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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (20/25ish)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 19
"You want to do what?" Erik asked. He was staring at Charles like Charles had grown two heads--although now that Charles was bald, he was starting to get used to people staring at him like that.
Erik wasn't the only person staring at him; the entire table was staring, some with sandwiches and wraps frozen midway to their mouths. Only Scott was nodding.
"I want to telepathically manipulate Stryker into attacking Genosha before he's ready," Charles said, and really, it was a tidy solution--why no one else seemed to see it was beyond him.
"And this necessitates us feigning an attack on Stryker's base, and then allowing you to be captured and collared, so that Stryker thinks he has enough of an advantage to warrant a full out assault." There was something eerily calm in Erik's tone--something that would have made the hair on the back of Charles' neck stand up, had he any hair left that was.
"Yes," Charles said, and surely Erik could see the logic behind his plan.
"Absolutely not."
Apparently not. Charles frowned.
"Why not?"
Erik's eyes grew wider--something Charles would have thought impossible until he saw it. He shook his head. "You want me to put you at risk on the assumption that he will bump up his timetable simply because he has a powerful telepath at his disposal? Are you insane? There is no way in hell this is happening, Charles. End of discussion."
Charles glowered--because it was obvious Erik was missing the point entirely.
"There is no risk involved, Erik," he said.
Erik glared daggers. He opened his mouth to say something--likely some additional retort based entirely on his miscomprehension of Charles' plan. Charles sighed heavily and started from scratch.
"It's really quite simple. I'm not suggesting we let Stryker put an actual collar on me. I'm suggesting we let Scott build an improperly functioning prototype and put that on me. I'm suggesting we have Mystique take the guise of one of Stryker's men and act as my controller. I'm suggesting I subtly implant the idea in Stryker's head that with me he needn't await the mass production of his collars, that I am capable of levelling any mutant stronghold--and that means Genosha--without them. I am suggesting that I blur the thoughts of anyone who thinks to question this decision, and I'm suggesting that I lead Stryker here, onto Genoshian soil, where we can legally detain him."
Erik's face was still a mask of hard stone. He shook his head. "It's too risky. If they find out your collar isn't one of theirs..."
"It's an acceptable level of risk, Erik, and believe me, I will know if anyone is even thinking in that direction, and if they are, I can intervene before it becomes a problem."
"It's not an acceptable level of risk to me!" Erik's shout rang throughout the room--had the table not already been immersed in silence, it would have fallen silent at the outburst. He'd stood abruptly as he said it, chair skittering back several feet in the process.
The entire thing was ridiculous, as far as Charles was concerned, because Charles knew that Erik was only disagreeing because of who Charles was. If it were any other telepath he would have agreed instantly--in fact that had been his first question, because he would have gladly put Emma into the situation. He'd been particularly upset when both Emma and Charles had made it clear that she lacked the telepathic strength to do what Charles was proposing.
Erik, Charles said, speaking directly into his mind. He brushed tentatively against Erik's thoughts, a simple caress. Please don't feel you have to protect me. I am more than capable of doing this. It might be our only way.
Erik's thoughts, clearly directed at Charles, were loud and unstructured. They showed only Erik's preferred alternative; killing Stryker and destroying his work. Charles' expression fell.
"Not that. Please, Erik, not that," he said aloud.
Erik didn't answer, but he hung his head, resigned to setting aside the notion, for now. Across the table, Hank cleared his throat. Everyone glanced in his direction. He glanced first to Erik--which struck Charles as odd--and then made eye contact with Charles. His thoughts suggested he wished Linda was here.
"I think you might be forgetting something, Charles," he said, directing a thought in Charles' direction. What if you have a panic attack? it said. Hank was clearly on Erik's side in this argument.
Charles drew himself up, acutely aware that the table was glancing between the two of them, confused.
I haven't had one since I arrived, he said. Hank shook his head.
"That's only because of him." He nodded in Erik's direction. Charles glanced over to find Erik watching him curiously.
It hadn't occurred to Charles until then, but it made sense. He didn't have panic attacks when he felt safe--when he was home or surrounded by things that made him feel comfortable. Sometime in the past few weeks Erik had become home to him, and it had meant an end to the attacks. That probably wasn't healthy, Charles realized.
"Adrenalin," Charles decided upon answering, much to everyone's--save Hank and maybe Emma, who was undoubtedly eavesdropping--confusion. "I'll be operating on adrenalin; and if that fails, then we can simply train Mystique in how to deal with them."
"Deal with what?" Erik asked, finally losing his temper--though really, it had been a long time coming.
Charles grimaced, not particularly wanting Erik to know this about him, but Hank had made keeping that secret impossible.
I occasionally suffer from panic attacks, he said into Erik's mind. Erik's mouth fell open, his eyes widening further still--and really, it was almost as if Erik had a secondary mutation.
"You what?" he asked, just as loud as before. "And you think this is supposed to get me to agree to let you go? No, Charles; I absolutely forbid it!"
Charles exhaled, losing his patience now. He could have easily entered Erik's mind and swayed him to his side, but that was something Charles would never do--he had promised not to, but more than that, the thought of doing so to Erik was appalling. God, he really did owe Hank so many apologies.
Thankfully it was Mystique who stepped in to take his side.
"The last time I checked, we were still a Brotherhood, and that means we should be able to vote on it." Erik shot her a death glare, but Mystique continued on, unimpeded. "I'm sorry, I know how hard this is for you, but he's right; of everyone sitting at this table, there is no one more capable of doing this. There is a risk, certainly, but it is far less with him than with anyone else. You can't swaddle an omega level telepath in bubble wrap simply because you're in love with him."
