Chapter Text
November 25, 1963.
Today, I have good news. Real good news, not the lies I tell the children—that from time to time I catch snatches of thought or feeling from minds somewhere in the surrounding county, too indistinct to make out, when in truth the only thoughts in the air are those under the roof of this house. I have felt only one foreign mind, mutant, certainly, but that connection had been abruptly severed after a spike of sudden fear. I can only hope their death was not painful.
Good news, yes, though it’s selfish, and in light of the world we find ourselves in, insignificant. But I must gather every good thing to me as an armour, so I will mark this occasion: I was able to use a cane today. Hank brought it in this morning after helping me perform my morning exercises. I stumbled only a few feet from the bed before I pitched forward and nearly brought Hank to the ground with me. Hank cautions that I will likely still need a wheelchair regularly, and that this is still the early stages. But I recognised the cautious optimism behind his words, and will continue to let it buoy my spirits. That along with the date, is a cause to look up. Thanksgiving has never been a holiday I was prone to observe, but now, it feels significant. There may be little to be thankful for, but we’ve still got each other, and that is something.
Erik came in not long after with a cup of tea for me. He stopped short at the sight of the cane propped against the bedside table, and froze. He stood there for so long I was concerned, but when I called his name his hands shook so violently that the saucer and cup slipped from his hands and fell to the carpet, the contents splashing across his shoes and soaking into the fibres. He cleaned it up and disappeared for nearly half an hour.
When he returned it was with a new teacup; I didn’t say anything. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and took my hand, squeezing and rubbing my fingers until my skin had warmed considerably. There were things he wanted to tell me, that much I knew, but it didn’t seem like he would be doing so anytime soon. All I said was that whatever it was he was agonising over, it wasn’t something he need suffer alone. He lay his head against my thigh and cried until the tears had run down and the sheet under his head was quite damp. I might have cried too, if my own tears hadn’t already been shed in the wee hours of the night, when I had no shoulder to cry on.
*
Erik thrived on routine. It had kept him alive through the darkest days of his youth and onward as he globe–trotted, marking each of his destinations with a dead body left behind. Nowadays, it kept him sane.
He woke at five a.m. each morning, sometimes earlier if he had been tossing and turning through the night. His usual morning runs had been confined to laps around the mansion proper, as opposed to longer jaunts around the grounds. It was monotonous, but necessary. There was no telling what lay beyond the treeline, anymore, and Charles’ silent but amplified worry had been enough to convince Erik.
He didn’t need much convincing to heed Charles. Not anymore.
That morning, when his eyes blinked open to darkness, instead of immediately climbing out of bed, he lay there, for a while. Even as his vision adjusted, he could barely make out anything in the room. He knew the amorphous blobs near his feet to be the bedposts, and beyond that a great mass that had to be the bureau in which Charles kept his pyjamas and least favourite shirts. Everything else was shifting shades of grey.
Next to him, Charles continued to sleep. He snored sometimes as a consequence of sleeping on his back now, but had shifted at some point in the night; now his breaths were deep and steady. The fingers of his left hand were loosely curled around Erik’s forearm. Erik was happy to leave them there.
He heard, and felt, when Charles awoke.
Erik shifted his head slightly to look into Charles’ eyes. They were tiny glowing pinpricks in the darkness.
“Good morning,” Charles whispered. His eyelids were still droopy. Erik wanted to smile at the way they struggled to stay open. And yet, the warm press of Charles’ mind against his was alert, and full of concern: why are you still in bed?
“I don’t know,” Erik replied after a moment, but quickly amended it with, “I have a…a feeling. That something will change soon.”
Charles inhaled, slowly, then let the air out. It ruffled the hair on Erik’s temple. “That could be good. Everyone has been so discouraged. We could use some positivity.”
“It’s only been a month, Charles,” Erik said. He wasn’t intending to be snappish, but it came out that way, and Charles’ mental touch flinched away. “I didn’t– scheisse –I’m only saying, it will get worse before it gets better. Things may be alright for us, but any change is bound to be an unwelcome one. I know you are the eternal optimist, Charles, but…it’s your place to be hopeful. It’s mine to be cautious.”
Charles’ breath hitched. “It’s getting harder to be hopeful. I’m afraid.”
Erik felt his throat lock up. He was at a loss, teetering on the edge of freefall into stuttered apologies and fierce declarations that it would be alright, and Charles needn’t despair because Erik would keep them all together–and then there was rapping on the heavy oak door.
“That’ll be Hank,” said Charles, gentle, but what Erik heard was you needn’t blame yourself, darling . “I don’t know why he insists I do my exercises so early, I’ve never been an early riser,” he continued, and Erik heard Stay .
Erik sat up and placed a soft kiss on Charles’ forehead. He was glad it was still dark, though grey morning light had begun to creep in. It meant he could ignore the myriad pillows that were neatly arranged around Charles, and the uncomfortably straight position he had to sleep in and the pill bottles stacked upon the bedside table. He wondered if Charles could sense his relief–decided he could, and promptly felt ashamed. But Charles did not call him out on it, and so Erik pretended it was fine. With a final “Schatz,” chuffed against the man’s hair, he rolled out of bed, went and opened the door for Hank, who was shifting from foot to foot and stood up straight at the sight of him, and then disappeared into the bathroom with his sweats tucked under his arm.
When he emerged, he saw Hank helping Charles sit up, meeting the latter’s grimaces of discomfort with murmured encouragements. Charles met Erik’s gaze over Hank’s shoulder, and an expression of utter fondness crept over his face; Erik found he couldn’t stand to look at it, and hurried out the door.
