Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was never meant to be sent. The paper had yellowed from negligence, the simple line scratched over a hundred times – written, struck out, then written again. There was pride and there was obstinacy, and he knew how fine a line he had been treading.

The slip of paper was picked up by the shape-shifter who glanced at it before pocketing it. For the first time in months since that day, honey colored eyes had softened.

xxx

Charles wheels himself regally into the empty space deliberately void of its usual chair, then primly removes his gloves to set atop the table.

“Raven,” he greets cheerfully. If his voice is somewhat coarse and his smile not as wide as she remembers, she says nothing.

“Hullo, Charles.” There is no pretense, not from her. In this setting, they’re siblings again and neither cares to break this fragile luxury. “I ordered Darjeeling for you while waiting.”

Her brother grins, and the familiarity of the action tugs at her.

“Our usual scones, then?” Charles already has his hand in the air. The maître d' instantly recognizes his two regulars – the odd couple who never fails to show up every Sunday, rain or shine. The man gives Charles a smile and strides off to the kitchen.

“Good man. Memorized our order,” her brother remarks lightly.

“I think it’d be difficult not to know. We’re here every week, Charles. With the same order,” Raven answers dryly.

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s true.” The little laugh, and life that suddenly flashes in those blue eyes fills her with relief. He seems a lot better from the first time they’d begun this routine.

“Ah. I’ve never mentioned it but… thank you, Raven. For always coming out here.”

“I’d miss your stupid nagging if I didn’t.”

Charles shoots her his version of a withering look. It is a pitiful attempt.

Their mindless chatter floats through the hours until at last, the sun begins to set and Charles is due back at the mansion. As always, Raven slips out of her seat and pushes the wheelchair wordlessly to the side of the road where Alex would pick her brother from. And Charles allows her to do so. Then, as it’s become, Raven drops to a crouch and kisses his cheek sweetly, and it is filled with promise for the next week. Like clockwork.

Charles is thus puzzled when Raven merely squeezes his hand and turns it palm-up. He watches her rummage through her trench coat’s pocket before something small is placed in his hand. She wraps the fingers close with her own and darts forward to peck his cheek. Raven is back on her feet and walking away faster than Charles is able to process all of this.

“Wait!” his holler is too late and her figure disappears past a corner. Confused, he unfurls his fist and for a long moment, simply stares at the tiny piece of folded parchment.

He’s so absorbed that the horn from the car quite nearly gives him a heartattack– which would have been most unfortunate for he does dearly wish to read the contents of the letter. Alex apologizes and hastily helps the professor into the old Mustang. He gives up on getting an answer as to why the man had been so distracted after his words fall on deaf ears.

Alex worries.

In the privacy of the old study now cordoned off from everyone in the house school, Charles carefully, reverently unfolds the small piece of paper. The mess that meets his eyes at first glance throws his heart into a race. Blinking rapidly, he tries to decipher something, anything.

Then he sees it. In the familiar cursive that makes Charles forget to breathe, a single legible line. Two simple words.

The world crashes down on him and Charles’ vision blurs uncontrollably.

I’m sorry I am gott I’m sorry I’m sorry forgi -

I'm sorry.

xxx

Raven waits patiently at their café, and if she’s taken to scaring little screaming children to pass the time, nobody knows but her victims. It’s most entertaining.

She worries about Charles, wonders if perhaps she should not have passed on the unintended message (Magneto seemed unusually uptight that week). She knows her brother, knows it’s an evasive answer if he tells her he’s fine. It is a double-edged sword, but Raven thinks it would’ve given her brother more hope than harm.

The world thinks Charles infallible. But being the most powerful telepath to walk the Earth bears no correlation to the fragility of his being.

And Raven is painfully aware of just how strained her brother already is.

“Raven,” the voice brings her attention back and she smiles prettily. Charles seems startled but it takes less than a fraction of a second for him to grace her with a brilliant smile of his own.

The entire time he speaks to her, laughing, chiding – free for all the world like nothing’s changed, Charles agonizes over how best to give her his reply. Charles doesn’t wish to make her feel like a messenger, but he clings onto the hope of exchanges with a burning optimism.

Eternal, inexplicable gratitude.

That is all he thinks when Raven holds out her hand without a prompt at their usual goodbye. There is a softness to her golden eyes and a sad smile toying on her lips that makes Charles throw himself into the task of summoning courage. With slightly trembling hands, he grasps his reply and extends it to his sister.

And so it begins.

xxx

There is little to forgive in an act without intent.
I’m used to it now, Erik.

Charles

 

xxx

Magneto glares at his second in command, then at the slip of paper placed on his desk. It hadn’t taken long for him to piece things together.

“I’d apologize for acting without your knowledge, but you want this. I know you do,” is the quiet explanation. The blue skinned woman excuses herself from the study, closing the door softly behind her.

Magneto doesn’t succumb to the note’s fucking siren call till the fourth day.

xxx

What makes you think I speak of your legs?

E.

---

Dear Erik,

What else would you apologize for?

Charles

---

Charles,

For disagreeing, mayhap?

E.

---

Dear Erik,

Your pride would not have you apologize for your beliefs.
Nor would I.

Charles

---

Charles,

Raven tells me you’re well. I would have thought you against lying.

E

---

Dear Erik,

I hadn’t expected you to know of our meetings. Thank you, for letting me see her. And it isn’t a lie, and yes, I do not condone lying.
I’m well enough.

Charles

---

Charles,

A half-truth is akin to a lie. You thought so once. Has that changed? I hardly own Mystique; she belongs to no one but perhaps herself. I trust her discretion.

How are the children? Alex and Sean seem to have set aside their little squabbles.

E.

 

---

Dear Erik,

There is a fine distinction, nothing’s changed.

You’ve seen them with your own eyes, Erik. I do not know if thissuch questions are entirely appropriate. But everyone is well, thank you.

Charles

---

Charles,

Then it is a fine line of distinction you walk, my friend. These letters are kept separate from the world outside, this I promise you.
Nothing’s changed.

E.

---

Dear Erik,

Everything’s changed.