This drew several murmurs of surprise from around the table, though Charles had no idea how they hadn't figured it out days--if not weeks--ago. Certainly neither of them had been particularly subtle--especially since Charles had arrived in Genosha.
For the first time since this argument had started, Charles saw Erik falter. Erik's respect--his admiration--for Charles' abilities had been one of the cornerstones of their relationship. To deny that now would have been a grave insult in Erik's mind. If Charles could just remind Erik of that, then he could convince him. He just needed time.
"We haven't even found Stryker yet, so we don't need to make this decision now. Just say you'll think about it," Charles said.
Erik didn't answer, but he nodded, shooting Charles a grateful look that was still somehow pleading. He wanted another option, and he was agreeing, Charles knew, in hopes that delaying his answer would give him time to come up with another option.
Charles glanced to Mystique, who nodded and then dismissed the room. Hank stood and made for Charles' side, but Charles waved him off, silently asking for a reprieve until morning. Everything else could wait.
It was obvious Hank wasn't particularly pleased--by being put off or by Charles delaying the rest of their Cerebro tests--but he stopped mid step, turned and left the room with everyone else. It left only Mystique, Charles and Erik--a quick glance in Mystique's direction had her leaving too. Charles wheeled himself away from the table, coming around to Erik's side--Erik having moved to stand by the windows while the room had cleared.
"Why don't we go back to our rooms?" Charles said. It was getting late, anyway, and the day had been particularly long--hell, by this point Charles barely remembered his lunch with Emma.
Erik glanced over his shoulder, expression haunted. "I don't know if I can do this, Charles. If something were to happen to you..."
"You don't think I'm going to feel that way every time you put yourself in harm's way for the good of mutantkind?"
Charles watched as Erik visibly hesitated. He seemed poised on making a decision, but then he shook his head, gesturing towards the door.
They didn't speak on the walk back to their rooms, Charles left with a vague sense of deja-vu after last night. As soon as they got back, Charles made for the dresser, where he still had half a bottle of the whiskey he'd taken from Hank's room. He poured two glasses, using paper cups from the bathroom because he had no idea where Erik kept his glassware. He handed one to Erik.
Erik took a sip and then frowned, staring into his cup.
"Why didn't you tell me about your panic attacks?" he asked, glancing up then to make eye contact.
Charles swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. He shrugged.
"Because they'd been getting better, happening less frequently, and I'd hoped they were on the verge of disappearing entirely."
Erik didn't look convinced, so Charles elaborated.
"After Moira..." He shook his head. That was not where he wanted to start. "At first, I'd have them several times a day. It went on for months. Then maybe once a day, then once a week; then only when I was stressed or uncertain or outside of my comfort zone. The last few years they've been few and far between, and only when I was feeling particularly insecure. The last true one I had was just after we got back from our road trip, though I experienced the beginnings of one when I arrived at the airport.
"But here; since I arrived, I haven't had a single attack. I've gone outside my comfort zone. I'm half a world away from my comfort zone; that has to mean something."
Erik was still watching him, still not saying anything, so Charles took another sip of his whiskey--surprised to find that he'd drained the cup. He wheeled back to the dresser to pour another. When he turned back to Erik, Erik was wearing that same expression he'd worn the other night, the one Hank had put on his face when he'd asked Erik about the men he'd killed.
"I can do this, Erik. I promise you, I can do this."
Erik shook his head.
"That's not..." Erik paused, his thoughts blaring painfully with indecision. "Is there anything else, Charles? Because you didn't tell me about the panic attacks, so I need to know; is there anything else?"
Charles shook his head, even as he considered the question. Erik's gaze didn't waver, so Charles sighed, resigned.
"Do you want all the gritty details?" he asked. "Do you need to know that I can't piss without inserting a catheter in my urethra? Or that every morning I have to take a stool softener so that I can have a bowel movement? Or that if I don't change positions at least three times a night I'm liable to get horribly painful and often debilitating bed sores? I know these are things I need to take into consideration--but it's not like they're going to lock me in a cage and let me rot."
"How the fuck do you know that?" Erik asked, that same anger that he'd carried in their meeting surging forward. He deflated instantly, shaking his head. "That's not what I was talking about, but yeah, it's a concern."
In a single swallow Charles drained the rest of the whiskey. He set the empty cup down onto the dresser and then wheeled himself to the bed. He wasn't anywhere near ready to crawl into it for the night, but he wanted a change in positions--a chance to escape his chair because he feared it was what was making Erik so reluctant to entrust him to this task. He transferred neatly into the bed, pushing himself up until he was leaned against the headboard.
Erik still stood in the middle of the room. He was staring into his paper cup--still full by the looks of it. He glanced up at Charles, but didn't move, seeming rooted where he stood.
"I need to know if this is a problem?" he asked.
Charles frowned, uncertain exactly what it was Erik was driving at. When Erik didn't elaborate, Charles reached out to peak. As soon as he saw it, he drew away, burnt. Apparently the chair wasn't the problem.
"You've been talking to Hank." Charles was unused to indignation, but he felt it now, mingled with anger and a desire to climb back into his chair and leave the room. Instead he forced himself to remain where he was.
"I have," Erik said. "And I need to know if this is a problem."
"I..."
"Tell me it's not and I'll drop this right now. I'll ship you off to Stryker and we'll play by your damn rules and I will never bring it up again. But don't lie to me. Don't ever lie to me. It's not something I can tolerate."
Erik was trembling by the time he had finished, his mind screaming like his whole world was falling apart. His thoughts were so filled with despair that Charles flinched to hear them. He had no idea how to answer Erik's question. He knew how he wanted to answer it.
