Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“A gun, really?” Erik Lehnsherrr scoffed coldly, as he turned his head to look at the rifle aimed at his back by Domino. Behind her stood rest of the team, Storm, Psylocke, Rogue, Shadowcat, and Jubilee, scathed and weary from a just-ended battle against a common enemy, but ready for more action if the situation demanded it.

“Only when you make this warning necessary,” the sleek assassin replied, eyeing the pink-skinned mutant wrapped tightly by steel, kneeling in front of Magneto.

A rather ridiculous standoff, really, Erik thought to himself, in the bright daylight on the streets of Madripoor, surrounded by fading smokes from a rocket that took off moments ago. Earlier, he had joined the group led by Psylocke and successfully foil the plans of the criminal organization Femme Fatales - but now, the Master of Magnetism had personal debts that he wanted to make sure get paid properly, only to be halted by his noble-minded allies. After all, before the band of female heroes arrived to free Erik from the torture of Mindblast, he was a prisoner, both mentally and physically, of the Femme Fatales member now begging for her life at his feet, as she was being choked to death by a twisting metal rod. How the table had turned.

“It’s one thing to cause casualty in the heat of a battle,” Domino began, “another to conduct deliberate murder.”

Magneto listened, unamused, as he continued to squeeze the last bit of life out of Mindblast, ensuring the death of his hated torturer to be as slow as brutal - murderer was a label that he had proven able to live with. But of course, a superficial warning was the least that the group of powerful female mutants behind him had to offer, especially when Erik was without his helmet; the telepathy-shielding garment had been removed from him when he was taken captive in Viper’s facility.

Betsy Braddock’s eyes shone with purple aura as she telepathically reached into Erik’s mind, “Stop this, or I will.”

Magneto smirked at the presence of Psylocke in his mind. He could tell the telepath wasn’t simply there to stop him from murder, but to check if he was steadfast about killing his helpless victim, or worse, allowing this one act of cruelty to drag the former villain back to his old path once again.

“You can’t even if you try,” Magneto challenged, his voice dark and teeming with arrogance. In such a vulnerable state, the Master of Magnetism still did not fail to taunt with hubris, which utterly astounded Psylocke. Violet psionic power radiated from her fierce eyes as she concentrated. The telepath knew she could turn his mind off just like that, especially when she had a promise to keep with Magneto’s former self, but not when there was a better way.

Mindblast whimpered; blood oozed from her nostrils, steel rods cranking by the command of Magneto’s power, as the group watched in horror. Erik’s eyes flared like blue lightning, locks of silver hair blown back in the localized electromagnetic hurricane he conjured. There was no time to waste.

Psylocke probed Erik’s mind more closely with urgency, a place of turbulent swirling emotions, pain and anger raging at once. The entire place rested on a fragile balance, with shadows and horrors of the past hidden behind a thin veil all around her. Still, certain parts were more guarded than others, some shades darker than the rest.

Suddenly, like chasing a ghost deer through the woods at night, Betsy saw a spot of bright light in the sea of Erik’s dark memories and whispering, cursing thoughts. She caught the dazzling light and examined it. That moment the telepath knew exactly what to say to pull Erik back from the verge of vengeance and hatred that the man was so hotly charging towards - a panacea to keep all his demons at bay, a string clinging to the softest corner of his heart - if only she could tug it without a cost, but it seemed she had to break a promise to keep one that day.

“Charles wouldn’t want you to do this, Erik.”

“Charles Xavier is DEAD.” Erik gritted his teeth like an injured animal, his voice roaring with anger and pain.

Psylocke frowned, only hoped it was worth it, as she shared a telepathic message with a figment of her memory with Magneto.

“Your friend, Charles Xavier, is alive.”

The magnetic storm stopped. The victim dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, coughing, broken, but alive.

The tall caped figure paused for a second, thoughtful. “Consider this a gift for helping me escape.” Magneto stated calmly, as the scattered metals on the ground retreated quietly to where they belonged at his will.

-

“It’s a secret I hope you could keep.” Psylocke told Erik telepathically as the group began to depart from the rugged battle scene, “No-one else remembers it but me, and it’s because X made sure of it, for *good* reasons.”

“I’ve known enough telepaths to know not to trust a memory purposefully projected into my mind,” Erik admitted, continuing their telepathic conversation, “but I know you couldn’t make something this unlikely and convoluted up even if you wanted.”

Betsy paused, stung by the thought of Fantomex getting trapped in the astral plane, without a fair explanation, without a proper goodbye.

“Any idea where he is now?” Erik was referring to Charles, or X, or whatever that resurrected man calls himself now.

“No,” Psylocke replied plainly, “though I doubt it will take long before he contacts you.”

Erik blinked, his red and magenta cape swaying behind him in the wind.

“Good luck tracking down Viper and her associates.” The purple-haired telepath signed off. Magneto took flight soon after to destroy the remaining parts of the launch site in the distance as they agreed.

Charles Xavier, alive.

Erik still felt dazed by the very knowledge of it, an inexplicable feeling of hope and purpose stirring deep inside his chest, warm like the languid tropical sun beginning to set behind the metropolitan skyline behind him.

Chapter Text

Two weeks have passed since Erik parted ways from the mutant search team for Wolverine. The silver-haired man perched over the balcony of his small studio apartment, overlooking the splendid landscape of uptown Madripoor at night.