*
Erik’s route around the immediate grounds took him down the drive to the gate, in a loop of the gardens, and through the maze of out buildings around the mansion proper. He’d come to dread the final stop, however, and in a shameful way he tried to pretend it wasn’t the case: but the groundskeeper’s cottage was the furthest Charles felt comfortable with any of them venturing, and what was Erik to do? Run around the fountain twenty times?
Your sentiments have made you weak , he could hear him say, whenever he attempted to dwell on it, and that was enough reason to push through.
The grounds, as it were, were quite silent. It was not comforting. It was rare to hear a bird’s call anymore; only the harsh cry of a hawk or buzzard. Occasionally a dark shape might scuttle through the undergrowth, but Erik had no opportunity for closer examination. That, and the lack of the children’s presence, and the humans on property, that had been a regular part of life here Before, gave an air of uncanniness to the whole place. At Charles’ insistence, all the human staff had remained at the mansion, and even the ancient groundskeeper had been persuaded to take a room inside as well, after much muttering about wars already lived through and this was but another. Erik had never trusted them, really, but many had known Charles in his youth, and were therefore precious to him. And Charles was right, as he so often was, that they were innocent, and to send them away was a death sentence–and doing so would only prove Shaw right.
So, as Erik neared the squat structure that formerly housed the groundskeeper, where it sat cold and silent in the frosty air, it seemed as if dampers had been placed over his senses. Only a few hundred metres away, life was stirring once again in the mansion, but for now he was utterly alone. The shadows of the treeline were unfriendly and shifted strangely–yet Erik did not turn on his heel as usual, and head back to where Raven would be waiting to hand him a warm cup of coffee, and she and Hank, Sean and Alex, Angel and Janos and Moira and Charles would look to him because he had, in a way, already lived through the end of the world.
No, he slowed in his jog, to a slow walk, and went around the side of the house. A great maple tree grew there. In Charles’ estimation it was at least a hundred years old– though for all I know, it could be twice that , he’d said fondly–and stood as a silent guardian to a small path which turned to the side and meandered off into the woods. It led, Erik knew, to the Xavier family graveyard. But that wasn’t his destination. He stopped under the tree and stared at the rectangle of earth beneath it which still seemed fresh–turned and the roughly carved headstone lain atop it.
Azazel , read the name carved into it, in delicate cursive. Erik had written the name carefully. He'd felt that he owed it to him, this last bit of care, not as a friend, but as a fellow mutant. It had felt hollow then; it felt hollow now. Charles, of course, had given the eulogy and done his best with it, as was his way. But that didn’t change the fact that Azazel had tried to kill most all of them at some point. Only Angel and Janos had seemed bereft at his loss. Only Janos had shed a tear.
No, Erik hadn’t known Azazel, or at least been close to him in any meaningful way. But it still bothered him, this name, the only vigil kept for it an old tree that didn’t care. He wondered if this was the fate that would have been in store for him, had he…had things gone differently. Perhaps things might be better, and the world still as it was.
It wasn’t a new thought, that the world would be a better place without him in it. He’d thought so as a boy, longing for death amidst a cloud of pain and fear which never left—and though less frequent now, it still came to the forefront of his mind from time to time. Most often when he saw Charles, and the blame and guilt came crashing down on his head.
”You can’t sleep in my bed anymore if you keep thinking like that,” Charles had admonished, good–naturedly, but he was serious. Erik had looked at the bags under his eyes, and apologised, and promised to work on it. But it was unavoidable, in the mornings when he woke up and it was just him and Charles, who might never walk again—and it was due to his own foolishness, and his pride which had been drilled into him with each punishment visited upon him by Shaw. A bullet flung carelessly aside in his single–minded determination, and maybe if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have been distracted—if he’d been stronger—
you are so much more than you know
But Charles was the weakness he hadn’t known about, and he wondered if Shaw knew, as well. Shaw could have thought he’d jump in front of the bullet, not throw it to the side and continue on like a raging bull. It should have been me instead .
”Doesn’t matter now though, does it?”
Azazel didn’t reply.
He looked down at the dirt for a little while longer. Wondered what it was like to die, and if the earth was warmer than it was above. Then he turned and began to jog back towards the house.
As he went, it began to snow.
*
It wasn’t Raven who awaited him in the kitchen, but Alex, his face twisted up in anger and discomfort. Another variation on the uneasy routine they had all settled into. At least he’d put the percolator on. He could hear it bubbling and smell the coffee starting to brew. There was no teapot for Charles, however—Raven wouldn’t have forgotten that. Erik took it from its place on the drying mat and went to the pot filler over the stove. The water came out, but it was icy to the touch. None of the pipes had frozen yet, though the temperature had dipped low enough they were in danger of it. And the weather patterns were changing, everywhere. It was colder than it should be in October, and would only get worse. He wasn’t eager to be warming pipes all winter long, but it was imperative they be kept from cracking. He’d look into manually insulating them at some point this week.
These musings kept him occupied as he lit the burner and sat the teapot down but he couldn’t continue to ignore the glare burning a hole in the back of his head.
“Good morning, Alex,” he said with an effort to sound pleasant.
He received a grunt in reply.
“Is there something on your mind?”
“No,” Alex said. His hands were braced on the edge of the table and he stared out the window. “Yes. I’m just. I’m restless, y’know.”
