangerous, Charles, and if he means to kill you, I'd rather you not get anywhere near him. I can call in a team. It might take a little longer, but we'll find him."
To Erik's surprise, Charles smiled, eyes lighting up with something Erik didn't want to question--whatever it was it made his heart lurch in his chest and his breathing go shallow.
"I appreciate the concern you have for my person, Erik, but I'm hardly defenseless."
He wasn't, Erik knew; was probably more capable than Erik's entire team combined. Still, something ugly settled in the pit of Erik's stomach at the thought of Charles in danger, which was frankly stupid, because this was what he wanted--Charles fighting by his side, the two of them forming an unbreakable partnership.
"Erik, if you bring in your team things are liable to get out of control. I don't want anyone getting hurt."
The way Charles said it, it wasn't clear if he meant himself, Erik or Wolverine. Probably all three, Erik reasoned. Agreeing went against all his instincts, but faced with Charles' pragmatic excitement, Erik found himself incapable of refusing. He suspected he might never be able to refuse Charles anything. Their continued friendship didn't bode well for Erik's authority, never mind his sanity.
"Fine, but you are to stay safely out of sight while I talk to this guy. You can piggyback in my head if you need to"--something he'd let Emma do once, then never again--"but until I deem him no longer a threat, I want you well out of the line of fire."
Charles beamed at him--actually beamed--and then reached forward to take Erik's hand. For a moment, Erik thought he intended only to hold it, his heart racing at the thought, but then Charles offered a firm, if lingering handshake before pulling back, radiating satisfaction.
"Come along, Erik. It's a long drive," he said, wheeling past Erik and out of the room. Erik was forced to take several steadying breaths before he felt capable of moving. Even then, he left the room on shaking legs.
~*~
Leaving Cerebro, Erik in tow, Charles felt a good ten years younger. In his youth, back when writing his thesis contended only with trips to the pub, Charles had wanted adventure the way some men wanted success or fame or money. He'd lost that, somewhere along the way. He missed the feeling; his entire body humming with unused energy, his mind sharp and focused in a way it only ever was when connected to Cerebro. It was a good feeling, and he let it carry him up the lift, then into the hall where he turned to face his companion.
Erik seemed slightly dazed and a brief glimpse of his thoughts--the few that leaked through, Charles respecting Erik's barriers--showed he was struggling to account for their time spent in Cerebro.
"It's only been an hour or so. Hard to tell inside Cerebro, I know, but you get used to it. I have a few arrangements I need to make. Can I meet you out front in say thirty minutes?"
Erik nodded, thinking briefly--loudly--about his helmet, so Charles knew it was something he intended to retrieve. He left Erik to it and wheeled to his room. The trip would take the better part of three hours, then three hours back, plus however long it took to locate and talk with Erik's Wolverine. They may even end up staying the night. There were things he would need, so Charles packed a small bag, then set about hunting down Mr. Thompson, who oversaw the running of the Xavier household. He left a note for Hank with Thompson, not particularly wanting to endure the argument he was sure Hank would start, especially once he discover who it was Charles intended to run off with.
Twenty-three minutes later, he exited the house via the small servant's entrance that stood adjacent to the front doors. He found Erik standing, half leaned, against a small, shiny black car. Charles quirked an eyebrow.
"A sports car? Really, Erik," he said, eyeing Erik's car.
Erik glanced over his shoulder at the car, then back to Charles. "What's wrong with it?"
"Absolutely nothing. I'm just wondering where on earth you got it. Surely you don't have a fleet of sports cars waiting for you in each city." When Erik didn't answer, Charles let his expression grow incredulous. "Dear God, Erik. You stole it?"
"Appropriated," Erik corrected, looking smug.
"You're absurd. We can't drive around in a stolen car. Are you insane?"
Erik smiled, a shit-eating grin that showed too many teeth. Charles suspected it was meant to be intimidating. Instead it made him look boyish. Charles found it entirely too charming.
"I don't think we have too much to worry about," Erik said. "I am travelling with a telepath. You can just," he mimicked the gesture Charles had used the night before, when he'd asked after Erik's drink preference, "can't you?"
Charles shook his head.
"I could, but that doesn't mean I will. Some of us have ethics, you know," he said. He wasn't sure how he was expecting Erik to respond to that, but he certainly wasn't expecting Erik to burst out laughing.