Erik's gaze narrowed, his eyes seeming to bore into Charles'. Charles opened his mouth several times to say something, to tell Erik he was fine; that it wasn't a problem, but every time he did nothing came out. He thought about his mother and all the times she had said the same. He thought about his stepfather and all the times he hadn't pushed. He thought about Moira.
"Is this a problem?" Erik asked, firmer this time. Charles swallowed, tasted whiskey on his tongue.
"I don't know," he whispered, and that, at least, was truth.
Erik's entire body relaxed at that, his thoughts filling with such relief that Charles was momentarily taken aback. This was not the reaction he had been expecting. His expression must have said as much--must have conveyed his confusion--because Erik immediately crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed, facing Charles. He set his untouched drink down on the nightstand, and then reached up to cradle Charles' cheek.
"I can live with that," he said, leaning forward to press their lips together. When he pulled back, Charles could tell that his earlier anger--his earlier worry--was gone. "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow we find Stryker, and then we have a fake raid to stage.
"You mean...?" Charles said, sitting forward excitedly. Erik's eyes reflected his fear. Charles was shocked to see them water.
"Don't make me regret this, please."
"I won't," Charles promised, pulling Erik towards him.
~*~
In the morning, Erik woke to an empty bed. He panicked briefly, before he heard Charles in the bathroom. The door was ajar, which struck Erik as strange, because Charles was an exceedingly private man--and knowing now some of the things Charles had to endure, Erik could understand the need.
Erik slipped quietly from the bed and padded to the door, peaking inside in case Charles had merely forgotten the formality of closing the door. He found Charles sitting next to the sink, whiskey bottle and Erik's untouched cup sitting on the counter. He was frowning at them both.
Erik stepped over the threshold.
"My mother was a drunk," Charles said. He didn't glance up or otherwise acknowledge Erik's presence. "I hated her for it."
Erik couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he remained silent even as he stepped forward, hand coming to rest on Charles' shoulder.
"I don't want to be that. Tell me I'm not that," Charles said, the words barely a whisper. He glanced up this time, meeting Erik's eye in the mirror. Charles' eyes were red-rimmed--blood shot--dark circles making him look haggard. Unlike yesterday, Charles' baldness today made him look unwell; like he was fighting some atrocious sickness that had sapped him entirely of his strength.
"You don't have to do this. We don't have to do this. We can find another way," Erik said, because he could not place this Charles in Stryker's hands.
"No," Charles said, "we do." He reached for the cup first, tipping it into the sink. The bottle came next, Charles hesitating only briefly before it too was poured down the drain.
The glass made a resounding thud when he placed it back on the counter.
"I'm not that," Charles said.
"Okay," Erik said, squeezing Charles' shoulder a second time. Charles smiled at their reflections, then turned his chair and left the room.
Charles hadn't scheduled physio this morning--something Erik suspected Linda wasn't entirely pleased about--instead insisting they dress and get to Cerebro as soon as possible. Erik agreed, but only because he was desperate for something to dispel the awkward tension that lingered in the room.
Erik knew twenty-year marriages that didn't have this much baggage. He supposed that was what happened when two self-admittedly fucked up people decided to form a union. He just hoped airing everything now might save them some trouble down the line--but, God, there were moments when this all felt entirely too fast, entirely too rushed; when he would have given anything to slow all of this down, to take Charles somewhere safe and just spend countless hours nestled in bed with him. Maybe after all of this was over they'd take a vacation--or hide away in Charles' mansion, playing chess. He was starting to understand why Charles had spent the better part of ten years never leaving.
"Come on," Erik said when they were finally dressed and out the door, leading Charles in the opposite direction from Cerebro.
"I thought we...?"
"Yes, but first we're getting coffee and pastries, because I am starving, you need to eat, and the fresh air will do us both some good."
Erik led Charles out of the compound and down to a small cafe near the fishing docks. The smell was horrid, but the place had the best coffee this side of Genosha, not to mention pastries that rivalled anything found in the cafes of Paris. He had to float Charles' chair most of the way there, because there were more stairs than anything else--but also, because he liked being in such close contact to something so intimately connected to Charles.
Without his helmet--it still felt strange not to wear it--or his cape, no one recognized him as Magneto, leader of the Brotherhood. Charles drew a few stares--Erik didn't think there was anyone on Genosha who didn't now know who Professor Xavier was--but their eyes tended to slide right off Erik, ignoring him completely, despite the fact that there were very few mutants on the island capable of floating a metal wheelchair.
It suited Erik just fine.
The coffee, when they finally arrived, was just as good as he remembered it being. They ordered pain aux raisins to go with their coffees, and then walked back to the compound.
"This was a good idea," Charles said, tipping his head back to bask in the sunlight. Now that he had finished eating, he had taken to inhaling sharply, savouring, Erik suspected, the fresh sea air.
"It's probably important we do at least one nice thing a day," Erik said, laughing at himself for sounding so hopelessly sentimental.
Charles smiled warmly beside him. "It's not sentimental. It's actually a good idea, although, I think we've managed a little bit better than that so far."
"Yes, yesterday's blowjob counted for at least five nice things," Erik said, earning one of Charles' genuine laughs.
He liked this; that no matter how often they fought, or how much it seemed like their world might implode, they seemed to always find a way for this--just open warmth and contented happiness that Erik was unused to experiencing. Sometimes Charles made everything seem so impossibly easy. In this moment, Erik was convinced they could execute Charles' plan and have it go off without a hitch; that they would bring Stryker to justice and secure a better world for mutantkind and probably find enough time to settle down somewhere and simply bask in one another's company.