“I do,” Erik turned his head to hide the quirk of his lips. He understood, better than Alex realised. He’d been that young, once, and if patience was difficult for him now, he’d certainly had none at that age. “I cannot remember when I was last so sedentary.”
The percolator began to whistle; Erik took a cup off the rack and poured himself some. He raised an eyebrow at Alex, who nodded. Erik poured him some as well, and rolled his eyes when the boy immediately ruined it with a full tablespoon of sugar.
“We have to start conserving that,” Erik said, but for once he kept the bite from his tone. Everyone had been responsible so far with rationing, once he’d catalogued the current stores. They were in no position to be frivolous with food, though it would take intentional gluttony for them to run out and the greenhouses were holding up well. Erik knew all too well what it was to go hungry. Still, sugar was the small concession they’d agreed upon. it may be near impossible to come by if they ever ran out, but they’d survive. If sugar in his coffee kept Alex in check, it was fine.
“You and Charles are starting to sound alike,” Alex said with a snort.
“Because we are both correct,” Erik replied. He flipped open the box of tea and debated between Earl Grey and camomile.
Alex didn’t respond. When Erik glanced back over, Alex was contemplating the contents of his cup with a frown. Here it comes , Erik thought, and took a sip of his own coffee. He swirled it around his mouth for a moment, then floated the sugar container to himself and scooped a few granules out.
“It feels like we’re in a bad dream, sometimes.” Alex’s voice was quiet but carried in the empty room. “We were supposed to save the world. Instead we ruined it.”
“We ruined nothing.” Erik said sharply, although the words hit like a blow to the chest. “Don’t let Shaw’s words poison you from beyond the grave.”
“We were supposed to stop him.”
“We did—”
“ No .” Alex slammed the cup down. It thudded on the wooden table, which wobbled with the force of impact. The crease in Alex’s brow deepened as his glare returned. “He’s dead . We didn’t stop him. He died.”
“And that’s the end of it,” Erik said evenly. His expression was neutral, but he was wary.
“It’s not and you know it.” Alex stood up, fingers flexing and curling into fists. “Because you could have stopped him, if you’d followed the plan. But your stupid revenge was more important.”
Erik took a slow, deep breath. It’s only because he’s so like yourself that it makes you so angry . “He killed my parents, Alex—”
“And half the damn people on the planet.” He could see the almost imperceptible shift of Alex’s skin, felt the air changing around them as Alex’s powers rose unbidden along with his anger.
“Alex. Maybe you should go outside.”
“He was taunting you and you fell for it! After all the times you criticised us for being too slow, too weak, and everything else you could think of, you fell right into his trap. You had him and if you hadn’t thrown that bullet—”
“So I should have let Charles die, then?” Erik slammed his own cup down. “Do you think I don’t say the same thing to myself every single day? I injured Charles. I let Shaw go. I know very well that it’s my fault and mine alone, and there’s no amount of penance I can do to fix it. Yell all you like, burn down the kitchen and the house, it won’t change a damn thing. Accept that or don’t.” Erik sagged back against the counter.
Alex seemed to deflate, but his expression didn’t change. He stared at Erik for a moment, throat working like he was about to speak. But he didn’t. Seemingly heeding Erik’s advice, he turned heel and walked out. A minute later, the front door slammed.
Erik sighed and downed the rest of his coffee. The teapot began to whistle. He pulled out a teacup from the cabinet—the blue flowers on it made him think of Charles’ eyes—and scooped the chamomile into it. As he was pouring the water in, he felt the air shift behind him.
“He knows he isn’t supposed to go out there alone, right?”
Moira, thankfully. “How long have you been standing outside?”
“Long enough.” He glanced back; she was leaning against the door frame, barely concealed concern on her face. “On the bright side, that was nowhere near as explosive as your last argument.”
“It wasn’t much of an argument.”
“No,” she agreed, “just excessive self–flagellation.”
Erik tensed. “I don’t need pity, Moira.” His voice didn’t waver. “Not today.”
”Don’t do that—it’s an insult to both of us.” She entered the room and swept past him to open the fridge. “I was a CIA agent, my job was to worry what everyone was doing.”
The silence that fell between them was still tense, but not full of anger as before. Despite lingering distrust, they had come to an understanding; that understanding being that Erik trusted Charles, and Charles trusted Moira, and as the three most qualified adults, that was the shaky truce upon which their new life had to be built.
Once the tea had steeped long enough, he grabbed a saucer and, tea in hand, headed for the door. He paused, however, and looked again to Moira, who pulled out a pack of sausage.
He spoke before he could help it. “I’m still responsible, Moira.”
Again she studied him, with that look he so hated, and sighed. “You aren’t the first person to do something dumb in the name of love, Erik. I doubt you’ll be the last.”
He let the door slam behind him as he left.
*
Hank was less skittish around Erik, as of late. He imagined a great part of that was his current appearance; suddenly gaining height, weight, and a uniquely blue visage could do that to a person, Erik supposed. That, and private conversations with Charles, of which he suspected many were about himself. He’d asked Charles directly, and only received an eye roll and an admonishment about doctor–patient confidentiality. Erik was certain that maxim didn’t function in reverse, but he got the message.
There must have been something in his expression as he fled the bedroom, shattered teacup in hand and his coward’s heart pounding in his ears, that made Hank stop dead in the hall. Erik tried to rearrange his countenance into something appropriately ferocious, but clearly he failed. Hank stepped in front of him, blocking his escape.
“Is Charles alright?”
Erik couldn’t gesticulate in the way he wished lest he fling the bits of china off in four directions; instead he just stood straight and jerked his head back in the direction of the bedroom. “I saw— cane —is he?”