In that case, I apparently talk about you so much, the children have taken to asking the older ones who ‘Erik Lehnsherr’ is. Hank tells me that references of you pop up much too often. Not in those words, mind.

The discomfort is a permanent fixture in their heads.

Charles

---

Charles,

In these exchanges, how hasshould anything have changed? There is always a choice.

You speak of me?

E.

---

Dear Erik,

You’re no longer here. I cannot hear you, cannot touch you. You’ve left. Everything’s changed. There is no choice. Do not tell me that I could follow you. It cannot even be a consideration.

And I cannotwill not cannot bear this pretense any longer. You were never one for pleasantries, don’t start now. Not on my account.

Yes, I speak of you. It’s a subconscious slip. A reference, an anecdote.
I have noability toyoubugger

Charles

xxx

The years pass and Mystique still plays along with the two leaders of her world. She does not have it in her to begrudge either the only connection grounding them.

But for all that it is working, she cannot help but notice how it’s slowly killing her brother. Those replies entrusted to her are like the morphine injections to an addict and Charles is if nothing, severely addicted to their correspondence.

Charles realizes just how much of a hole he’s dug for himself. He knows he’s too far in now. He’s been kidding himself all this time – it’s never enough. The words; he can tell himself that it’s sufficient to imagine it’s his voice that reads them, but it’s a lie. Charles is the master of the human mind, it ought to be effortless to convince himself of anything. So he repeats the notion over and over in his head, ‘it’s enough’, and sometimes, he’s successful.

xxx

Dear Erik,

The children I saw what happened. IGod, Erik. I Thank you, for protecting Ra Mystique but.
Damn this, Erik, she told me it’s serious.
Alex never went in with the intention to kill. HeI’ve seen it, his mind was screaming it.
Please, please let me in. Erik, I’m begging you.
Let me in.
I need to know you’re alright.

Charles

(It is a month before Mystique carries a reply)

Charles,

The brat still needs control, then. Mystique has a flair for embellishments. You ought to know that. I’ll be fine.
Your concern is touchingappreciated, but unnecessary.
No need to tug your hair out just yet.

E.

---

What’s wrong?

E.

xxx

Charles is more subdued now and it reminds her of the time when they’d first begun this. The incident still fresh in their minds. It worries her tremendously; he’d been doing so well.

When her outstretched palm is left empty and ignored for weeks, alarm bells set off in her head.

But she will not remark upon it.

xxx

Charles,

Mystique believes you’re hiding something. She’s worried for you.
Talk to me.

E.

xxx

Raven is incredibly perplexed to find their usual spot empty despite arriving marginally late. She seats herself warily and nearly starts violently at the abrupt appearance of the maître d'. Instead, she smiles politely up at him and the elderly man returns it in kind. Smoothly, he removes a letter from his silver tray and places it on her table.

Raven stares at it.

“A… Mister Summers dropped it off for you, Miss.” Her senses sharpen and Mystique gives her thanks, ghosting fingers over the neat, crisp envelope. She frowns and gives Charles another thirty minutes.

Her brother never shows up.

xxx

Mister Lehnsherr

I’m afraid the Professor will be incapacitated for a time. He apologizes.

Hank McCoy

xxx

Another week passes, then a month and still Mystique refuses to give up her efforts. At the start, worry and frustration had fused, what with being repeatedly stood up and for so shoddy a reason. But Raven remembers how well she knows Charles and the irritation dissipated with haste as concern took dominance above anything else.

Ergo, on the off chance that she might see him, Mystique spends her free time at the café. Waiting.

“Has the man that dropped off the letter ever showed up again?” she asks the maître d' one Sunday.

The mask of schooled manners cracks and the old man grants a kind smile. “Never stays for long, Miss. But he does come around on Tuesday mornings to pick up his usual.”

xxx

Alex saunters to the café, his mind still fogged with sleep, but there were fussy people back home who threw bigger morning fits than he did at the absence of croissants on Tuesdays.

In his state, he doesn’t notice a smartly dressed blonde rise from her table to trail him to the counter, nor the familiar, cold, predatory gaze of the only other patron sipping coffee at the bar.

“Alex.” The voice flashes goosebumps over his skin. The man whips his head around to come face to face with a tall, strawberry blonde.

“Mystique,” he tries to be calm. It is then that he does take note of the lean, regal form making his way over to them with a dangerous grace that could only belong to one person.

“Magneto… well, fuck,” Alex hisses, unabashed.

“Charming, Alex,” the baritone remarks dryly, and it is all too crazy and strange – Alex has forgotten context and he can but remember that cold voice barking orders or striking fear in their numerous clashes. Having them both here and now amidst normal humans; it sets his teeth on edge.

Alex ignores them and curses rapidly under his breath. Mystique just discerns something very violent involving Hank and a myriad of things that could shove up his –

“We want no fight, boy. Only answers.” The impatience in Magneto’s voice is poorly concealed.

“What?”

Mystique rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a prat, Alex. You know what we want. I don’t care what my idiotic brother has told you, I – We want to know what stupid thing he’s gotten himself into this time.”

There is an unmistakable flicker of protectiveness and bristling at the insult and it quirks the corners of her lips.

“I was sworn not to say a word. Especially to you two.”

“Any particular reason why? – ”

“I’m worried.”

Alex fairly gapes at Magneto. And beneath the helmet (On hindsight, he has no idea how he could have overlooked the man as he’d walked in), solemn mercury-green eyes do not change at the sudden burst of derisive laughter.

“You’re worried? You’re worried? Bloody fucking -,” Alex is glaring. “What right when you -”

“Alex –”

“You know – The Prof hasn’t gotten himself into anything. No, you two are the fucking reason; you both started this fucking mess!”

Something sparks in those normally shuttered eyes. Mystique clenches her fist, tense at the outburst.

“So don’t give me that fucking crap about being worried or thinking he’s a petulant child who’s done something wrong.”

Of all the scenarios Mystique’s run through in her head, she hadn’t been expecting this. Or the calm, detached voice that asks the next question.

“What. Exactly. Is. Wrong?” Magneto continues, as if he hasn’t just been blamed and cussed at like a sailor.