Of course their levity vanished as soon as they were back in the compound. The overwhelming inevitability of what they were trying to do loomed over their heads, Erik's thoughts turning sombre as he marched them steadily towards Cerebro.
"It's stupid, and would likely result in abject disaster, but I almost hope you don't find him," Erik said when they arrived.
Charles tutted. "It will be alright, you know." He sounded so certain--so utterly convinced--that Erik couldn't help but nod, feeling oddly bolstered by Charles' confidence. It still wasn't enough to dispel his worry.
"I still wish you could just execute your plan over Cerebro--I'd rather have you safe here."
"Cerebro doesn't work that way--I can't influence anyone using it," Charles explained, the same explanation he'd given last night, when Erik had asked.
"Then maybe I could come with you; a second fake collar for me, then at least I could keep an eye on you," Erik said. He'd suggested this before, too, and again Charles shook his head.
"We've been over this." Erik relented. They had, and Charles was right; it wouldn't work--too many factors to worry about, better that Charles go in alone where he would be better able to control all the variables.
"That doesn't mean I like it," Erik said. He would have said something more--maybe tried again to convince Charles to find another path, but by then they had arrived, and besides, he knew Charles' mind was set.
~*~
Inside Cerebro, Hank was already hard at work. He smiled upon seeing them, beckoning Charles to his side. Charles smiled, shot Erik a pointed glance, and then wheeled himself over to where Hank stood.
"I've reset the parameters to include the coast," Hank said, handing Charles the helmet. Charles accepted it, but didn't put it on.
"We'll do this additional test, but then I want global coverage, and please, Hank, don't argue with me."
Hank blanched. He glanced to Erik, and then back to Charles, shaking his head. "He's agreed to your plan," he said.
"And I've agreed to yours," Charles countered, giving Hank a pointed look. Charles watched as Hank shot a second glance in Erik's direction. Charles turned his head in time to see Erik's slight nod. A smile tugged at the corners of Hank's lips. Charles scowled.
"You're both going to feel like fools, you know," he said, because it would only take a few days before they realized Charles' drinking had nothing to do with dependence. He was not his mother and never would be.
Hank's smile vanished at that, and Erik looked more than a little concerned, but Charles ignored them both and gestured to Cerebro's control panel.
"We do this test, and then we start in earnest," he said. Hank nodded.
He initialized Cerebro while Erik sealed and locked the door, Charles fitting the helmet to his head. When he was done, he closed his eyes, gesturing to Hank that he was ready.
One minute he was sitting inside Cerebro, and the next he was floating outside his body, aware of so many minds, so many thoughts, that it was almost overwhelming. He focused his attention and concentrated only on the mutants, thousands of souls calling for his attention, beckoning his mind to their location. The process was enrapturing. Charles never felt quite as whole as he did when he was connected to Cerebro. He often wondered if he was only half a man without the full potential of his telepathy. It certainly didn't bode well for anyone who knew him, and had Charles been able--had he not been so caught up in stretching his mind--he would have felt a spike of sorrow for Erik.
Twenty minutes was not enough--it would never be enough, Charles' entire world growing dim as Hank ended the test. It was wholly depressing to return to his body, though Charles' earlier euphoria still lingered, balancing his emotions.
"Oh, how I've missed this," he said once Hank had removed his helmet. Hank acknowledged Charles' pleasure by jotting down a note in his clipboard. He then began asking Charles questions.
Things like: Any spotted vision? Headache? Nausea? On and on he went, a full medical questionnaire that Charles answered patiently, and always in the negative. When he was done, he asked for a minute, and then turned back to Cerebro's control panel.
"He's resetting the parameters now. It'll take a few minutes," Charles explained. Erik nodded. He didn't say anything, but Charles hadn't been expecting him to. All of this--Cerebro, what they were planning on doing--worried Erik greatly. There was nothing pleasant in his current thoughts. Charles offered him a reassuring smile, which Erik returned, though his mind remained clouded.
"Global coverage," Hank announced, sounding as proud as he did concerned. Charles nodded his thanks, shot Erik a wide smile, and then placed the helmet back on his head.
"Are you sure this is safe?" he heard Erik ask.
"Charles would know," Hank replied, which seemed good enough for Erik, because he raised no further objections.
This time when Hank initialized Cerebro, Charles found himself extended over the entire world. He took several moments to simply bask in being connected to so many minds. He let the raw power of it--the excitement of it--wash over him, sinking into every pore until he was thoroughly saturated. Charles may down the occasional drink, but this was his addiction--Charles knew this without question. He would spend eternity connected to Cerebro if he thought his mind could handle it.
Seeking a single person was not easy, but Charles had done it before--many a time. He began with a sweep of Stryker's last known locations, searching for Stryker and his known associates. When he turned up empty handed, he sought Scott's supply chain locations, examining each in turn. Again he came up blank.
For a while, he merely floated, suspended above the entire world, hoping Stryker's mind would simply leap out at him--it had happened before, and happened now, though it was Erik's mind that attracted Charles' attention. He thought briefly of singling out only humans--Stryker being human--but doing so required a whole different level of concentration, and besides, some of Stryker's known associates were mutants--brainwashed and following Stryker's every order, and if Charles had his way they would all be freed and rehabilitated when this was done.
In the process of scanning, Charles trying desperately to ignore the bright flare of Erik's mind, another mind drew his attention. A mutant, Charles thought, letting himself drift until he was poised above Argentina. The mind pulsed, and Charles knew instantly why he had been attracted to it. This was a mind he knew.
It was Logan.
But what, Charles wondered, was Logan doing in Argentina of all places?