“Ah.” Hank pushed up his too–small spectacles. “He stood today, yes.”
Erik clenched the cup in his hands, felt the sharp edges bite into his skin alongside the familiar iron tang of blood. “And?”
“And that’s all.” Hank replied. There was a sudden steel in his tone, which though rare he used when trying to make a point. “It’s a positive sign for many reasons, but still—not an end–all–be–all for how well he might be able to walk. I’m…cautiously optimistic, despite the nature of the injury.”
The pointed look he was receiving was not lost on Erik, but it was nothing, nothing at all next to what he was hearing. Charles had stood . A fraction of the weight on Erik’s chest disappeared—and was replaced by not just the need to run back into the room, but wrap his arms around Charles and never let go.
“Tea,” Erik gasped.
Hank understood, and stepped back; with an absent nod he looped back to the kitchen and prepared a new cup. Moira was still there, now joined by Sean and Angel.The others asleep, then, and the staff likely keeping to themselves. Usually Erik preferred to be cognisant of everyone’s whereabouts, but for now he couldn’t care less. He’d ask Charles to check—Charles, who he needed to get to as quickly as he could—
Sean and Angel both gave him sleepy “Hellos” and Moira looked up from her sausage long enough to raise an eyebrow at the blood on his palms, but he paid them no heed.
He’d forgotten sugar the first time, he realised, and made sure to add an extra spoonful.
*
Hank found them again later, Erik sitting beside the bed with his head pillowed in Charles’ lap. still–wet tear tracks on his face. Erik didn’t bother to move, and Hank did his best to not look embarrassed, his usual behaviour whenever he walked in on the two of them together.
“May I come in?” he asked from the doorway.
“Of course,” said Charles at the same time as Erik grumbled, “You already are.”
Hank entered fully and shut the door behind him. A folder was tucked under his arm and a rare, genuine smile on his face. On his exhausted face, it made him look a little mad. Before Erik could question what the cause was, Charles gasped.
“Really, Hank! You mean it!” He leant forward, and Erik was forced to sit up to avoid getting his head crushed. “Does that mean..?”
Hank was, Erik thought, one of the best among them all at keeping a poker face when Charles plucked one’s next words directly from their brains.
“Yes,” he nodded earnestly. “I’ve run all the necessary tests, and it’s done well on all of them. I feel confident enough to say it’s ready.”
Erik stood up, looking between Charles and Hank with wide eyes. Charles' eyes seemed misty.
“Then it’s ready?”
Hank’s smile grew wider as he nodded again. “Cerebro is done.”
*
Hank and Charles had agreed when they first came to Westchester that rebuilding Cerebro was top priority. Though the Hellfire Club had been thorough in their destruction, and Hank paranoid in regards to the dissemination of his research, it was folly to think the government didn’t have some record of Cerebro’s specifications. The largest bunker beneath the mansion had been selected for the rebuilding. (There had been concerns about signal strength underground, but Erik had quickly inserted himself into that conversation and vetoed anything outside or aboveground.) Charles had contracted workers to clean out the space, collecting dust save the odd boxes of useful supplies stored there; Erik had come behind and retrofitted the metal skeleton off of which Hank would work.
In the rest of the time spent before Cuba, Hank would disappear down there for long stretches, though that time had dwindled as training ramped up. He knew what he needed, and all the necessary parts were ordered beforehand, but it was still slow work. There were many improvements to be made upon the original model and only so much time was left in between creating the suits for the team and his time in the lab. Erik had been dragged down with him on many occasions, thanks to the fact that he could quickly reform the individual components at will. It was good practice, despite the headache of spending an extended period of time alone with Hank. Late nights, early mornings, and encouragement from the other kept them on track.
Then came Cuba.
Then came a desperate whirlwind of chaos, teleportation back to the mainland and frantic travel to the best hospital they could find—that was still standing, at least—
And in those first few weeks After, when all anyone could think of was death and survival and getting away—
Cerebro had sat in silence, mostly finished, but not ready.
Charles had brought it up first, not even a week later, when he was barely sleeping through an hour and Raven sat at his bedside with a bottle of aspirin and a sob in her throat. Hank had refused initially, citing that it was unimportant next to his health— but Erik knew he was feeling spread thin. He didn’t like Hank, exactly, but he respected him; he was far more level–headed than Erik had been at his age, and took on the end of the world as they knew it remarkably well.
But Charles was insistent, and at two weeks Hank finally gave in and descended once more to continue work. His other duties were divided up as much as they could be, and though bags began to appear beneath his eyes, he kept at it. The fact was simply that Charles, bedridden and exhausted as he was, was the single best connection they had to anywhere. The radio was still receiving signals though the government missives grew fewer and further between. They knew from the last of the newspapers and the even rarer television broadcasts that much of D.C. was simply…gone. Beyond their own driveway, they knew what was essentially nothing.
“I almost wish it to stay this way,” Charles said softly as they followed Hank down the concrete halls beneath the mansion proper. There was minimal light, only a few of the bulbs lit, to conserve energy.
Charles’ chair squeaked slightly as it rolled along, not propelled by its occupant. Erik directed it with his powers, and Charles studied his fingernails, picking at invisible dirt.
“We saw it with our own eyes, Erik,” he continued, “have seen what news there is. It’s only gotten worse, and won’t improve. This is beyond anything that’s been—well, not imagined, but believed possible. After our parents’ experiences, after yours, after my time in Korea…I’d thought this would be the generation that could live without war, and death, and just be .”