Alex is disgruntled and a second from walking away, spectacle be damned, care for his own personal safety (there is metal everywhere) thrown out the window.

“Answer me.”

xxx

Charles,

I have forced the truth from your bloody martyr. How could youYou know I careVerdammt. I will not stop writing. You will rise again and I will be waiting.

E.

---

Mister Lehnsherr,

On the grounds of the Professor, we hope for a truce. We cannot are at a loss.

Noon, Sunday the twenty-eighth.

Hank McCoy

xxx

The children playing in the field just beyond the main door abruptly halt when a strange humming fills the air; they realize anything remotely metallic has begun vibrating faintly. The air around them feels thick and repressive, tension pouring out from an unknown source.

That is until they spot the two strangers pulling up at the driveway. One of them is instantly recognizable – blue and lithe with contrasting fiery hair – Mystique. But her companion, they do not know. He’s tall and imposing in his dress shirt and slacks, the black vest snug against him. The hat he wears shields too much of his face.

Pattering footfalls and the children turn to see Sean at the foot of the steps, Alex and Doctor McCoy close behind. They cannot comprehend the expressions on their faces but the tension practically boiling (by now) around them is self-explanatory.

The children have seen the blue woman on the news before and they know they’re the enemy; she’s the right hand man woman of the world’s most feared mutant. But oddly enough, no incidents happen and the five adults disappear back into the mansion.

Unfathomable.

xxx

“Feeling bold today?” Alex asks curtly, gesturing at the hat. A look passes between Magneto and Mystique but the former chooses to ignore the rudeness.

“Perhaps.”

If Hank is uncomfortable around Mystique (memories had been so carefully locked away), he does his best to act normally. They’re here only for the Professor.

The three men lead the visitors down the hall and to the room in the west wing. The steps they take are almost second nature to Magneto. He still remembers.

After a knock more for formality than anything, Hank leads the way into Charles’ bedroom. Alex motions for Sean to join him outside – crowding the chambers would help nobody. The curtains are pulled to the sides of the large window and sunlight streams in, but the brightness dims at the small figure swathed in pillows.

There is a sharp intake of breath from Mystique while mercury-green eyes harden. Magneto takes a step closer to the edge of the bed, silently taking in the semi-conscious, frail body of the Professor.

“I…I don’t know how we could’ve let it go on for so long. He’s been working himself endlessly, and he never let it show. How exhausted he was, that is. We try to run this place with him, but he still shoulders most of it,” Hank explains quietly. “I tried to stop the Professor but I just can’t remember –”

“He probably made you forget to.” Hank lifts his gaze from the floor to Magneto.

“Y-Yes. We think so, but still –”

“Then there was little you could have done.”

Hank fidgets, an action Mystique links to the nervous, shy boy she’d first known.

“As far as we know, it’s like he’s self-destructing. He can’t keep food down, he’s barely awake, his immune –”

Magneto doesn’t hear the rest, he knows it’s nothing so pathetic. His attention is more importantly drawn to fluttering lashes and pale blue eyes that widen in weak recognition.

“No, he’s lost inside his head. That’s all.” Magneto knows what it’s like, imagines how much worse it must be for one of Charles’ gift. He isn’t immune, he’s felt the despair, the mind-numbing absence and want, the emotions overwhelming and debilitating. But he’s learnt long ago to steel himself, it’s easier to push past it; control it. But Charles has never really had to, and it’s hit him like a bloody train.

“Leave us. I won’t hurt him.”

Sean protests, Alex is strangely quiet and Hank is undecided. It would be illogical to trust the ruddy enemy but –

“Come on,” Alex surprises everyone. “We’ll be right outside anyway.” He looks meaningfully at Magneto, but says no more.

A smirk tugs across Mystique’s face and she lays a hand on the older man’s shoulder. Magneto graces her with a tight smile as the rest shuffle out.

Magneto sets his fedora by the bedside table and almost reverently takes a seat at the edge of the bed. It feels like a physical hit, the memories. The mask shatters and Erik picks up a pale hand in his. He brushes kisses across the knuckles and whispers softly, the name like a benediction.

With residual hesitation, callused fingertips trace a gentle path across too-stark cheekbones to rest at Charles’ temple. Erik lowers himself, touching their foreheads together and he’s thrown into ice. Erik is dragged into a madness of images and sounds, suffocating in its number. Everything blitzes by like strobe lights, his head is pounding when he’s assaulted by emotions so strong he would sooner be bowled over.

It is madness, it is despair and fearexhaustionworrystrainobligationfearwantlosswantloss –

Erik surges past the fog and it’s suddenly white noise. A hollow, empty haven, like a bubble amidst destruction. It is eerily silent.

A person sits alone in a ball, knees to his chest, rocking himself to and fro.

“Charles,” Erik breathes, and it is labored, his own mind struggling under the enormity of the delirium. He watches with bated breath as the thin body turns stiffly around. Everything’s horribly dreary but for the pair of shocked, ocean blue eyes.

And when mercury-green finally meets stunning sapphire, it’s like breaking the surface for air.

xxx

“He’s been pining for you like a lovesick fool, sugar,” Emma says softly.

The cup of tea is placed before him and Erik has his head buried in his hands. There is a weariness now added to him that makes him seem much older than he really is.

“They think the letters you two meddle with just make things worse. So close and yet so far and all that.” If Mystique is Charles’ secret friend (they ought to be enemies), then Emma is Erik’s. She is neutral ground, slipping in with either side when a situation calls for it.

“You knew? How long? Why didn’t you –” The growl dies in his throat.

“A while. An inkling, honey. I don’t always stay there and it isn’t any of my business. I warned him of his health when I’d last had reason to see him. It’s all I could do at the time.”

Grudgingly, Erik knows this. It’s already more than he’d have expected since the woman has no actual reason to care for either of them.

“Em – ”

The slender fingers grasping his cuts him off midway. She isn’t so free with displays of affection. Erik looks at her, weary and confused.

“But for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t stop. Not for this. He needs it as much as you do.”

xxx

Charles,

I couldn’t stay.

E.

---

Dear Erik,

Thank you.