On to chapter 21
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 19
"You want to do what?" Erik asked. He was staring at Charles like Charles had grown two heads--although now that Charles was bald, he was starting to get used to people staring at him like that.
Erik wasn't the only person staring at him; the entire table was staring, some with sandwiches and wraps frozen midway to their mouths. Only Scott was nodding.
"I want to telepathically manipulate Stryker into attacking Genosha before he's ready," Charles said, and really, it was a tidy solution--why no one else seemed to see it was beyond him.
"And this necessitates us feigning an attack on Stryker's base, and then allowing you to be captured and collared, so that Stryker thinks he has enough of an advantage to warrant a full out assault." There was something eerily calm in Erik's tone--something that would have made the hair on the back of Charles' neck stand up, had he any hair left that was.
"Yes," Charles said, and surely Erik could see the logic behind his plan.
"Absolutely not."
Apparently not. Charles frowned.
"Why not?"
Erik's eyes grew wider--something Charles would have thought impossible until he saw it. He shook his head. "You want me to put you at risk on the assumption that he will bump up his timetable simply because he has a powerful telepath at his disposal? Are you insane? There is no way in hell this is happening, Charles. End of discussion."
Charles glowered--because it was obvious Erik was missing the point entirely.
"There is no risk involved, Erik," he said.
Erik glared daggers. He opened his mouth to say something--likely some additional retort based entirely on his miscomprehension of Charles' plan. Charles sighed heavily and started from scratch.
"It's really quite simple. I'm not suggesting we let Stryker put an actual collar on me. I'm suggesting we let Scott build an improperly functioning prototype and put that on me. I'm suggesting we have Mystique take the guise of one of Stryker's men and act as my controller. I'm suggesting I subtly implant the idea in Stryker's head that with me he needn't await the mass production of his collars, that I am capable of levelling any mutant stronghold--and that means Genosha--without them. I am suggesting that I blur the thoughts of anyone who thinks to question this decision, and I'm suggesting that I lead Stryker here, onto Genoshian soil, where we can legally detain him."
Erik's face was still a mask of hard stone. He shook his head. "It's too risky. If they find out your collar isn't one of theirs..."
"It's an acceptable level of risk, Erik, and believe me, I will know if anyone is even thinking in that direction, and if they are, I can intervene before it becomes a problem."
"It's not an acceptable level of risk to me!" Erik's shout rang throughout the room--had the table not already been immersed in silence, it would have fallen silent at the outburst. He'd stood abruptly as he said it, chair skittering back several feet in the process.
The entire thing was ridiculous, as far as Charles was concerned, because Charles knew that Erik was only disagreeing because of who Charles was. If it were any other telepath he would have agreed instantly--in fact that had been his first question, because he would have gladly put Emma into the situation. He'd been particularly upset when both Emma and Charles had made it clear that she lacked the telepathic strength to do what Charles was proposing.
Erik, Charles said, speaking directly into his mind. He brushed tentatively against Erik's thoughts, a simple caress. Please don't feel you have to protect me. I am more than capable of doing this. It might be our only way.
Erik's thoughts, clearly directed at Charles, were loud and unstructured. They showed only Erik's preferred alternative; killing Stryker and destroying his work. Charles' expression fell.
"Not that. Please, Erik, not that," he said aloud.
Erik didn't answer, but he hung his head, resigned to setting aside the notion, for now. Across the table, Hank cleared his throat. Everyone glanced in his direction. He glanced first to Erik--which struck Charles as odd--and then made eye contact with Charles. His thoughts suggested he wished Linda was here.
"I think you might be forgetting something, Charles," he said, directing a thought in Charles' direction. What if you have a panic attack? it said. Hank was clearly on Erik's side in this argument.
Charles drew himself up, acutely aware that the table was glancing between the two of them, confused.
I haven't had one since I arrived, he said. Hank shook his head.
"That's only because of him." He nodded in Erik's direction. Charles glanced over to find Erik watching him curiously.
It hadn't occurred to Charles until then, but it made sense. He didn't have panic attacks when he felt safe--when he was home or surrounded by things that made him feel comfortable. Sometime in the past few weeks Erik had become home to him, and it had meant an end to the attacks. That probably wasn't healthy, Charles realized.
"Adrenalin," Charles decided upon answering, much to everyone's--save Hank and maybe Emma, who was undoubtedly eavesdropping--confusion. "I'll be operating on adrenalin; and if that fails, then we can simply train Mystique in how to deal with them."
"Deal with what?" Erik asked, finally losing his temper--though really, it had been a long time coming.
Charles grimaced, not particularly wanting Erik to know this about him, but Hank had made keeping that secret impossible.
I occasionally suffer from panic attacks, he said into Erik's mind. Erik's mouth fell open, his eyes widening further still--and really, it was almost as if Erik had a secondary mutation.
"You what?" he asked, just as loud as before. "And you think this is supposed to get me to agree to let you go? No, Charles; I absolutely forbid it!"
Charles exhaled, losing his patience now. He could have easily entered Erik's mind and swayed him to his side, but that was something Charles would never do--he had promised not to, but more than that, the thought of doing so to Erik was appalling. God, he really did owe Hank so many apologies.
Thankfully it was Mystique who stepped in to take his side.
"The last time I checked, we were still a Brotherhood, and that means we should be able to vote on it." Erik shot her a death glare, but Mystique continued on, unimpeded. "I'm sorry, I know how hard this is for you, but he's right; of everyone sitting at this table, there is no one more capable of doing this. There is a risk, certainly, but it is far less with him than with anyone else. You can't swaddle an omega level telepath in bubble wrap simply because you're in love with him."
