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“Everybody here was someone else before,
and you can want who you want; boys and boys and girls and girls.
Welcome to New York. It’s been waiting for you.”
‧₊˚⊹ ♡ ⊹˚₊‧
A month ago, Charles Xavier was fairly certain that he finally had his life together.
He was twenty six, with his future ahead of him and his first year teaching at an all-mutant kindergarten wrapping up; his students were all doing well, and some of them were even managing to control their powers a bit more. He had a nice apartment, a miracle in this economy. He had David. His sisters were both worlds away, but they kept in touch, and his relationship with his mother was probably as stable as it had ever been.
He was also kind of lonely. Which probably factored into his decision to finally come out as gay.
Cassandra and Raven had known for years, the only people he’d told. But instead of leaving home and enjoying his freedom, Charles found himself trapped by his people-pleasing (Sharon-pleasing, mainly) tendencies. So while Cassandra was living her punk-rock, slightly hippie ace lesbian life in London and Raven was thriving as a genderqueer shapeshifting drag queen fighting for mutant rights on the west coast, Charles was eating lunch with Sharon every month and hearing about all the friends’ daughters she wanted to set him up with.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could tell he was going to regret it. The only reason he told Sharon was because she would somehow hear it eventually from someone else if he started dating – she was terrifyingly good at knowing what was going on in his life at any given moment. And that would be worse, because that would come with an incredibly passive-aggressive guilt trip that would last for months.
Sharon’s lips flattened into a straight, disappointed line, and her hand tightened on her wine glass.
“Well. I suppose that was to be expected, from you.” She said, tone mild but eyes icy.
Charles shuddered, remembering that exact look as she called him a failure, a defect, any number of terrible things, his entire childhood.
“Mother-”
“I’ve got the bill, why don’t you head out?” She said.
He sighed, nodding, and began to wheel out of the restaurant.
“Oh, and Charles?”
He turned back, the tiniest flicker of hope in his chest that she was going to accept him or apologize or something. Anything.
“Don’t bother coming next month. It’s clear your priorities don’t lie in the best interests of your family.”
He wanted to scream at her. Ask her if her priorities had been in the best interest of the “family” (if it could even be called that) when she was getting wasted and beating her children or marrying that abusive fuck Kurt and bringing his truly psycho son into their lives. Instead he nodded, turned, and had a mental breakdown in a Seven-Eleven parking lot he stopped at on his way home.
Now, a month later, it’s like his entire life has gone to shit. Sharon and Kurt are trying to cut him off financially, Raven’s calling him every other night having a meltdown because she’s fighting with her girlfriend, David’s sixth sitter quit after he got a hold of some scissors and cut her hair, Gabrielle’s journalism has taken her to actual active war zones and she doesn’t know when she’s going to be back, his kids at work are graduating and he’s been a mess about that, and somehow one of his wheelchair tires went flat. On his good active chair.
He sighs, trying to work up the motivation to drag himself out of bed. He’s planning to attend the pride parade down by Madison Square Park, a decision made in the midst of his then-optimistic coming out – but right now his back is hurting so bad that all he wants to do is sleep.
“Daddy,” David’s voice comes from the door, and Charles sighs, sitting up.
“Yes, dear?” He asks, trying to put on a smile. David comes up to the bed, pulling himself onto the end of it to sit across from his dad.
“It’s breakfast time.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be up in just a minute, okay? Why don’t you go sit at the table?”
David nods and climbs down, seeming nothing like the menace that every single sitter has claimed he is. Charles sighs inwardly. Thank goodness for Moira volunteering to take care of him today.
After getting David breakfast (two blueberry toaster pancakes and a hard-boiled egg from the weekend’s batch) Charles convinces him to watch TV for a little bit, which should hopefully entertain him until Moira gets to the apartment. Then he heads back to his room to try and decide what to wear.
Nothing he owns really screams “pride.” He’s always fancied pink, which he supposes would be festive enough, but the closest he has to that in his wardrobe is a lilac sweater he’s only worn once, pushing it to the back of his closet after Sharon told him it looked “feminine.”
Actually, that could be a perfect choice.
He pairs it with one of his tweed suits, a simple gray one that he feels comfortable in. Then he takes out the face paint that he borrowed from work, mixing the colors until he has enough to paint the minty gay men’s pride flag on his left cheek. The standard rainbow flag is a much quicker affair, and he’s done just in time for Moira ringing the doorbell.
“Aw, look at you.” She smirks at him. “Baby’s first pride event. I’m so proud.”
He rolls his eyes, but can’t help but smile. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Of course! You know I love David,” She grins at waves at the little boy sitting on the couch, who nods curtly back at her.
“How’s Emma?”
“Stressed. As always. I’m trying to convince her to go to Aruba or something, take a little break for a week.”
“Oh, that would be lovely for you two.”
“It really would,” Moira sighs, then pat him on the shoulder. “You should get going. Trust me, you’re going to want to soak it all up.”
Charles chuckles. “I’m sure I will. David, are you going to behave for Auntie Moira?”
“Yes.” David says, still looking at the screen, which doesn’t really inspire confidence, but Moira waves him out the door and tells him not to worry, so he goes.
The atmosphere is bright, crowds of people in colorful clothing and big makeup. Charles wheels along in his travel active chair (a choice out of necessity that is proving to be useful, considering how packed the street is) buzzing with nervous excitement and trying his best to block out the mental bombardment he’s getting from the crowds.