Erik wished to give Charles some greater comfort, but kept to placing a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t pretend it is though, whatever might have been.”
“Yes,” Charles smiled bitterly, “easy as it might be. I don’t wish to lull everyone into some false sense of security, but I don’t wish to speak of it more than I have. It’s why I banned tampering with the radios in any of the common rooms. I…I couldn’t have everyone listening to—”
Erik’s grip tightened. “It’s alright. I know.”
Charles shuddered. “The screams, Erik, the cries for help knowing no one is coming…and to have that amplified to any distance, able only to listen…”
“I’ll be here the whole time, Charles,” said Erik firmly, masking his concern. He knew any suggestions to put this off would only be met with strong resistance; his remaining course of action was simply to be ready to pull Charles out at a moment’s notice.
“I’ll set the radius low to start,” Hank added as they stopped in front of the heavy metal door which led to Cerebro. “There’s no guarantee what you’ll find, but this should help, if only a little. I—” He clamped his mouth shut, and turned to unlock the door. Erik frowned, but Charles was fidgeting again, so his attention shifted back to him as they entered.
The room seemed like something out of a novel, that should only exist in a fantastical future and not the present. The spherical space was covered in sleek metal panels with tiny, winking lights inset between them at the seams. It was like a tiny planetarium with a galaxy of neatly ordered stars. At the end of the walkway was a podium with several dials and switches, and a helmet, sleeker than the original, beckoning for its bearer to come closer.
Erik released his hold on Charles’ chair. The man wheeled forward, his lips parted slightly as he craned his neck to look around the space. “Hank, this is simply incredible! When you said make improvements, I didn’t think you meant an entire redesign. In progress it was impressive enough but seeing it complete, I have no words.”
Hank bowed his head at the flattery, but his pride was palpable. “It couldn’t have been done without Erik. There’s some fine–tuning I need to do, I know there’s a circuit that could use rewiring, but, ah, aside from that, it’s ready.”
He stepped over to the wall next to the door. A large bank of computers was set against the wall’s curvature. It was the greatest similarity between the new and the old machine. Hank’s fingers flew, with surprising grace for the large furred hands they belonged to, over a maze of switches, buttons and dials on the console in front of him. Erik felt the air shift around them as a faint whirring noise filled the space. The lights flickered several times as the great beast of a machine came to life. Lights on the podium flickered to life as well, glowing bright red and bathing Charles’ face in an eerie light.
“Ah,” Hank said from his place by the door, “I’m sorry about…the height. It was one of the first pieces we built, before Cuba. It can be fixed, but I was focused on getting it running first—”
“It’s alright,” Charles interrupted with a tight smile. “I imagine it’s better to sit for this anyways, given what I’m about to see.” His hands were trembling.
Erik dropped to his knees next to Charles as the noise of computers whirring and electricity charged the air around them. He took Charles’ hands in his and rubbed them gently, and Charles let out a rattling breath.
Erik let loose his tongue. “You don’t need to do this if you aren’t ready.”
Charles bit his lip. “Where is my Erik and what have you done with him? What happened to always pushing myself?”
“I’ve changed,” was all he could say, “if only because the world has.”
“And, therefore, I must face it at some point—there’s no point in waiting.” He blinked rapidly and lifted his hands to his mouth, still held by Erik, and placed a kiss on the back of Erik’s hand. “Hank? Are we good to go?”
“Y–Yes.” Hank said, adjusting another dial before looking up. “It’s all calibrated. When you’re ready.” He nodded to Erik. “We won’t keep it on long. Just enough to ensure It’s functioning.”
Charles pulled his hands out of Erik’s. “Give me the headpiece, Erik. I’m ready.” There was steel in his voice; hard enough Erik felt he could reach out and touch it.
He rose to his feet. With a curl of his fingers the helmet arose from its resting place and floated into Charles’ outstretched hands. They trembled, still—but Charles took a deep breath. closed his eyes, and settled it onto his head. The lights flickered violently; Charles’ now free hand shot out towards Erik, who grabbed hold so tightly the veins stood out on his wrist. The room plunged into darkness. For a moment the only sound was the faint humming around them.
And then— light . Dim and shifting slightly each time Erik blinked or tried to focus on it. It slowly grew brighter until a gentle blue haze filled the room. It formed shifting shapes that disappeared the moment they gained concrete shape. But in them Erik saw familiar forms: the side of a face, a torso, a head turning to the side. Scattered in the air around them, the ghostly figures of people moved.
Erik turned his head around, letting his death grip on Charles’ hand slacken. “But…how?”
“It’s the panels,” Hank said, sounding so awed himself that Erik wondered if he’d had doubts about the efficacy of this new addition. “they’re a specific alloy Charles ordered on my request. The signals the computer is recording,” and he pointed to where one of the great consoles was churning away, a myriad of lights blinking in inscrutable patterns, “are relayed to the lights inset in the walls. Thanks to the panels, it creates a projection, based off that data.”
“Which is what Charles is seeing,” Erik finished. It was breathtaking, and as they watched, the forms became more stable. Soon they could see a whole body or face.
Chales’ grip was tightening incrementally, and then he cried out, and his fist tightened around Erik’s palm so hard that Erik gasped. He looked down, alarmed.
“There aren’t…there aren’t as many people left as I’d thought, or hoped.” Charles said. He swallowed hard. “And I can hear things so…so clearly…” And he squeezed even tighter, closing his eyes. “There’s so much pain , Erik, and fear. I can hear them. All of them.”