Charles.

xxx

Twenty-First July, Nineteen Eighty-Three, Thursday

TENSION MOUNTS AT THIRD WORLD WAR

In a meeting earlier this week, leaders from all over the world gathered in Washington to discuss the suddenly real possibility of a world war. Not for territory, not against our own; it is slated to be a fight for humanity as the threat of mutants loom larger.

Recent years have seen a surge in the incidents set off by the abnormal race of humanoids. Arson, vandalism, and physical assaults of civilians have risen starkly and 90% of these acts have been accrued to mutants. This follows after the abrupt emergence of these dangerous individuals into society over the last two decades. Authorities believe this to have been owed to a terrorist organization known as The Brotherhood. These mutant terrorists have been behind several public disturbances and have been labeled the greatest threat to world security as of the World Summit.

Individuals or families harboring mutants are encouraged to report to the authorities to seek aid within the coming months. Failure to do so may lead to arrest on the grounds of treason and individuals found involved will be deemed as accomplices.

Old alliances have been rekindled and new ties forged as the world prepares for the biggest challenge it is likely to face in its lifetime.

Charles,

There is a war dawning. You cannot be oblivious to it. Not this time. I ask once more, be by my side. We cannot lead two armies apart and hope to win. Many of the young ones aren’t even fully aware of their power and there is little time. The strength of our race depends on us, Charles. We cannot hold this off much longer.

I neewant you with me.

E.

(The article is quite literally ripped from the newspaper and the letter is folded and unfolded, read and ignored, then read again before Charles has the fortitude to answer.)

Dear Erik,

You asked this of me all those years ago and I am afraid my answer is unchanged.

From the moment I saw your beautifultaintedmind, the vehemence of the contradiction between us seemed a mockery. We’re proud, Erik. And it is our folly that it inevitably tears us apart. I cannot fight against my beliefs, Erik, and neither will you.

Do not ask this of me. Do not make me deny you.

We will walk the frontlines on opposite sides, my friend.

But never will I see you as an enemy.

I cannot.

Charles

xxx

“They’ve blown this out of proportion.”

The air is tense for the first time since they started this. Charles calmly replaces the tea cup and steeples his hands.

“It was never our intention for war against the whole world, Charles,” Raven says quietly.

Her brother rubs a hand haggardly across his face, sighing.

“Let’s not talk about this,” he murmurs. “I thought we had an agreement about these meetings.” Something like hurt flickers across the blonde’s face, but Charles is too tired to let himself be bothered by it.

xxx

Dear Erik,

Raven remarked that it was not your intention to instigate war. How have you blinded her, Erik? You share Shaw’s belief – the superiority and triumph of mutants. You wouldintend to raze the humans to the ground.

Charles.

xxx

It is the calm before the storm. And Raven pushes her brother to the pick-up point for the very last time. Their meeting has been uncharacteristically solemn.

Raven drops to a crouch beside Charles and he can sense how hard she’s struggling to control her emotions. He smiles lovingly at his sister and sweeps away stray tears with the pad of his thumb. Raven sniffles, then looks away. She cannot bear the vulnerability. From the pocket of her favorite coat, she produces a familiar piece of folded parchment sealed with wax.

“How long?”

Charles accepts the missive contemplatively, a small frown marring his still handsome face (Age has mercifully been kind to him).

“For as long as he writes.”

This time, she stays with him till Alex arrives. The man starts at the sight of her, though one look at the siblings is enough to silence any protests. She helps Charles into the car and kisses him on the cheek. As always.

“Goodbye, Raven.”

xxx

Charles,

I have not blinded her.

I am not and will not be the Nazis. At least do me the honor of never associating me with them ever again. Extermination or genocide, neither has been my intent. Equality, that is all. To eliminate the prejudice against us. And if violence seems to be the last way to be heard, then so be it.

I will not be the first to begin the bloodshed, Charles.

If they make the first move, and I assure you, they will, then I will fight. We all will.

What you’ve stood for – harmony, integration; diplomacy and time have failed, Charles. A war is at your doorstep, need you any other proof of the futility?

Would you rise against your own kind, my friend?

E.

xxx

A week later, a baby is suffocated to death by her own mother – the infant had been able to breathe underwater. The news goes viral and the public sings praises.

Charles sits in his study, numbly looking out of the window. All the students, his children, are on edge; their fear, their uncertainty at his lack of action is loud. Sean stands by the door, waiting with barely restrained anxiousness. Nobody understands what the Professor is doing.

Charles isn’t entirely sure what it is he is waiting for either, but his instincts scream for him to.

And so he does.

“Prof –” Sean finally snaps, but his words are interrupted by a resounding bang and wisps of smoke. The red-skinned mutant who appears in the middle of the room startles the younger man, but the Professor merely regards this with mild surprise. Before anybody can leap into action, the soothing command echoes in their heads and nobody moves.

Azazel wordlessly presents a simple scrap of parchment and disappears after a curt nod.

Charles knows the content before he even reads the few lines.

xxx

Charles,

As I’ve predicted – they have made their move. The time has come.

And now, I will make mine.

The war begins, Charles.

Take care Keep safe

Be safe.

E.

xxx

The Central Intelligence Agency receives a letter addressed to one Moira MacTaggert, head of the research and investigations program on the ‘supernatural’. She recognizes the name but for the life of her, is unable to drag up any memories of the sender.

Her instincts have rarely failed her all these years; she agrees to the time and place.

One look at the man in the wheelchair and Moira is hit by a sudden wave of nostalgia.

“Hello, Moira.” She remembers the wan smile to be boyish once.

xxx

The Forest of Dean is desecrated by fire and bodies are strewn across the battlefield in pieces and splashes of red. To the commanders, it is more than apparent the extent to which they are overpowered.

Strategies need to change.

xxx

Charles has yet to see Erik from the eyes of his men in the two weeks that have passed. But Charles doesn’t believe his absence will continue for long; unlike Charles, Erik has little reason to be hiding and giving orders from safety. The United Forces have suffered an astonishing number of fatalities in the fourteen days alone but Charles has glimpsed their minds – they are merely stalling for time. He can feel the excitement of their strategists, knows they think they are fast approaching a breakthrough.