He ought to be content, or as content as he could be these days, having rooted out the criminal organization of Viper in the city, its rocket launch site completely obliterated by his magnificent magnetic power.

“That would serve as a statement,” Erik thought to himself, pouring himself a glass of scotch and swallowed it. But it was only a small blessing in the grand scheme of things. The smooth, burning taste of alcohol with a hint of oak down his throat was comforting and stimulating at the same time, but not enough to wash away the tingling existential dread in the back of the mutant leader’s mind - all these years tossing and turning since the death of his old friend, from Utopia to Madripoor, mutants were still hunted and oppressed around in the world. Magneto used to worry about falling back to the ways of his old villain days more than anything else, but what bothered him the most in the moment was stagnation, the static progress and the lack of direction on the path to liberation for mutantdom. Where does the tomorrow of mutantkind lie?

Erik brooded as he looked down at the bustling street beneath him, dotted with neon lights and colorful paper lanterns. It must be some sort of festival on the island, which would explain why the car traffic was blocked off for the night on the street in his neighborhood. He used to shun away from such a worldly choice of residence, but ever since Hydra-brainwashed Captain America broke into his old apartment (thereby nearly destroying his favorite collection of Huxley!), and after he moved to X-Men’s quarter in Hightown to guide them along a time-travel mission, Erik decided it might not be quite a bad idea not to be completely walled off from the world. Still, his place was high up enough so that he could barely hear the pedestrians down below, the brilliant urban scene distant like a painting.

Suddenly, a hatted man caught Erik’s attention; the street down below didn’t feel so far away anymore. Amidst the blurry lights and the flow of passerby, the man in faded green topped by a wide-brimmed hat paused briefly and looked up to where Erik’s balcony was. “Could he be looking at me? Could this be...” Erik instantly felt flushed, for there was only one man from his memories who wore this signature attire. No, that would be crazy. It’s too high up to even see that person’s face, and that man could simply be looking at something else. Nevertheless, Erik’s rationalizations took a backseat to the adrenaline rush he was feeling - he would use his mutant power to lift himself from the balcony down to the street that instant if it wouldn’t cause a scene.

Could it really be you, old friend?

Erik wondered as he dashed out of his studio apartment, locking the door with a wave of hand behind him, forgetting to even grab a jacket. But when he finally got to the street level, he became immersed in the swarm of lights and sounds of the city, and the hatted man was nowhere to be seen.

Charles. Charles, where are you?

Erik vaguely felt a slight tug in his mind, like the hand of a spirit guiding him through the crowds of nightclub goers and celebration spectators. It could just be the scotch acting on him, but it was a particular feeling clearer and more intimate than the hazy intoxicated thoughts he usually would have.

How absurd this all is - tipsy and paranoid, recklessly chasing something that couldn’t be seen, down the glittering night streets of Hightown, perhaps nothing more than a figment of his own imagination. But Erik was so certain that he was after something, someone he knew, as the warm feeling got hotter and all of a sudden vanished. Huffing and puffing, Erik stood lost, at an intersection that sat at the edge of Hightown, with the cloud of glamor and music behind him, facing the decaying sprawl of Lowtown stretching into the dead of the night. The white-haired mutant felt a shiver down his spine, wearing only a black V-neck shirt on a breezy night.

Erik turned, hesitant to walk back the way he came, when he saw the hatted man again, in full flesh, right there in the soft light.

The man donned a familiar green military jacket, buttoned up to his chest, revealing a piece of his black undershirt underneath. His matching green pants lined his slender legs perfectly, tucked into polished tall boots. His young face was semi-obscured by the shadow of his hat, but Erik instantly recognized that warm, enchantingly charming smile.

“Erik, old friend. It’s... been too long.”

Charles was right; it’s been a lifetime. It felt too much like a dream, like a déjà vu - for a second Erik mistook the dazzling district of Madripoor as the night market of Haifa, the scene in front of him blending into memory. The man in the light stood the same.

Erik stepped forward to grab his dear friend with his strong arms, as if to check whether he was real, not an illusion or an apparition.

“Charles.” He uttered that name with passion, sliding off the shorter man’s hat to take a good look at his face.

“I’m sorry it took this long... and I didn’t really expect you to recognize me.” Charles’ voice was gentle but apologetic. It was true that he didn’t exactly look like the man Erik used to know - his jaw somewhat less angular, his eyebrows flatter, and his face looked so dashingly young; but he still had those clear blue eyes that sparkled with wisdom and hope, and those facial expressions so very uniquely Charles’, especially that smile that Erik remembered well.

Before Charles could go on with his explanation, Erik grabbed his friend by the waist and pressed a searing kiss on to his lips. It caught Charles off-guard, but he kissed back nonetheless, enjoying the fragrance of whisky in Erik’s breath. Erik cupped Charles’ face with one hand, and shifted slightly to line up their mouths better, thrusting his tongue into Charles’.

“I’ve missed you, my love.” Erik’s voice echoed so painfully sincere in Charles’ mind. "...Besides, there will be plenty of time to catch up back at my apartment, if you would allow me to walk you there, that is." Erik added, teasingly. Charles scanned Erik's thoughts briefly out of curiosity, and saw so many images of the things his lover would very much like to do with him that night, if not right now. The telepath chuckled, and fell back to the passionate mingling of their tongues.

How surreal this all is, Erik considered silently, kissing a ghost from the past in his arms, under the kaleidoscopic city lights as ephemeral as life itself.