“So, what, I’m the exception?” Charles raises his eyebrows incredulously, sarcasm dripping from his words like thick tar, and he’s mostly naked and yet still so - so arresting, biting. “Well I never. Of all the millions of humans on this planet I, Charles Xavier, am the only one whose existence has not been rendered meaningless by the advent of mutantkind. I must be some kind of paragon. We’d better hope Raven’s baby doesn’t turn out human, or we’ll be in a right pickle. We’d have to get rid of it, of course.”
Erik blinks, taken aback and feeling utterly lost in this conversation, as though somehow Charles has taken the map from his hands and handed it back, only for it to have turned into another country entirely, one Erik cannot navigate. “…what?”
“There’s no guarantee the baby will be a mutant,” Charles says, calm as you please but for the simmer of anger underneath, the hot flush rising on his chest like a burn. “It’s entirely possible Raven and Azazel will have a baby who’s one hundred percent pure-bred human. Will you tell her her baby is a lesser species, Erik? Are you going to refuse to be the baby’s godparent if he or she is human?”
His eyes are blazing like blue fire, like they could set Erik alight with a thought. “It might be years before we know for sure, the child would be old enough to know you’d turned against it. He or she will probably ask you why. Are you prepared to tell a child that they’re not good enough for you, because he or she is genetically inferior? Will you tell Raven to try, try again to do it right this time? I mean, gosh. I’m not sure she’d take well to that.”
“Stop it,” Erik says, jumping to his feet and pacing like a trapped animal between the bed and the door, full of a fraught energy that keeps winding tighter in his spine, like the mechanism of a wind-up toy. The mattress springs back into shape once his weight is removed, and Charles rocks to the side, momentarily off-balance. “Just stop! What do you want me to do, Charles? A year ago I would have laughed in your face, and yet here I am, softening for you, at least trying to be fair on both sides. How much do you want me to bend? Why don’t you just tell me how you would prefer me to be constructed, so that we can cut out the parts that don’t please you. It might leave a few holes, but I’m sure that wouldn’t bother someone as self-righteous as you if it meant you could lobotomise me of opinions you disagree with. You could lead me around on a leash like your dog and tell me when to bark.”
His breath is heaving in his chest, heart pounding counterpoint in his ears like soldiers marching as Charles stares at him, agape. Erik’s fists clench as he continues, “I’m trying! I haven’t ordered culls, have I? I haven’t gone out of my way to destroy humanity. Everything I do benefits them as well as mutants. That I’ve given mutants more right to exist than they ever had under the previous government - something you yourself campaigned for - I just want them to be happy and to be safe and to live their lives without fear of being killed for being blue, Charles. Nobody did that for me, not until it was too late.” His voice breaks on the last sentence, and he feels humiliation rattle him down to his toes.
“Erik - ” Charles starts, and his voice cracks too, stricken, before Erik interrupts.
“Imagine being me, Charles,” he says, “and seeing the worst thing that ever happened to you happening again all around you, only this time you’re old enough and strong enough to do something about it. Could you stand back and watch it all over again, knowing you could stop it if only you stepped up to the task?”
There is no sound in the room, then, but their breathing, and the faint sounds of the city waking up outside, if it ever really sleeps. In the dim light the space between them is a vast, ragged canyon, and it is nothing at all; they are close enough that they could fall back into each other in seconds, to fight or to fuck, inescapable gravity like a black hole sucking them in. Charles pushes himself upward to sit fully upright, leaning back against the headboard, and chooses his next words carefully, if the slow way he says them is any indication.
FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 142/?
Erik blinks, taken aback and feeling utterly lost in this conversation, as though somehow Charles has taken the map from his hands and handed it back, only for it to have turned into another country entirely, one Erik cannot navigate. “…what?”
“There’s no guarantee the baby will be a mutant,” Charles says, calm as you please but for the simmer of anger underneath, the hot flush rising on his chest like a burn. “It’s entirely possible Raven and Azazel will have a baby who’s one hundred percent pure-bred human. Will you tell her her baby is a lesser species, Erik? Are you going to refuse to be the baby’s godparent if he or she is human?”
His eyes are blazing like blue fire, like they could set Erik alight with a thought. “It might be years before we know for sure, the child would be old enough to know you’d turned against it. He or she will probably ask you why. Are you prepared to tell a child that they’re not good enough for you, because he or she is genetically inferior? Will you tell Raven to try, try again to do it right this time? I mean, gosh. I’m not sure she’d take well to that.”
“Stop it,” Erik says, jumping to his feet and pacing like a trapped animal between the bed and the door, full of a fraught energy that keeps winding tighter in his spine, like the mechanism of a wind-up toy. The mattress springs back into shape once his weight is removed, and Charles rocks to the side, momentarily off-balance. “Just stop! What do you want me to do, Charles? A year ago I would have laughed in your face, and yet here I am, softening for you, at least trying to be fair on both sides. How much do you want me to bend? Why don’t you just tell me how you would prefer me to be constructed, so that we can cut out the parts that don’t please you. It might leave a few holes, but I’m sure that wouldn’t bother someone as self-righteous as you if it meant you could lobotomise me of opinions you disagree with. You could lead me around on a leash like your dog and tell me when to bark.”
His breath is heaving in his chest, heart pounding counterpoint in his ears like soldiers marching as Charles stares at him, agape. Erik’s fists clench as he continues, “I’m trying! I haven’t ordered culls, have I? I haven’t gone out of my way to destroy humanity. Everything I do benefits them as well as mutants. That I’ve given mutants more right to exist than they ever had under the previous government - something you yourself campaigned for - I just want them to be happy and to be safe and to live their lives without fear of being killed for being blue, Charles. Nobody did that for me, not until it was too late.” His voice breaks on the last sentence, and he feels humiliation rattle him down to his toes.
“Erik - ” Charles starts, and his voice cracks too, stricken, before Erik interrupts.
“Imagine being me, Charles,” he says, “and seeing the worst thing that ever happened to you happening again all around you, only this time you’re old enough and strong enough to do something about it. Could you stand back and watch it all over again, knowing you could stop it if only you stepped up to the task?”
There is no sound in the room, then, but their breathing, and the faint sounds of the city waking up outside, if it ever really sleeps. In the dim light the space between them is a vast, ragged canyon, and it is nothing at all; they are close enough that they could fall back into each other in seconds, to fight or to fuck, inescapable gravity like a black hole sucking them in. Charles pushes himself upward to sit fully upright, leaning back against the headboard, and chooses his next words carefully, if the slow way he says them is any indication.