Chapter Text
Chapter One:
The third of December, nineteen sixty-two, otherwise and henceforth to be known as ‘The Day’. The Day that Charles Francis Xavier’s world was completely and irrevocably turned on its head.
“Come again, Hank,” Charles sputtered a bit wildly, after having stared at the blue-furred scientist for a full five minutes in absolute shock.
“I ran the tests a dozen times, Professor, and then I ran them a dozen times more just to be absolutely certain,” Hank said, fiddling briefly with his lab coat before insisting, “The results are conclusive. You’re pregnant.”
“But,” Charles replied. “But I’m male, Hank. Men can’t bear children.”
“Normal men can’t, but you can,” Hank told him earnestly. “As far as I’ve been able to tell with the resources that we have at our disposal, you have a secondary mutation, Professor. A… well, a rather remarkable secondary mutation.”
Hank was telling the truth.
Even if Charles had not been one hundred percent certain that Hank would never attempt to deceive him in such a cruel way – Hank was not hard wired with the ability to lie successfully, or really to lie at all – his telepathy provided incontrovertible proof of the other Mutant’s candor regarding the matter at hand. Hank’s certainty blazed from the scientist’s mind into Charles’ own without vacillation. Charles was going to be a father, albeit in what had to be the single most unlikely way possible.
Bloody. Hell.
Hank started speaking again, after another minute had passed and Charles had not responded, his tone almost halting, “I’m sorry to have to ask, Professor, but did you and Erik…”
“Yes,” Charles whispered, subdued.
Hank nodded, the confirmation providing the greater clarity of the situation that he sought, “Sorry to pry, I know it’s a sensitive topic, but I did have to consider the possibility that you could reproduce asexually. There’s still so much we don’t know about mutation and I couldn’t just determine that the idea of spontaneous pregnancy was an utter impossibility.”
“You don’t…” Charles trailed off, swallowed and then tried again, “You’re not… upset… about Erik and me?”
Hank’s eyes widened and then perceptibly softened, “I would never think less of you for who you love, Professor. Homosexuality is not a sickness, no matter what most people seem to believe. In fact, evidence has cropped up that many historical figures, from Alexander the Great to Shakespeare, had male lovers. You’re still you.”
“Thank you, Hank,” Charles breathed out in stark relief. “That means a great deal to me.”
Hank smiled widely, “I’ve estimated your due date to be mid to late June, in case you were wondering.”
Charles actually had not been, because he had not yet managed to gather his scattered mental faculties back into the semblance of order that was required for such wonderings, but he appreciated the information nonetheless, “Thank you.”
If Hank’s calculations were correct, and they always were, then that put the date of conception sometime in early September. There was probably little chance of knowing the exact day or night that the impossible had been achieved, since he and Erik had been extremely active during the course of that entire month. The clock had been counting down and their potentially life-ending showdown with Shaw had been inching closer and closer; neither had been interested in wasting precious time. The pair had rarely been apart if they could help it.
That was certainly something that Charles had to worry about, was it not?
Erik.
Would Erik come home to him, if he knew about the child growing, inexplicably and miraculously, inside of Charles?
Charles so desperately wanted to believe that he would. Erik craved family and, even though the metalbender had tried to bury it deep within his heart, Charles had seen Erik’s secret and golden desire to create a family with him. The visions of him and Erik raising and loving little mutants had been irresistible, a siren call impossible for Charles to ignore completely. Certainly, Erik had never imagined that something as astonishing as Charles being able to bear his child could happen, but surely it would delight him. Charles hoped beyond hope that it would delight him. Once Erik got over the shock of learning that, yes, it was actually possible to knock up your decidedly male lover, at any rate.
Of course, that raised the issue of how exactly he was supposed to tell Erik, since Charles did not actually have the slightest clue regarding his whereabouts. Erik, along with Raven and Shaw’s former associates, had vanished in the wake of the disaster that Cuba had been… and none of them had been heard from since.
A part of Charles really, really wanted to give into the hysterics that he could feel dancing around in his chest, but that would surely terrify Hank and the others, which Charles had been actively avoiding doing. Just two days ago, he had been staunchly pretending that everything was perfectly normal – or what passed for normal in a house containing four mutants and a CIA agent. He had made remarkable progress in regards to regaining the full function of his legs and had been happily dismissing the copious vomiting that his body had subjected him to at all times of the day. He had told himself that it was just another symptom of his healing. Like the occasional muscle spasms in his legs and the near-constant aching of his lower back.
Then, Hank had cornered him and demanded, as much as Hank ever really demanded anything, that Charles agree to participate in a plethora of medical tests. A million unpleasant scenarios had run through his mind, but he had not dreamed the truth. How could he have, when the truth was so fantastical?
And all of it had culminated in Charles perched on one of the sterilized counters in Hank’s lab, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to locate the errant father of his unborn child.
Mutation truly was an extraordinary thing.
Charles abruptly realized that Hank had been talking to him, “Forgive me, Hank, I’m a bit… spaced out at the moment. What were you saying?”