And the images around them continued to grow stronger, and more solid. But Erik’s heart sank as he began to see people writhing and twisting, mouths open in anger, or fear, or even screams—all in utter silence. There was the odd smile or relaxed posture, but they were quickly overshadowed by the rest.
“Charles,” he exclaimed, “You should take it off.”
But he received no response. Even his hold of Erik’s hand became painful and his other hand gripped the chair like a lifeline. His eyes flew open, and he stared straight ahead, looking at nothing. “There’s more of us,” he gasped, “mutants, nearby, a group…”
Erik’s joy at the word mutant was quelled as Shaw’s words echoed in his mind, those of triggering mutation by way of his destruction. Are they newly presenting or are they here because of him , he almost asked. But he didn’t have the chance, as Charles started speaking again. His voice was unsteady.
“There aren’t many of them, no it's…four, yes, that’s right. But they…oh, they’re children, very young, none of them older than ten…”
The light figures winked out of existence as Charles’ focus shifted. The projection was replaced by only four small figures. They were more indistinct, but clearly children, and were huddled together in a tangled mess of small limbs. The projection wavered then reappeared, the lights flickering off completely but returning in a second’s time; dimly, out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw Hank dart with an alarmed look over to another one of the consoles.
Charles grit his teeth. “I can’t see them properly—they’re right on the edge of Cerebro’s current reach.” And suddenly the blood drained from his face. “They’re in danger. They’re scared…someone’s taken them, is forcing them to go somewhere, but they don’t know where that is …”
The images began to shift and change with such alacrity it was impossible to see what was what. Not only that, but the lights went on and off for longer, making him dizzy.
On, and Charles was muttering under his breath.
Off, darkness and noise.
On, and a drop of blood was dripping from Charles’ nostril.
“Erik,” called Hank, now with a high note of panic in his voice, “it’s unstable, we need to shut it off.”
Erik shook his hand in Charles’ painfully. “You hear him, Charles, it has to be turned off.”
But Charles let him go and hunched forward. “I’m almost there, just another minute…” The projection had become rapid bursts of nonsensical colours and motion, and the whirring was concerningly loud
“Charles,” Hank yelled, “Take it off .”
Several things happened at once.
Erik’s hand flew out, power embracing the headpiece.
Charles sat up straight, and exclaimed, “I’ve found them!”
Erik yanked the headpiece off.
And with a final great noise that left Erik’s ears ringing, Cerebro shut off—along with all the lights, and they were plunged into darkness.
*
“Well,” Charles said, with a weak smile, “electricity was on my list of things to be thankful for, but seeing as we’re now having our Thanksgiving dinner by candlelight, I can at least say it’s cosy in here.”
Raven snorted. Alex and Sean blinked at him and then each other. Angel stabbed a pea on her plate with excessive force. Janos said nothing. Moira took a long sip of her wine. Erik glared at a water spot in the ceiling plaster.
At the lack of response, he cleared his throat. “I do apologise, everyone. This is my fault, I’m afraid. I should have been more considerate.”
“It’s mine, really,” Hank cut in, “I should have done more benchmark testing before a real use. I got ahead of myself…I didn’t think this would happen.”
“But you knew it could, that it was unstable, and put him in it anyways.”
“Charles wanted to do it, Erik; he isn’t an invalid. Watch your mouth.” Raven said, yellow eyes flashing.
“I wasn’t implying that nor do I think it true, so kindly don’t put things in it for me.”
“I knew it might overload.” Hank said nervously, and pushed a bite of chicken breast around in its pool of gravy. “There’s fail–safes built in, and they’ve all done their job, just didn’t think they’d short the house generators as well…”
“You couldn’t have known.” Charles said gently. “Besides, it was worth it, mostly, given what we found.”
“Charles knows his own limits and he doesn’t do things he doesn’t think are important.” Raven jabbed her knife at Erik. “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you know everything—and Charles is at least trying to make contact with someone, anyone—you’d rather hunker down and be afraid.”
“It’s the ‘anyone’ we have to worry about. And let me remind you, Moira, Charles, and I, as the ones with the most life experience and maturity ,” her nostrils flared at his emphasis on the word, “agree it’s safest to remain here, and protect each other. So unless you’re planning to go off half–cocked on your own—”
“As if I’d leave Charles—”
“Then if you sat down and thought for a second, you would realise just how ridiculous you sound. There’s a difference between fear and caution.”
“Charles,” said Sean, barely audible over the verbal spar, “you said you found something. What was it?”
Raven swallowed her next salvo as everyone looked to Charles—save Erik. The candlelight cast long shadows on his face; he seemed far older than his thirty years, and more exhausted than he really was.
Erik , Charles’ voice was soft in the back of his mind, I want to tell them .
And Erik knew he meant it; the excitement carried across their connection. In the confusion of looking for torches with fresh batteries, making their way upstairs to the kitchen and dining room where the children, cook and housekeeper were preparing dinner and counting heads and calming fears, there’d been little time for anything else but a few choice words Erik had shouted angrily at a very distraught Hank. They hadn’t talked about what to actually do with this new information. It was a general rule, however, to limit the amount of outside information shared with everyone. The radio and television reports were horrifying enough; the snippets that Charles latched upon in passing was another. Protecting themselves, and their sanity, was their most important duty. Erik, in shame and betrayal of the principles that he held so dear, dreaded sharing the conclusion he’d come to—so he stalled.