He thinks Erik would’ve have laughed if he'd known.

He has done what he can to help, sending in the X-Men for rescue missions or to aid groups that have been severely outnumbered. The rules he sets are simple – kill only in the most desperate of situations and to play the defensive at all other times.

Charles thinks of his efforts as a cushion, to alleviate what would otherwise be catastrophic for the humans. He isn’t quite for any side per se – all he wishes is to minimize the effects of this war.

xxx

Charles. The voice is clear in his subconscious. It registers as another telepath.

Emma? He is startled to see the slender form of the White Queen materialize in his dream. What are you –

He asked for a favor.

Blue eyes widen. Oh. Oh… I suppose it isn’t that surprising that you’ve chosen sides now.

Her smile is indulgent. No, not that surprising at all, Professor.

A favor, you say?

She is serious now, though there is a trace of something that softens her eyes.

The letters, Charles. An elegant hand is raised to staunch the questions. They’ve been a well-known secret to his inner circle for some time now. Charles’ head is tilted up by gentle fingers. Location.

The man blinks, uncomprehending.

Azazel will leave them at a particular area of the estate and I will relay images of it to you. Should you reply, place your letter at the original location and inform me.

Charles swallows the lump in his throat.

I…I, erm. Thank you, Emma.

The White Queen smiles, Back to sleep now, sugar.

xxx

Dear Erik,

As a boy, I’d been fascinated over war stories. heroism, good over evil, gore and violence. It’s what made a boy, it’d seemed. Everything black and white.

I had a war veteran for a professor once, in school. And I’d thought it awfully clever to live his memories, experience war for myself.

Curiosity never quite killed the cat. It mutilated it, then ate it raw.

For several days, I was lost in gunfire and blood, too overwhelmed to wrench myself out. People thought I’d had a breakdown.

And now, I’m in the fray, in the middle of a living nightmare. There’s no escape, no waking up. Everyday, I rise to the sounds of screams and the smell of gunpowder as if it were I and not Alex, or Sean or Scott who was experiencing it.

Everyday, I anxiously search for your presence through their eyes and there is only relief when you aren’t there.

Be safe,

Charles

---

Charles,

I do recall the stricken eyes after we were hauled back onboard that first night. I imagine it was a trigger, when you went digging through my head.

It is tactless, perhaps, but there are times that I’m glad you’re unable to physically be at the frontlines. I needn’t see you on the battlefield, needn’t fight you.

You’ve trained the children well, Charles. Their determination is admirable, if misguided.

E.

 

xxx

The young ones remain at the mansion with Charles and he’s thankful for the distraction. He can feel fear emanating from them, can sense their longing to make a stand too, but Charles directs them elsewhere. He continues with their lessons, and amidst the grumbling, a sense of normalcy settles in.

It is exhausting, but Charles always has his mind split three ways. And some days, it is difficult to keep the channels separate.

If the children note the unusually long pauses the Professor takes midsentence during lectures, they make no mention of them.

xxx

Dearest Erik,

I would give so much to walk again. To see you face to face, even if on the battlefield.

That day on the beach, would if you could have changed anything, what would it have been?

I regret not begging you to stay, Erik. I regret being in line of the bullet, of being unable to calm you. I would have chosen my words better, would never have said what I had. Would never have blamed you.

Be safe,

Charles

---

Charles,

If I could go back, I would have told you how I felt. If I could go back, I would have ended that girl’s life before anything might harm you. If I could go back, I would have listened, had you but asked.

I would have held on more tightly.

I would give anything to return your legs to you. I would have and I’m sorryYou once told me

E.

---

Dear Erik,

I meant what I said. But if it will soothe you, you have my forgiveness. You’ve always had it.

Charles

xxx

“Why do we hide here, Professor? It’s only a matter of time before they find us,” young Jean Grey asks. She’s only been able to pick up superficial emotions lately – the Professor has taken to shielding his thoughts very strictly.

“No, Jean. They will not. You’re all safe here,” the man reassures, wiggling his fingers near his temple.

The teenager tries to derive comfort from the genial smile.

xxx

Night falls and the guard on duty steps out of the shadows. He takes the usual circuit about the campsite, then waits by the outskirts. The other guard on watch emerges and they exchange a nod of acknowledgement.

There are but the chirps of insects that dwell in the night.

The guard crumples to the ground before he even registers the gleam of the blade in the moonlight. The dagger is wiped like the blood of the human unclean. A second circuit is made, but this time, the men standing watch outside the commander’s tent do not see the guard again – it is as if he’s vanished into thin air. Puzzled, one of them strides around to where the guard was last sighted. Then he hears a muffled groan followed by a thump. Panicking, the man darts back, only to be met with the dead body of his partner. From within the tent, he hears the wet sound of gasping breath. He pushes past the flap, and sees golden eyes that flicker in the dying candlelight.

He notices the splatters on the guard’s face before the dagger lodges itself in his neck. .

xxx

Dear Erik,

Exhaustion is creeping up on me. It is difficult to concentrate on so many areas, and I’m no longer as young as I once was, I suppose. I saw you today, and it hurt more than I could have ever imagined. I thought I would be happy, at least the part of me that wasn’t worrying. But there is nothing that can compare to the emptiness of seeing, but being unable to feel you. It’s as if you’re an illusion, a stark void in the hundreds of minds around you.

And I have never regretted telepathy more than I had then.

That one time you removed your helmet to pull me out of the mess in my head, it was like everything was perfect again.

It’s like a drug.

My lifeline.

I want this war to end, Erik.

I long to see you, to escape with you to somewhere no one will find us.

I miss you Come back to me. Please.

Charles.

xxx

The war has persisted for far longer than they had expected, and it would appear that both sides have reached an impasse. There are mountains of dead on both sides, exhaustion rapidly catching up with the mortality of their bodies and things will only worsen the longer the standstill carries on.

The battles have seen the lands of America, and much of Europe. But if there is to be a final stand, then Poland will see it fought.