This drew several murmurs of surprise from around the table, though Charles had no idea how they hadn't figured it out days--if not weeks--ago. Certainly neither of them had been particularly subtle--especially since Charles had arrived in Genosha.
For the first time since this argument had started, Charles saw Erik falter. Erik's respect--his admiration--for Charles' abilities had been one of the cornerstones of their relationship. To deny that now would have been a grave insult in Erik's mind. If Charles could just remind Erik of that, then he could convince him. He just needed time.
"We haven't even found Stryker yet, so we don't need to make this decision now. Just say you'll think about it," Charles said.
Erik didn't answer, but he nodded, shooting Charles a grateful look that was still somehow pleading. He wanted another option, and he was agreeing, Charles knew, in hopes that delaying his answer would give him time to come up with another option.
Charles glanced to Mystique, who nodded and then dismissed the room. Hank stood and made for Charles' side, but Charles waved him off, silently asking for a reprieve until morning. Everything else could wait.
It was obvious Hank wasn't particularly pleased--by being put off or by Charles delaying the rest of their Cerebro tests--but he stopped mid step, turned and left the room with everyone else. It left only Mystique, Charles and Erik--a quick glance in Mystique's direction had her leaving too. Charles wheeled himself away from the table, coming around to Erik's side--Erik having moved to stand by the windows while the room had cleared.
"Why don't we go back to our rooms?" Charles said. It was getting late, anyway, and the day had been particularly long--hell, by this point Charles barely remembered his lunch with Emma.
Erik glanced over his shoulder, expression haunted. "I don't know if I can do this, Charles. If something were to happen to you..."
"You don't think I'm going to feel that way every time you put yourself in harm's way for the good of mutantkind?"
Charles watched as Erik visibly hesitated. He seemed poised on making a decision, but then he shook his head, gesturing towards the door.
They didn't speak on the walk back to their rooms, Charles left with a vague sense of deja-vu after last night. As soon as they got back, Charles made for the dresser, where he still had half a bottle of the whiskey he'd taken from Hank's room. He poured two glasses, using paper cups from the bathroom because he had no idea where Erik kept his glassware. He handed one to Erik.
Erik took a sip and then frowned, staring into his cup.
"Why didn't you tell me about your panic attacks?" he asked, glancing up then to make eye contact.
Charles swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. He shrugged.
"Because they'd been getting better, happening less frequently, and I'd hoped they were on the verge of disappearing entirely."
Erik didn't look convinced, so Charles elaborated.
"After Moira..." He shook his head. That was not where he wanted to start. "At first, I'd have them several times a day. It went on for months. Then maybe once a day, then once a week; then only when I was stressed or uncertain or outside of my comfort zone. The last few years they've been few and far between, and only when I was feeling particularly insecure. The last true one I had was just after we got back from our road trip, though I experienced the beginnings of one when I arrived at the airport.
"But here; since I arrived, I haven't had a single attack. I've gone outside my comfort zone. I'm half a world away from my comfort zone; that has to mean something."
Erik was still watching him, still not saying anything, so Charles took another sip of his whiskey--surprised to find that he'd drained the cup. He wheeled back to the dresser to pour another. When he turned back to Erik, Erik was wearing that same expression he'd worn the other night, the one Hank had put on his face when he'd asked Erik about the men he'd killed.
"I can do this, Erik. I promise you, I can do this."
Erik shook his head.
"That's not..." Erik paused, his thoughts blaring painfully with indecision. "Is there anything else, Charles? Because you didn't tell me about the panic attacks, so I need to know; is there anything else?"
Charles shook his head, even as he considered the question. Erik's gaze didn't waver, so Charles sighed, resigned.
"Do you want all the gritty details?" he asked. "Do you need to know that I can't piss without inserting a catheter in my urethra? Or that every morning I have to take a stool softener so that I can have a bowel movement? Or that if I don't change positions at least three times a night I'm liable to get horribly painful and often debilitating bed sores? I know these are things I need to take into consideration--but it's not like they're going to lock me in a cage and let me rot."
"How the fuck do you know that?" Erik asked, that same anger that he'd carried in their meeting surging forward. He deflated instantly, shaking his head. "That's not what I was talking about, but yeah, it's a concern."
In a single swallow Charles drained the rest of the whiskey. He set the empty cup down onto the dresser and then wheeled himself to the bed. He wasn't anywhere near ready to crawl into it for the night, but he wanted a change in positions--a chance to escape his chair because he feared it was what was making Erik so reluctant to entrust him to this task. He transferred neatly into the bed, pushing himself up until he was leaned against the headboard.
Erik still stood in the middle of the room. He was staring into his paper cup--still full by the looks of it. He glanced up at Charles, but didn't move, seeming rooted where he stood.
"I need to know if this is a problem?" he asked.
Charles frowned, uncertain exactly what it was Erik was driving at. When Erik didn't elaborate, Charles reached out to peak. As soon as he saw it, he drew away, burnt. Apparently the chair wasn't the problem.
"You've been talking to Hank." Charles was unused to indignation, but he felt it now, mingled with anger and a desire to climb back into his chair and leave the room. Instead he forced himself to remain where he was.
"I have," Erik said. "And I need to know if this is a problem."
"I..."
"Tell me it's not and I'll drop this right now. I'll ship you off to Stryker and we'll play by your damn rules and I will never bring it up again. But don't lie to me. Don't ever lie to me. It's not something I can tolerate."
Erik was trembling by the time he had finished, his mind screaming like his whole world was falling apart. His thoughts were so filled with despair that Charles flinched to hear them. He had no idea how to answer Erik's question. He knew how he wanted to answer it.