Raven is restless , he shared carefully, Alex, too, and the rest of us to some extent. You tell them, they will be out the door and down the road in a heartbeat. We cannot cause chaos if we can’t fix it.
They deserve to know, Charles shot back, and someone is going to have to go after them. We needed this. It’s hope.
Send any of them out there, it’s suicide , Erik snapped. Hope for what? Something that isn’t going to happen —
Oh. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to share that.
Charles’ eyes widened and his brows turned down. You want to leave them there? Erik they’re children, they could die, be in the hands of who knows—
‘Want to’, Charles, I would be out there myself—would have been, before, because they’re children , his chest clenched, and they’re mutant children, but now…Charles, there’s so much we don’t know, and if something happened to any of us—
Erik reeled at the force with which Charles abruptly cut him off. It was like being hit with a brick wall. Charles’ expression was furious, but also devastated, and that was worse.
“There are more mutants near us. I found them earlier.”
Exclamations of surprise and chatter broke out among the younger people; even Janos looked up from his plate. Hank was pushing his chicken around faster. Moira’s eyes darted between Erik and Charles as if by looking hard enough, she could discover their secret conversations. Erik could only stare at Charles, trying to say Please with his eyes as best he could, for he was about to tell them, and it would be the start of everything falling apart—they’d be vulnerable, to whatever lay beyond the boundaries of the mansion’s gate, and their home—
his family
would be in danger again.
Charles closed his eyes.
“I didn’t gather much information. Cerebro overloaded before I could get more than an impression.”
Erik let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“They’re near us? Where are they, exactly?”
“How many? Were there humans, too?”
Erik could see in Charles’ face—so familiar to him, after months spent studying its every divot and curve and line—the cracks in his facade. The trouble was, it took nothing to make them believe him, with his subtle telepathic influence, but also they so desperately wanted to hear something good . Charles hated lying to them; he’d spent hours cradled against Erik in bed telling him so.
“...I’m not sure. I wouldn’t know unless I looked again, and that may be a while from now.”
Raven, so well versed in her brother’s moods, frowned, but it didn’t seem to lessen her excitement. After all, this was the first new information about mutants that they’d had since the brief government missives that had been sent out on the air. Under different circumstances, he would be sharing in their joy. All he felt now was vaguely ill.
Charles pushed back from the table suddenly. “Forgive me,” he said wearily, and cut through the conversation. “But Cerebro took a lot out of me. I’m afraid I’ll need to retire early.” He glanced at his plate barely touched. “Erik, if you wouldn’t mind putting that up for me, I’d sincerely appreciate it.” The mental wall disappeared, and he heard clear as day, We’ll talk. One hour. Hank and Moira both jumped; they’d received the message, too.
This was a group discussion Erik didn’t look forward to in the least.
*
Hank wasn’t always included in the meetings where Charles, Erik and Moira put their heads together and strategised. Usually he was too busy, and though none of them would admit it aloud, in their minds he walked the fine line between the age groups of the mansion’s residents. As he gathered in a sitting room away from the main rooms, he stood awkwardly behind one of the couches, eyes darting between the other three in the room.
The second the door latched behind Erik, Charles tore into him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Leaving them? How can you even consider—completely deplorable—”
“We are on the cusp of a deadly winter, Charles. Cerebro has only shown us what we already know, that the rest of the world is a danger.”
“Which means they’re in danger out there! Do they not deserve the same safety as we do?”
“There is no safety for us if we run blind into a situation without knowing the circumstances!”
“I seem to recall,” Charles said, his voice strangled with forced calm, “That being exactly how I met you, Erik Lehnsherr, almost drowning because you rushed into something. But that was different, you were acting alone. We have each other now, we have Cerebro…”
Erik strode away from the door, dragging his hands down his face. “Ah yes, Cerebro, which knocked the power out when you used it for ten minutes.”
“This isn’t about Cerebro!”
“Could one of you please explain what is going on!” Moira interjected, stepping in front of Erik as he started pacing back and forth. “All I’ve heard is that there’s mutants near us, and you two seem ready to spill blood over it. This isn’t the first time you’ve sensed mutants nearby, Charles. Why is this so different?”
“Because they’re children , Moira—”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“—a detail Erik would prefer we keep to ourselves, since apparently he thinks everyone will be ready to go after them without a second thought—much like himself.” Charles said. “And they’re in danger; they’ve been, as far as I can tell, kidnapped .”
“Jesus.” Moira said. “Why? By who?”
“I don’t know,” Charles said, banging his fist on one of his armrests. “I didn’t have time to find that out. I gathered memories, landmarks—and a few locations that seemed familiar to me. I don’t know if I could place them on a map, and it was so difficult to reach them at all. Hank had throttled the Cerebro’s range, and it was like wading through gelatin to even get what I did.”
“And you don't want to go after them, Erik?” Moira’s voice was low, dangerous.
“We have no clue what’s waiting out there!” Erik said, pointing out the window. “The world as we knew it is in shambles. Anything could be waiting beyond that gate. What if we go after them and don’t come back, all on nothing but a few scraps of information?”
“We did it before, didn’t we?” Charles said.
Images—memories—came to Erik’s mind at once, and he wasn’t sure if they were his own or Charles: them poring over maps and printouts from the original Cerebro, taking trips to libraries and flipping through phone books on their cross country trip only a few months ago. It hurt too much, and he pushed them away. “We had the CIA at our disposal then, not to mention the telephone! Forget traveling that far anymore, even a few miles could be impassable.”