“That’s totally understandable, Professor,” Hank assured before telling him, “I was just saying that I’ll need to get some supplies from town. I’m fairly certain that I can build an ultrasound machine easily, but I’ll need to gather as much information about pregnancy and childbirth as I can. I’m probably not anyone’s first choice for an obstetrician, but I don’t want to risk you or the little one by bringing in a stranger. In theory, you could wipe the memories of any doctor that we bring in to help you, but the actual birthing process is notorious for triggering unanticipated hiccups and with the CIA still looking for us… I figure that it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Quite right,” Charles agreed. “But, Hank? You are my first choice. There’s no one that I trust more to deliver my baby.”
Charles could not see Hank’s blush, not with all of the rich, cobalt fur covering his person, but he felt it mentally.
‘So this is what it feels like, to have a parent that trusts you and isn’t always disappointed.’
“Thank you, Professor,” Hank replied, bolstered by Charles’ unwavering pride and faith in him, and then he blinked rapidly behind his glasses. “So, uh, what do you want to tell the others about all of this?”
Ah. Right.
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Charles told Alex, Sean, and Moira everything the following morning as they were sitting down to breakfast. For all of the fretting that he had done the night before – he had all but worn a groove into the floor of his study, what with all of his nervous pacing – it was a rather anticlimactic event.
“Oh, thank God,” Alex slumped against the back of his chair in relief.
Charles shot him a startled look.
“What?” Alex defended. “We were terrified that you were dying. A pregnancy, no matter how bizarre, is something that I… I mean that we, all of us, can deal with.”
‘Won’t lose him, thank god, we won’t lose him too. I can’t lose him too. We need him. He’s not gonna leave us.’
“That is so wicked!” Sean exclaimed, staring at Charles’ stomach, as if he would develop x-ray vision to see the unborn child if he just looked long and hard enough, even as he bounced in his seat. “Wait. How’s the kid gonna get out of you, Prof?”
“I’m going to have to perform a Caesarian,” Hank answered swiftly. “Most likely anyway.”
“Wicked,” Sean repeated, grinning widely.
‘Is it a boy? Is it a girl? Is it a Mutant? Probably, but who cares, really? This is so exciting! We’ll have a baby sibling to look after!’
“Lehnsherr had better man up and take responsibility,” Moira decreed in the no-nonsense tone of voice she had long ago perfected, “Or, I’m going to castrate him. Slowly.”
‘Don’t know if he’ll come back, but Charles will be taken care of, no matter what. I won’t fail him again.’
Charles’ boys looked both awed and terrified at her solemn proclamation.
“I cannot properly express how touched I am to have your support,” Charles said quietly, fighting back tears. Despite everything that had happened, he was so incredibly fortunate, because he had these four amazing people in his life, “Thank you, all of you, so very much.”
“We’ll be here for anything you need,” Alex promised.
“Just don’t make any cracks about me being ‘mother’,” Charles said, clearing his throat and then looking directly at Sean, whose thoughts had turned to just that subject. “Pregnant I may be, but I’m still male.”
Sean only looked marginally guilty, which probably was not enough to stop him from doing just that.
“I mean it,” Charles warned, “I’ll make you believe that you’re a rabbit if you do. A helpless, fluffy bunny.”
He would never – he respected his family far too much – and Sean certainly knew that, but the redhead did not bother to call his bluff. He just grinned again, offered him a mock-salute, and then went back to pondering Charles’ belly with an earnestness that was a bit silly.
“You’re going to tell Erik, aren’t you?” Alex spoke up, a glimmer of hope brightening every corner of his mind. Alex wanted their family whole again nearly as much as Charles did.
“I believe so, yes,” Charles answered what had not really been a query at all.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sean asked hesitantly, looking up to meet Charles’ gaze. It had nothing to do with him not missing Erik and Raven, because he did, but that he feared getting them back only to lose them once again.
“No, but it would be a worse idea to not tell him,” Charles said. “Could you imagine how he would react if he were to find out later from someone else… it would hardly be good. I’m just not yet sure how I’m going to reach him; he didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address.”
“I may be able to help with that,” Hank interjected, “I’m working on a portable version of Cerebro, a miniature version of the one that you used before. It’s probably going to take me at least six months to rebuild the proper version in the sub levels and give it all the upgrades I want to have installed before you use it, but I can have the smaller one ready in just a month, give or take a few days.” Hank took a sip of his orange juice, “With your permission, Professor, I also want to build two more Blackbirds and get eventually get started on another project that will truly make this place a safe haven for mutants.”
“What’s that?” Moira asked.
“A shield,” Hank announced animatedly, “It’ll be invisible to the naked eye, but will keep unwanted guests out, even teleporters once I get the algorithms just right. We’ll be able to turn the house and grounds into a proper school. Even if the government locates us, they won’t be able to reach the students.”
“You can build that?” Sean sounded amazed.
“It’ll take some time,” Hank admitted, “But, yes.”
“You pull that off,” Alex said, “And I’ll never call you ‘Bozo’ again, Bozo.”