Auschwitz. Krakow. Where it started and where it shall end – the twisted humor of fate is not lost on him. .

xxx

The employment of nuclear power, of turning this into a nuclear war, was never a consideration. A fleeting thought, perhaps, but never an actual consideration. There would be too much to lose. Too unpredictable.

Until now.

The votes in the United Forces are rather clear, but protocol dictates that unless the mutants continue their crusade, the deployment of nuclear arms cannot be sanctioned.

“They will not surrender, we know this!”

“Their existence will always be a threat unless they are exterminated.”

“Or perhaps contained.”

Colonel William Stryker has been unusually quiet thus far, content to sit back and observe the proceedings. But he has a plan and he knows it will work just as he so desires.

“Gentlemen, I do believe there is a way to move things along more swiftly.”

With every stage that is revealed, Moira feels more horrified. Nobody can possibly see the justice in this –

“The telepath will not release the location of his headquarters. Besides, he could well be listening in on us as we speak!”

The colonel’s eyes land on the only female in the board, “Oh, the location will not be a problem.”

“The Professor has been helping us!” Moira barely keeps from shouting. “You would turn on him now?”

“He’s a mutant.”

The silence of the room that follows the simple sentence is judgmental, as if the reason alone ought to be enough to justify betrayal, daring her to think otherwise.

“I will not say a word. Over my dead body.”

“Now, now. That won’t be necessary, my dear.”

xxx

It happens a day after the meeting.

Charles is up, hunched over his desk and though he is weary and nursing a headache, he cannot rest till he sees it through. His fingers fiddle with the fountain pen and he skims over the words curved on the parchment.

The clock in the room chimes twelve times, but he doesn’t hear it – his pen is flying across the paper now.

An abrupt disturbance in the fields and the hand pauses. Suspicion flares as he makes a sweep of the estate with his mind; he resumes his writing. In the mask he’s placed around the vast plot of land, he finds a crack. The explosion shakes the mansion and Charles starts badly. The word he was in the process of penning is cut short and scrawled. Hastily, he folds the letter and locks it in the drawer, simultaneously rousing the children.

Jean hurtles through the doors and the panic in her eyes shines bright. Heedlessly, she heads for his wheelchair and he’s issuing orders.

He will do what he can to protect them, buy them time – they’ve gone through this plan a million times. He tells himself that they’ll be alright.

At the landing, he freezes the men just barreling in, and forces Jean to flee for the hidden passages. Charles focuses on her long enough to know she’s found it before his control is blasted aside by a younger, fresher mind.

Another telepath.

xxx

“Erik!” The hysterical shout is followed closely by the frazzled presence of the White Queen.

Bolting out of the sleeping roll the moment his name escaped her lips, Magneto wearily eyes her rude intrusion. “They have him. They have him!” Erik frowns.

“You’ll need to be a bit more –” He isn’t quite alert enough to know what she’s yammering about, but his instincts throw a blizzard in his gut.

“They. Have. Charles, Erik.” He’s on his feet, and striding to the meeting room (they’ve commandeered an abandoned school) in a heartbeat, uncaring about his haphazard state of dress.

“How –”

“He sent me a barrage of images, I didn’t even know what the hell they were supposed to mean at first. They did something to that woman you boys worked with, sugar, they forced the location of the school from her.”

The metal legs of the table creak loudly.

“Charles has always shielded the humans’ plans from me and I thought it would change now that he’s their prisoner but I still can’t get a read on them.”

Magneto is fairly certain that if it wasn’t for Mystique’s sudden sprint into the room, every metallic object would have folded in on itself.

“How the hell do they have him? Why the fuck are they betraying him?”

The White Queen runs a shaky hand through her blonde hair. “I think they have another mutant with them and this person is a telepath.”

xxx

“Rally the Inner Alliance, we’ll need Azazel especially.” Mystique frowns but obeys immediately.

“What are you doing, Erik?”

“They’ll be here soon. We’ll need him to take them to the bunkers.” Emma looks at him like he’s mad.

“The children, Emma. Keep up.”

“You’re his back up plan?”

“Where else would they go? They’re one of us, regardless. We offer them sanctuary.”

“He is the – he sided with them,” Emma says in disbelief; she has no actual animosity towards Charles, has quite the soft spot for him actually, but she asks out of principle. A part of her already knows Magneto’s answer, it wouldn’t have taken telepathy to figure it out.

“He has never been the enemy.”

xxx

Two days later, Riptide feels his mind pillaged ruthlessly and he sees traces of Magneto’s partner (or whatever they are) before he loses control. His body acts on its own accord and a quarter of Krakow is torn to rubble.

Azazel finds him catatonic moments after.

Emma sends a silent apology, then infiltrates Janos’ head to pick up any trails. It takes her a draining twelve hours to find them – Charles and the other – all the while, more of The Brotherhood plunges into madness.

Magneto has his hands on his helmet, ready to talk to Charles through Emma when slender fingers wrap around his wrist. The glittering form of the White Queen greets him, “No, sugar. This is the one time you ought to keep it on.”

Things escalate when the lack of retaliation persists. The children are targeted, expressly, and they are too young to withstand the assault. More than a third of the death count that had taken the humans a year to achieve is accomplished this time in a week. By then, there is only consuming rage and Magneto does not hesitate to kill every single prisoner in their hold.

It is the sign the humans have been waiting for.

xxx

The final stand.

The day is every bit as ominous as one expects it to be. Though, perhaps Ororo is responsible for it more than anything. The X-Men have made their decision after being contacted by the White Queen. They will fight only to protect the little ones. But the distinction is insignificant now – there are only two sides and Magneto is satisfied to see every mutant banded together.

Storm clouds roll overhead and thunder claps as the infantry and artillery ready themselves across the plains.

Magneto will see every one of them destroyed in order to retrieve Charles.

The humans do not yet know the full extent of his powers.

xxx

Emma struggles to ward off Charles’ attempts on their own race and it is impossibly difficult to go against the most powerful telepath in the world. She tears a part of her concentration away (the little she can afford) and searches the minds of the enemy.

There is a slit in the protection of the unknown telepath and Emma leaps at it.