Erik's gaze narrowed, his eyes seeming to bore into Charles'. Charles opened his mouth several times to say something, to tell Erik he was fine; that it wasn't a problem, but every time he did nothing came out. He thought about his mother and all the times she had said the same. He thought about his stepfather and all the times he hadn't pushed. He thought about Moira.
"Is this a problem?" Erik asked, firmer this time. Charles swallowed, tasted whiskey on his tongue.
"I don't know," he whispered, and that, at least, was truth.
Erik's entire body relaxed at that, his thoughts filling with such relief that Charles was momentarily taken aback. This was not the reaction he had been expecting. His expression must have said as much--must have conveyed his confusion--because Erik immediately crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed, facing Charles. He set his untouched drink down on the nightstand, and then reached up to cradle Charles' cheek.
"I can live with that," he said, leaning forward to press their lips together. When he pulled back, Charles could tell that his earlier anger--his earlier worry--was gone. "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow we find Stryker, and then we have a fake raid to stage.
"You mean...?" Charles said, sitting forward excitedly. Erik's eyes reflected his fear. Charles was shocked to see them water.
"Don't make me regret this, please."
"I won't," Charles promised, pulling Erik towards him.
~*~
In the morning, Erik woke to an empty bed. He panicked briefly, before he heard Charles in the bathroom. The door was ajar, which struck Erik as strange, because Charles was an exceedingly private man--and knowing now some of the things Charles had to endure, Erik could understand the need.
Erik slipped quietly from the bed and padded to the door, peaking inside in case Charles had merely forgotten the formality of closing the door. He found Charles sitting next to the sink, whiskey bottle and Erik's untouched cup sitting on the counter. He was frowning at them both.
Erik stepped over the threshold.
"My mother was a drunk," Charles said. He didn't glance up or otherwise acknowledge Erik's presence. "I hated her for it."
Erik couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he remained silent even as he stepped forward, hand coming to rest on Charles' shoulder.
"I don't want to be that. Tell me I'm not that," Charles said, the words barely a whisper. He glanced up this time, meeting Erik's eye in the mirror. Charles' eyes were red-rimmed--blood shot--dark circles making him look haggard. Unlike yesterday, Charles' baldness today made him look unwell; like he was fighting some atrocious sickness that had sapped him entirely of his strength.
"You don't have to do this. We don't have to do this. We can find another way," Erik said, because he could not place this Charles in Stryker's hands.
"No," Charles said, "we do." He reached for the cup first, tipping it into the sink. The bottle came next, Charles hesitating only briefly before it too was poured down the drain.
The glass made a resounding thud when he placed it back on the counter.
"I'm not that," Charles said.
"Okay," Erik said, squeezing Charles' shoulder a second time. Charles smiled at their reflections, then turned his chair and left the room.
Charles hadn't scheduled physio this morning--something Erik suspected Linda wasn't entirely pleased about--instead insisting they dress and get to Cerebro as soon as possible. Erik agreed, but only because he was desperate for something to dispel the awkward tension that lingered in the room.
Erik knew twenty-year marriages that didn't have this much baggage. He supposed that was what happened when two self-admittedly fucked up people decided to form a union. He just hoped airing everything now might save them some trouble down the line--but, God, there were moments when this all felt entirely too fast, entirely too rushed; when he would have given anything to slow all of this down, to take Charles somewhere safe and just spend countless hours nestled in bed with him. Maybe after all of this was over they'd take a vacation--or hide away in Charles' mansion, playing chess. He was starting to understand why Charles had spent the better part of ten years never leaving.
"Come on," Erik said when they were finally dressed and out the door, leading Charles in the opposite direction from Cerebro.
"I thought we...?"
"Yes, but first we're getting coffee and pastries, because I am starving, you need to eat, and the fresh air will do us both some good."
Erik led Charles out of the compound and down to a small cafe near the fishing docks. The smell was horrid, but the place had the best coffee this side of Genosha, not to mention pastries that rivalled anything found in the cafes of Paris. He had to float Charles' chair most of the way there, because there were more stairs than anything else--but also, because he liked being in such close contact to something so intimately connected to Charles.
Without his helmet--it still felt strange not to wear it--or his cape, no one recognized him as Magneto, leader of the Brotherhood. Charles drew a few stares--Erik didn't think there was anyone on Genosha who didn't now know who Professor Xavier was--but their eyes tended to slide right off Erik, ignoring him completely, despite the fact that there were very few mutants on the island capable of floating a metal wheelchair.
It suited Erik just fine.
The coffee, when they finally arrived, was just as good as he remembered it being. They ordered pain aux raisins to go with their coffees, and then walked back to the compound.
"This was a good idea," Charles said, tipping his head back to bask in the sunlight. Now that he had finished eating, he had taken to inhaling sharply, savouring, Erik suspected, the fresh sea air.
"It's probably important we do at least one nice thing a day," Erik said, laughing at himself for sounding so hopelessly sentimental.
Charles smiled warmly beside him. "It's not sentimental. It's actually a good idea, although, I think we've managed a little bit better than that so far."
"Yes, yesterday's blowjob counted for at least five nice things," Erik said, earning one of Charles' genuine laughs.
He liked this; that no matter how often they fought, or how much it seemed like their world might implode, they seemed to always find a way for this--just open warmth and contented happiness that Erik was unused to experiencing. Sometimes Charles made everything seem so impossibly easy. In this moment, Erik was convinced they could execute Charles' plan and have it go off without a hitch; that they would bring Stryker to justice and secure a better world for mutantkind and probably find enough time to settle down somewhere and simply bask in one another's company.