The sound of it carried, wrapping around Charles until he wasn't certain if he should respond with indignation or mirth. "What is so funny?" he asked, mustering his best glare.
Erik's laughter trailed off, but his smile lingered. "Within twenty minutes of meeting you, you used your telepathy to manipulate at least four people. God knows how many minds you've played with in the last week. You, Charles Xavier, are completely unethical," he said.
Indignation won. Charles drew himself up, jaw clenching as he tried and failed to come up with a retort. How dare Erik--Magneto of all people--question his ethics? If Charles wanted to, he could rule the world with a single thought, and yet here he sat, alone in this drafty old house, conducting research that might someday further the mutant cause, all through a selfless need to help mutantkind. How was that unethical?
He opened his mouth to tell Erik exactly that, but before he could get a word out, they were interrupted by a furious, growling Hank.
"A note, Professor?" he said, appearing at Charles' side, piece of paper clutched in his hand. Damn Thompson for not following Charles' instructions to deliver the note after Charles had left. And this, he realized, was exactly why he sometimes used his telepathy to his advantage, because otherwise his life was simply far too complicated to tolerate--and all right, Erik might have a point.
"I thought it best to inform you, but didn't wish to disturb your work," Charles said, but it was obvious Hank was no longer listening. He was staring at Erik, eyes growing wide as he connected Erik's presence with Charles' leaving.
"Absolutely not," Hank said. Charles sighed, absently rubbing his temple against the stirrings of a headache. When he caught Erik's pointed expression, he dropped his hand as though scalded.
"Hank, I really do appreciate your concern," and he did, but sometimes Hank tended to treat him like a wayward child, especially since the accident--ironic considering Hank had started as Charles' graduate student, "but I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, and right now I've decided to accompany Erik on his trip."
And now he was faced with a dilemma, because it was obvious from Hank's stance that he wasn't going to back down, something Charles could easily overcome with only the slightest of nudges, but he was hardly willing to prove Erik's point--though he could concede now that Erik did have a point.
"Hank," Charles tried again, this time giving a slight nudge so that Hank turned to meet his gaze--it wasn't cheating, it really wasn't. "I promise you I will be safe."
If anything this only made Hank angrier. "Safe? There is nothing safe about this man, Charles. The authorities may not classify him as such, but make no mistake, Magneto is a terrorist. I don't know what it is about him that interests you, but you are not safe in his presence."
Hank's animosity where the Brotherhood was concerned was an old thing, born from the loss of a woman to their cause. He still resented their existence, blamed them for wooing the heart of the girl he'd wanted to marry. Charles hadn't realized that that hate extended to the Brotherhood's leader.
It was as irrational as Charles not using the part of himself that made him who he was. Ignoring what Erik might say on the subject, Charles brought his fingers to his temple.
"I will be fine, Hank. You can--and will--yell at me when I get home, but right you're going to retrieve the Land Rover and then head inside and cross reference those samples we got last week. I expect a full work up by the time I get back."
Hank was moving the second Charles finished speaking. Charles hazarded a glance in Erik's direction, only to find Erik eyeing him speculatively, slight smirk tugging at his lip.
"Oh, shut up," Charles said.
Wisely, Erik didn't comment. "Land Rover, Charles?" he said instead.
"Well, we're certainly not taking your stolen sports car, which you will be returning as soon as we get back," Charles answered.
To his surprised, Erik acknowledged the request with a nod of his head and then retrieved both a bag and his helmet from the back seat of his car. A minute later Hank returned with a vehicle actually suited to trekking through the Catskills. Erik ignored Hank entirely as he claimed the driver's seat, leaving Charles to pull himself into the passenger's seat.
"Hmm," Charles said, glancing at his chair, but Hank, still operating on Charles' earlier instructions, had already left, heading into the lab to do Charles' bidding. At his side, Erik chuckled, then lifted a hand, flicking his wrist almost absently. Charles watched, captivated, as Erik manipulated his chair into the truck, all without ever once glancing in its direction.
"We good?" he asked when he was done.
"We're good," Charles said, and then they were off, driving through the iron gates that had once seemed so ominous--and now seemed a gateway to adventure.
On to chapter 8
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Date: 2011-10-09 03:20 pm (UTC)