She sees it then, the control room, the anxious leaders and singular focus. A command is finally approved and her people are left with fifteen minutes.

Magneto hears the White Queen’s frantic call and finishes his crushing of the Howitzers.

“I’m going to fight the other person, Erik. And then you’re going to get to Charles. He, no we, have fifteen minutes to hold off the nuclear attack.”

xxx

Charles hears a loud buzzing in his head, and it fades into static as Cerebro begins to spark. It hurts and he makes to remove the headpiece. But the little boy stills him. Something in Charles dislikes the sadness in the child’s eyes, so he tells himself that he can endure a little longer.

Charles. Francis. Xavier, a woman hisses angrily. He whips his head around, utterly startled at the newcomer and finds himself looking at a very frustrated Emma Frost. Her normally pristine attire is traded for diamond and he cannot fathom why; he means her no harm. Charles thinks he must be very tired too, to begin hallucinating to this level.

Go away, he hears the child warn. Emma snarls and in her form, there is little that can stand in her way. Particularly when fuelled by rage – Charles cannot really recall how he knows this.

If you don’t back off, I’m going to make you, sweetie. The iciness in her voice belies the power she’s lacing into her words.

Don’t disturb our –

Oh for god’s sake. That is the mutter Charles hears before the sight of the little boy being strangled is all he sees. Strangely, the boy simply disappears. He supposes that anything can happen in dreams.

Cerebro continues to hum in his ears. He is vaguely aware of the sudden return of screaming in his head just as Emma winces.

The White Queen kneels by him and throws the headpiece aside. It is quiet and Charles doesn’t move.

Charles, you have to wake up, she whispers anxiously. You have less than ten minutes to call off their attack. I’m not strong enough to do that, sugar. The Professor blinks and he wonders to himself how twisted his dreams have managed to become. Charl - The White Queen is abruptly distracted and he makes to ask if she’s alright, when he sees him.

I hate my dreams. This is just cruel, Charles mutters. Erik takes Emma’s place and cups his face and Charles never wants to leave.

This isn’t a dream. We’re in your head, my friend. Calloused fingers rub gently against his cheekbones; Charles closes his eyes. Charles, there isn’t time. Snap out of this.

You both keep saying that. What do you mean?

They’ve activated the nuclear weapons. They need to be disarmed before they can leave the base.

Blue eyes fly open.

S-stop this nonsense.

Charles, look at me. Listen. To. Me. With Cerebro or whatever it is they have, stop them. Erik is shaking him gently by the shoulders.

I –

Just wake up and you’ll see.

Erik, Charles’ voice breaks. The trained calm wavers on the other man’s face and the shark-like smile Charles adores so much is pained.

Mein liebling, Strong hands grasp his own. Help us.

xxx

Charles blinks rapidly and he takes in the scene before him. There is a boy slumped in a wheelchair opposite him and wires are attached to his nape. He himself feels a sting and he remembers everything – the helplessness, the loss of control over his own mind, William Stryker – the children.

For once, he ignores his compunctions and cripples his captors. Fumbling with the straps, he tries to search for that mind he thought he’d finally been able to touch.

Erik. ERIK. The sensation hits him so hard that Charles sobs in relief. His power fans out and he searches some more for his students, he needs to know they’re safe.

They have my protection. Charles, this will all be academic if you wait any longer.

Charles nods at no one, there is no one conscious to see it. He reaches once more for the crude replica of Cerebro and immerses himself in the raw power. He locates a mind easily enough, the barrier by the other telepath is discarded and he can see everything. The countdown flashes garishly on the screen and Charles pushes his host’s body forward to slam on the button, deactivating the deployment.

It takes a mere second for all hell to break loose.

Charles thinks he’s known it all along, but simply refused to give up his irrational hope. He thinks he’s known that Erik was right all this time, as he reads the minds of the humans. All he’s done is prolong the inevitable. There is no other alternative but to eliminate the root of their problem.

He’s frozen an entire level of a building before, doing so to the entire world with Cerebro would be manageable. 

xxx

Erik looks around him, the other mutants are equally puzzled. I’ve frozen them. I need to know what’s happened, need to make things right. Emma gives him a wary look.

How many? He hears in his head, and Erik shuts his eyes, he doesn’t want the guilt on Charles.

More than a thousand. He feels the shock, the despair and the self-loathing.

It was out of your hands, Charles.

It doesn’t absolve me of responsibility. If this repeats itself – don’t you see the danger, Erik? He fights to think of the right words.

I’m going to correct this. And then I’m going to solve our problems, my friend.

xxx

Charles grasps the minds of the hundreds he’s shattered and pieces the fragments together. The amplification of Cerebro presents him with a high that surges through him and he feels invincible. They might not remember much of the war, but their minds are unscathed.

Next, he moves on to the humans and the sheer number of them is staggering. He reads their thoughts and sees only fear and anger and an inconceivable hatred for his people. If he does nothing, the war will continue; if he pauses for a breath, there will simply be more after – there is no turning back.

He knows that there truly is nothing more that can be said or done to let the humans see otherwise. This war has corroded itself into nothing more than evidence that the mutants are too dangerous, too unpredictable.

Too foreign.

Clenching the armrests, Charles steadies himself – he has his job cut out for him.

Putting every human to sleep leaves him panting but he cannot stop. That is merely the prelude. Into the minds of every government official, he plants the idea that this is nothing more than a very elaborate, full-scale military exercise – it fosters global cohesiveness. Charles’ heart hammers against his chest and his arms quiver.

There remains only one last thing. 

xxx

Charles, if you go through with this, you will kill yourself. Erik thinks frantically.

It’s the only way. It’s all that I can do.

What about your beliefs? You’re against invading their minds, Charles. He feels disgusted saying such things, but it has always been Charles’ oath.

They were folly. You were right, Erik. All this time. You were right.

“Then I don’t want to be,” Erik whispers.

Hush, now. Something brushes his hand and it's as if it is being gripped. Stay with me.

A blinding light overwhelms them all and it feels ethereal. Every living person is in stasis, they do not think, they cannot move.