Of course their levity vanished as soon as they were back in the compound. The overwhelming inevitability of what they were trying to do loomed over their heads, Erik's thoughts turning sombre as he marched them steadily towards Cerebro.
"It's stupid, and would likely result in abject disaster, but I almost hope you don't find him," Erik said when they arrived.
Charles tutted. "It will be alright, you know." He sounded so certain--so utterly convinced--that Erik couldn't help but nod, feeling oddly bolstered by Charles' confidence. It still wasn't enough to dispel his worry.
"I still wish you could just execute your plan over Cerebro--I'd rather have you safe here."
"Cerebro doesn't work that way--I can't influence anyone using it," Charles explained, the same explanation he'd given last night, when Erik had asked.
"Then maybe I could come with you; a second fake collar for me, then at least I could keep an eye on you," Erik said. He'd suggested this before, too, and again Charles shook his head.
"We've been over this." Erik relented. They had, and Charles was right; it wouldn't work--too many factors to worry about, better that Charles go in alone where he would be better able to control all the variables.
"That doesn't mean I like it," Erik said. He would have said something more--maybe tried again to convince Charles to find another path, but by then they had arrived, and besides, he knew Charles' mind was set.
~*~
Inside Cerebro, Hank was already hard at work. He smiled upon seeing them, beckoning Charles to his side. Charles smiled, shot Erik a pointed glance, and then wheeled himself over to where Hank stood.
"I've reset the parameters to include the coast," Hank said, handing Charles the helmet. Charles accepted it, but didn't put it on.
"We'll do this additional test, but then I want global coverage, and please, Hank, don't argue with me."
Hank blanched. He glanced to Erik, and then back to Charles, shaking his head. "He's agreed to your plan," he said.
"And I've agreed to yours," Charles countered, giving Hank a pointed look. Charles watched as Hank shot a second glance in Erik's direction. Charles turned his head in time to see Erik's slight nod. A smile tugged at the corners of Hank's lips. Charles scowled.
"You're both going to feel like fools, you know," he said, because it would only take a few days before they realized Charles' drinking had nothing to do with dependence. He was not his mother and never would be.
Hank's smile vanished at that, and Erik looked more than a little concerned, but Charles ignored them both and gestured to Cerebro's control panel.
"We do this test, and then we start in earnest," he said. Hank nodded.
He initialized Cerebro while Erik sealed and locked the door, Charles fitting the helmet to his head. When he was done, he closed his eyes, gesturing to Hank that he was ready.
One minute he was sitting inside Cerebro, and the next he was floating outside his body, aware of so many minds, so many thoughts, that it was almost overwhelming. He focused his attention and concentrated only on the mutants, thousands of souls calling for his attention, beckoning his mind to their location. The process was enrapturing. Charles never felt quite as whole as he did when he was connected to Cerebro. He often wondered if he was only half a man without the full potential of his telepathy. It certainly didn't bode well for anyone who knew him, and had Charles been able--had he not been so caught up in stretching his mind--he would have felt a spike of sorrow for Erik.
Twenty minutes was not enough--it would never be enough, Charles' entire world growing dim as Hank ended the test. It was wholly depressing to return to his body, though Charles' earlier euphoria still lingered, balancing his emotions.
"Oh, how I've missed this," he said once Hank had removed his helmet. Hank acknowledged Charles' pleasure by jotting down a note in his clipboard. He then began asking Charles questions.
Things like: Any spotted vision? Headache? Nausea? On and on he went, a full medical questionnaire that Charles answered patiently, and always in the negative. When he was done, he asked for a minute, and then turned back to Cerebro's control panel.
"He's resetting the parameters now. It'll take a few minutes," Charles explained. Erik nodded. He didn't say anything, but Charles hadn't been expecting him to. All of this--Cerebro, what they were planning on doing--worried Erik greatly. There was nothing pleasant in his current thoughts. Charles offered him a reassuring smile, which Erik returned, though his mind remained clouded.
"Global coverage," Hank announced, sounding as proud as he did concerned. Charles nodded his thanks, shot Erik a wide smile, and then placed the helmet back on his head.
"Are you sure this is safe?" he heard Erik ask.
"Charles would know," Hank replied, which seemed good enough for Erik, because he raised no further objections.
This time when Hank initialized Cerebro, Charles found himself extended over the entire world. He took several moments to simply bask in being connected to so many minds. He let the raw power of it--the excitement of it--wash over him, sinking into every pore until he was thoroughly saturated. Charles may down the occasional drink, but this was his addiction--Charles knew this without question. He would spend eternity connected to Cerebro if he thought his mind could handle it.
Seeking a single person was not easy, but Charles had done it before--many a time. He began with a sweep of Stryker's last known locations, searching for Stryker and his known associates. When he turned up empty handed, he sought Scott's supply chain locations, examining each in turn. Again he came up blank.
For a while, he merely floated, suspended above the entire world, hoping Stryker's mind would simply leap out at him--it had happened before, and happened now, though it was Erik's mind that attracted Charles' attention. He thought briefly of singling out only humans--Stryker being human--but doing so required a whole different level of concentration, and besides, some of Stryker's known associates were mutants--brainwashed and following Stryker's every order, and if Charles had his way they would all be freed and rehabilitated when this was done.
In the process of scanning, Charles trying desperately to ignore the bright flare of Erik's mind, another mind drew his attention. A mutant, Charles thought, letting himself drift until he was poised above Argentina. The mind pulsed, and Charles knew instantly why he had been attracted to it. This was a mind he knew.
It was Logan.
But what, Charles wondered, was Logan doing in Argentina of all places?
On to chapter 21