“We at least need to do some kind of reconnaissance,” Moira said firmly, “and Cerebro is the best method of doing so. The machine is working off of a separate generator in addition to the main one, isn’t it? This was your first time using it. Certainly, if the problem can be isolated and fixed, it’ll be safe to use?”
“A separate generator doesn’t mean a thing, if it’s capable of using so much power we lose electricity throughout the whole property,” Erik snapped back.
“Cerebro does use an immense amount of power, yes.” Hank wrung his hands together and shifted from foot to foot. It would have been amusing, seeing the tall, blue–furred man hunching in on himself—had Erik not been seconds away from strangling him. “Using it regularly, especially if I’m not careful doing any repairs, could potentially, h–hypothetically, short out the generators again. And if that happens I...I don’t know that I’ll be able to fix them. Not before the winter.”
“Then we won’t use it anymore,” Erik said, in a tone that clearly said this was the end of the matter.
Charles spluttered. “And what are we supposed to do, hm? Just let those children die because of the possibility that power will go out? We can build a fire—we can fix the generators. We can’t fix their deaths. Without the assistance of Cerebro, I don’t know how I’ll find them again, and if they move from where they are now...”
“Forever underestimating yourself,” Erik whispered angrily, but Charles still heard him, or caught the sentiment which was surely emanating from him loud enough for the telepath to pick it up. Good, if he did, because it was true. “Given time and discipline, I’m sure you could extend your telepathy to at least that distance, perhaps further. You are so much more powerful than you know—you said the same of me, yet refuse to believe it of yourself.”
Charles scoffed and shook his head, looking at Erik like he was speaking gibberish. “Time, Erik, it always comes down to that, the one thing there’s never enough of—certainly not now. What, you want me to sit here and concentrate until suddenly I’ve ‘reached my full potential’? While in the meantime, the mutants in need of our help could move, or worse—”
“You’re right.”
“And not to mention…I…what?” Charles stopped in the middle of waving his free hand about in a particularly impassioned gesture.
“You’re right, Charles. We don’t have the time for that, not now. You do need to continue training your ability, but it can wait.” Erik knew what he was getting ready to say was foolish, but he couldn’t stand it, the disappointment in Charles’ face, and his frustration at himself. Charles was right, he so often was, and this wasn’t one of his idealistic daydreams which Erik could scoff away. It wasn’t Charles’ fault, or Hank’s, or anyone’s that Erik was incapable of voicing his truest objection as he needed to. Erik didn’t want to leave because this was his home now, his…his family .
But Erik didn’t have the words, so he only looked at the floor, and said quietly, “Those children’s lives are a far greater priority.”
Charles stared at him, mouth agape. Confused, clearly, as to what had brought about Erik’s sudden change of heart, but afraid to push and make him change his mind. In truth, Erik was already regretting saying it.
Hank cleared his throat. “So...so we turn Cerebro back on, then?”
“Of course not. You said it yourself, Hank, that could be disastrous. This house may have been built before the advent of electricity, but we weren’t. I imagine few of us are prepared for the winter that’s to come—it’s certain to be unlike any that we’ve ever seen.”
“Then what,” Charles said slowly, “Is your solution?”
Erik looked towards the window. Against the pitch dark of night, tiny snowflakes could be seen sticking to the glass, before melting away within seconds. The snow wasn’t there to stay—yet. It would soon.
“I’ll have to go after them now.”
*
Tonight, I cannot sleep.
Erik is pretending to, but his mind is racing, planning his travel day after next. I should go comfort him; I want to. I’m not angry anymore, not exactly. He’s worried about our safety, but aren’t we all? The Erik I first met, who wouldn’t take no for an answer, would never have even considered leaving a mutant child to an unknown fate. We’ve changed, yes, but not that much: in truth, he’s afraid, and if Erik is afraid, then I am terrified. I love him so, so dearly, yet it still feels like there’s a gulf between us at times. He carries so much guilt, and I think that’s why he is so insistent on doing this alone. He mustn't: I won’t allow it. He needs me with him. If we can’t utilise Cerebro, then I need to be there. I imagine Moira and Hank will have objections—Raven, certainly, will be against it, but it can’t be helped.
It doesn’t matter how angry I am with him; whatever we do now, we do together.
I don’t wish to think of this anymore, but there’s only so much that can occupy my thoughts. Our present condition, or the circumstances that led to it, are forever at the forefront. My mind betrays me, playing over and over again our return from Cuba: the day the world changed, and us, with it. There are still moments that are little more than a blur, something I’ve experienced so rarely I’d forgotten what it was like. I can’t remember when the bullet hit, only falling as Erik was flung back by Shaw. We hit the ground at the same time; in Erik’s haste to stop Moira empowering Shaw further, I don’t think he even realised I was standing there.
I can remember more of the beach, if I try. There’s light, and sound, and heat, and the softest kiss of pain yet to come—then it was gone, as we gathered together and Erik cradled my head and whispered ‘I’m sorry’ and then we simply weren’t there anymore.
When we stumbled back upon the lawn in Westchester, everything seemed upside down and slow. A mad swirl of colour and movement as the children clutched at each other and screamed and cried and cursed—
Erik let go of me, stumbled away and fell to his knees. His coin lay in his palm—as I watched, he curled his hand tight into a fist, fingers clenched so tightly his arm shook with the strain. His head was bowed. He was speaking softly under his breath, rocking back and forth. I recognised the language as Hebrew, and clumsy probing at his thoughts told me he was praying.
I realise only now that I had never seen Erik pray before.
I don’t know if I ever will again.