There is only a faint humming from the back of their heads and it grows louder.

xxx

Mystique sees herself with Charles. They are children again and she remembers the summer sky so vividly.

Alex and Scott remember their mother from before the orphanage and they’ve always thought the memory forgotten.

Hank recalls the enormity of acceptance he finds in Raven and he wants nothing more than to have it again.

Emma sees flashes of a desk in a study she remembers from her visits and in her mind, she hears his voice. And he thanks her.

Erik is in the water and the cold seeps into his bones. He’s running out of air, but the determination burns brighter than that and he will not bend even to his own mortality. He remembers those arms around him, tugging, saving him and he remembers the incredulous liberation at knowing he wasn’t alone.

And his mind hears the same voice he remembers of the water –

I’m sorry.

------

There is a deafening silence. He doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t think he’s capable of it. He cannot feel anything else, there’s only emptiness. A jolting realization that something’s missing. So very final.

When it’d happened the first time, he had seen a gap form in his person, not physical, not tangible, no. But glaring and just there. At the time, he had forced the pain and loss away, he still had a direction. There was still a flicker of hope, a comfort even if he should never act upon it.

The world is quiet.

There is only a void. He understands the finality of the situation. Irreversibility. There’s no longer mild relief in entertaining the notion of seeing his face again. There is no longer the possibility of feeling him any longer. Definitive. The wash of numbness is beginning to slip away and everything it has thus far suppressed begins to emerge.

It’s raining. He tells himself it is.

It rolls down the harsh edges of his face. Slowly, torturous, one by one.

Everything that’s held him together snaps and he crumbles to the ground.

He’s torn between weeping, and hysterical laughter. There is only that.

The maddening desire to hurt, to feel anything but the anguish.

It hurts so much, he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want this, doesn’t want the pain.

His hands fist in his hair, his head is to the ground, he’s trembling.

He’s sobbing to himself, he’s cursing in all the languages he’s ever known.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

…

The silence is too loud in his head.

…

And Erik screams.

Every human forgets their hatred, their negativity. Mutants have always been a part of their world. There is nothing to be feared. There is nothing unknown.

Before the end, on the morning of the final week, Erik Lehnsherr had written a letter. It was meant to reach Charles Xavier by the evening.

In the drawer of the old mahogany table in the Westchester estate, a carelessly folded parchment was found addressed to Erik Lehnsherr. It is dated to the twenty-first of August – a day before the last week of the war.

Charles will never read the letter that was meant for him.

My darling Erik,

It feels awfully close to the end now. And I do not know what it’ll hold for the future, for our kind. I do not know if we’ll live to see it.

And if we should die, then there is little time left. There would be no other occasion to let you know all that I’ve struggled for so long to contain. It may be foolish and warrant your scorn, but I guess war compels us to do incredibly stupid things.

I have never wanted anything as much as I have you. I have never wanted to fight for something as strongly as I would for you.

That day, when you realized the potential of your power, when you allowed me to coax that memory from that beautiful mind; I think it was the first time I'd known that I’d fallen irrevocably for you. In that fraction of our history, I’d wanted nothing more than to be by your side forever. But the crisis happened and as much as I loved you, perhaps because of my love for you, I would not be a part of your destruction. I would not stand idly by as you set your self on the path of destruction. Salvation, that was what I’d convinced myself to be. And I’d clung onto the hope that you would return to me.

Some of the children think that telepaths are incapable of dreaming. But they couldn’t be more wrong. I do dream, and it is my reprieve.

I’ve dreamt of sunlight and dew, of freshly mown grass and the cool caress of rain in spring. I’ve dreamt of your hand in mine and the feeling of our legs as we run. I've dreamt of summer nights and the clouds of the day. I’ve dreamt of autumn and colors and walks, I’ve dreamt of your smile and the warmth of your presence.

I’ve seen a future of waking to your voice, a quiet place with endless water and a light that stretches for miles on end.

I’ve dreamt of a future we will never have and mourned its impossibility every single day. And for as long as I shall live, I will be sorry that it is so.

But we cannot change the past.

I’ve always loved you, Erik. It is the one thing in this forsaken world that will never change.

If there isI would give the

(The writing changes here and the words lose their clarity.)

Do you love me?

Charl –

Charles,

I could not find sleep. It has not been easy to for a while now. It is barely two in the morning and I sit atop a hill, writing by lamplight. It feels like something you would love.

The end is upon us, Charles. Everything will be over soon. I know it. Though, whether I will live to see our success, I cannot tell. But I will die trying.

I do not have a way with words, my friend. Not the way that you do. There are, however, certain things that must be said, for if I wait any longer, I fear I will never find the moment or courage to do so again. I ask that you humor me now.

In the few years I had as a child before the Second World War, I’d been proud of being different and I’d loved easily as any child would. But things changed with the Third Reich and I learnt that being different wrought nothing but pain, and emotions served no other purpose than as a weakness. And then, for reasons I cannot explain, despite the torture and experiments, it was Schmidt who made me realize that being a mutant was nothing to be ashamed of. It is something he has my eternal gratitude for. He made me see the strength in my mutation, in my gift, and the reason why humans are inferior.

Even now, I cannot tell if meeting you was the start of my downfall or the best thing that has ever happened to me. You, who preached against my hatred for this world. ‘A mere inversion of your love’, you’d called it. Lord knows where you came up with such an expression.

In my wilI had never intended for things to go as they had all those years ago on the beach. I had never meant to leave you, never meant to let the humans drive us apart, never meant to have you experience Schmidt’s death. Yes, I know – Emma enlightened me. But it was something I had to do, Charles. You may never accept it, but surely you can understand it.

Every morning, I wake to an emptiness and I’ve come to realize that there is nothing I miss more than your quiet presence at the back of my mind. A constant reminder that I am never alone. And I yearn to feel it once more. When all of this is over, Charles, I promise, if it is within my power, I will find you and we will have all the time in the world to make up for the years we’ve lost.

The sun is beginning to rise, and I must return to the camp. But Charles, there is a final thing:

That day, I should have told you, and every day after that. And it is my greatest regret that I have never said it enough to you .

I love you.

Be safe,

Erik.