There’s a lot of people in groups, and pairs. Couples holding hands. Even though people are smiling at him and it really does feel wonderful to be there, Charles can’t help but feel that little tinge of loneliness that seems to paint all his experiences nowadays.
The festivities are set to go on for hours, so he takes his time, moving along with the crowd, having a few yelled conversations about very little at all (but at the same time, so much). There’s tons of people in drag (Raven would love it here). The weather is perfect, and he opts for shedding his coat at some point, rolling up his shirtsleeves and wishing he’d had the thought to wear a t-shirt instead.
After a while, Charles’s shields grow weak and he gets rather tired, plus, he probably shouldn’t leave David with Moira no matter how well the two get along.
As he’s pulling away from the crowd, however, he sees an older woman, standing on the far edge of the sidewalk, holding a big sign. Free Mom Hugs, it announces. Her cheeks are painted with little rainbow stripes, just like Charles, and she’s got a t-shirt that proclaims Proud Mom. She’s grinning at everyone who passes.
It’s possibly the sweetest thing Charles has ever seen.
He tries to remember hugging his mom. He’s sure it’s happened, at some point… yet in his memory the only hugs he remembers were from Raven or Cassandra, and the only touches from Sharon were violent.
He finds himself wheeling over to her.
“Um, hello,” He smiles tentatively, and she turns to him.
“Hi, there,” Her smile is warm. “You need a hug, sweetheart?”
Charles opens his mouth to say “yes,” and finds that he can only nod, a lump forming in his throat.
The woman seems to understand how he’s feeling, putting down her side and then crouching to put her arms around him. Charles leans into the hug, trying to savor the feeling of safety and warmth and belonging and, well, fuck, before he knows it he’s crying.
“S-Sorry,” He stammers, trying to pull away so as not to ruin the poor woman’s shirt.
“No, don’t be. It’s okay, sweetheart. Let it all out.” Her words only make him sob harder, and he collapses back into the hug. The feelings of embarrassment are strong, but the craving for a little kindness, a little grace, is stronger, so he cries in her arms and tries to forget that Sharon ever existed.
It would be easier, if she didn’t. If he never had to bother coming out at all, if he’d just been a guy who happens to like other guys, with no alcoholic parents, no traumatic childhood, just a new, quiet life in a big city where he might just get to make a family of his own.
“I’m-I’m so sorry for ruining your shirt,” He says when the crying is over, wiping his face inelegantly with his sleeve.
“It’s just tears.”
“And face paint…”
The woman shrugs, not even glancing down. “I’ve got stain remover at home. You don’t have to worry, dearie.”
“T-Thank you,” Charles sniffs, feeling how puffy his face is and knowing there’s no way for him to preserve any dignity. “I needed- I-I just got disowned.”
The soft, friendly look in the woman’s eyes turns sharp in a second, angry. She lays a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
Before he knows it, Charles is spilling his guts, trying to put into words everything he’s been feeling for the past month. “She was- she was never a good mother, and I shouldn’t be surprised, but I just thought that maybe if I told her- told her the truth, if I was myself, maybe it would… fix things. Somehow. I’m sorry- I don’t mean to be so-“
“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing.”
Charles looks away, not quite sure that it’s true.
“What’s your name, hon?”
“Ch-Charles. Charles Xavier.”
“I’m Edie,” she says, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Edie Lehnsherr. And you know what? If you ever need a mom to talk to, you can call me.” Her contact is displayed on the screen, the banner a picture of her and a… well, stunning drag queen.
Charles sniffs, taking out his own phone to put the number in. “Thank you so much.”
“Of course.”
“Hey,” A voice comes from Charles, and then there’s a man walking up. A… well, stunning man. He’s wearing a tulle skirt, short in the front and flowing in the back, every layer a different color of the rainbow, and a cropped “mutant and proud” tee, the getup paired with a crossbody bag adorned with pins, sparkly makeup, and the tallest high heels that Charles has ever seen, gold to match the makeup. On his cheeks are the same flags Charles had started the day with, matching the stains on Edie’s shoulder.
“Hello, mein Sohn,” Edie says, standing to smile up at the man, then down at Charles. “This is Charles. I’ve adopted him. Charles, this is my son, Erik.”
Charles manages to stammer, “Nice to meet you,” holding out a hand for a shake, acutely aware that he must look like an absolute mess. The man accepts it, a small smile forming on his face.
“You as well. Welcome to the family,” Erik shrugs a little. “I guess I should take you out for coffee, or something, sometime.”
“I-That would be lovely,” Charles blushes, feeling what could only be described as butterflies in his stomach for the first time in years.
‧₊˚⊹ ♡ ⊹˚₊‧
Three years later, Edie rings a glass at Charles and Erik’s rehearsal dinner.
“I’ve got a whole speech worked out for tomorrow, but I think doing it twice would ruin it, don’t you?” She smiles at her son and his soon-to-be husband. “So for now, Charles, I think it would be appropriate for me to say ‘welcome to the family.’”
They both laugh, and Charles raises his glass to Edie.
“Thank you,” He says, wiping a tear from his eye and squeezing Erik’s hand.
All this was her doing, after all. Their cobbled-together little family, all the joy over the past years, the healing of wounds Charles hadn’t even realized he’d had, Erik, had all started with Edie and that sign.
‧₊˚⊹ ♡ ⊹˚₊‧
“Like any great love, it keeps you guessing.
Like any real love, it’s ever changing.
Like any true love, it drives you crazy.
But you know you wouldn’t change anything.”