Hank rolled his eyes and then turned to look at Charles.
“I approve without stipulation,” Charles told him, “And you have my gratitude.”
Hank beamed and shot up, “Excellent, I’ll get started right now!”
“You’ll finish your breakfast first,” Charles contradicted dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ll not have you starving to death.”
Hank sheepishly sat back down and took a bite of his pancakes.
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Charles had been trying reading the only book on childcare that he owned – a thick tome that was practically falling apart at its seams, had almost certainly been outdated even when he was an infant, and was written in French; but then, it was not as if Brian and Sharon Xavier had been preoccupied with how they should raise him, or raising him at all really, so of course they had never supplemented the library with other books on the topic – when noxious waves of fear, guilt, and pain suddenly slammed into him in an oscillating pattern.
It took him only a moment to realize that the sensations were emanating from Alex and then only one more for Charles to shove the disappointing, crumbling book off of his lap and onto the floor so that he could rush out of his bedroom. He hurried without pause into Alex’s suite, where he found the blond badly twisted up in the sweat-soaked sheets of his bed, trembling violently and sobbing almost silently in his sleep.
Caught in the throes of a particularly vicious nightmare.
Perched on the edge of Alex’s bed, Charles cast his mind out toward the boy’s, gleaning knowledge of the horrible dream and at the same time easing Alex from its grasp. Alex jerked awake and into Charles arms.
“Professor?” Alex managed after a full minute of quavering.
“I’m here, Alex,” Charles promised.
Charles did not ask if Alex wished to discuss those details of the nightmare that were as unfortunately vivid as they were unreal with him, because he already knew that the boy most adamantly did not – Alex would prefer to never think of them again. Charles could hardly blame him for that, but it still broke his heart to know that Alex was in such deep pain because of the parts that had been real.
“I am so very sorry about Armando,” Charles said softly. “I know that there was very little time to grieve him back then, but there is time now. You don’t have to hide from us, Alex, not ever.”
The tears that Alex had been fighting broke free and the blond wept into Charles’ shoulder. He sobbed for a love that had bloomed so brightly and then had been so cruelly and apathetically snatched away from him by Shaw. For a few short weeks, Alex had known what it was like to be truly loved by another – to fall head over heels into an unconditional love – and then Armando was gone. Taken, just like every other good thing in his life.
‘My parents. My baby brother. Erik and Raven. How long will I have Charles and my brothers and Moira before they too are taken away from me?’
“You are not going to lose us, Alex,” Charles swore then. “I will not let that happen, darling. For better or worse, you are stuck with us. We’ll probably drive each other crazy and worry too much and never give each other a real moment’s peace, but that’s what families do. We may argue, at times, but when it comes down to it, we will fight for and with each other. And we will not be torn apart.”
It would take time for Alex to really believe him, but Charles had never been more determined to keep a promise.
“Armando’s death was not your fault, so don’t you dare blame yourself,” Charles instructed. “Shaw took him from us; it was that monster’s fault, not yours. Armando loved you, Alex. He thought about you all the time and he would never have wanted you to blame yourself.”
“It was my power!” Alex exclaimed brokenly.
“Yes, it was your amazing and beautiful powers that Shaw stole from you and turned into something terrible. Your gift could never have harmed Armando; you both knew that back then, when you tried to save Angel. It was not your fault.”
Slowly, Alex began to calm, though he made no attempt to leave the comfort of Charles’ arms.
After several minutes of stroking his hand through Alex’s damp hair, Charles recalled the other prominent part of Alex’s bad dream and asked, “Your little brother, Scott, he’s still alive?”
“Yes,” Alex’s voice cracked, “But I don’t know where he is; when our parents died, we were separated by the state. Scott wasn’t even four yet when they took him away from me; he was screaming for me and I couldn’t get to him. I begged so many times to be told something, anything about him, but everyone I spoke to always refused to tell me. Told me that I didn’t have the right to know. And then my powers manifested and…”
“I’ll find him, Alex, I swear,” Charles vowed. “As soon as Cerebro is finished, earlier even, if I can get a hold of his records. I’ll find Scott, no matter how long it takes me.”
Alex’s eyes welled up with tears again, “Thank you, Professor.”
Charles projected a sleepy calm at him and helped Alex settle back down onto the dry side of the bed. They could worry about changing the sheets in the morning, when Alex was not so overwrought with emotion.
“Professor?” Alex murmured drowsily. “Your baby is extremely lucky to have you. You’re already an amazing dad.”
Charles smiled warmly at him, “Thank you, Alex. Good night.”
“G’night.”
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“That is entirely too risky,” Charles declared, trying very hard to hide the alarm which threatened to bubble up and over in his gut.
Moira had come up with a plan.
A terrible, horrible, no good plan of which Charles did not approve in the slightest. In fact, if his respect for Moira had not been quite as concrete as it was, he would have bloody well erased said plan from all memory because he hated it just that much.
“If they don’t believe you-”
“They will,” Moira interrupted firmly and without fear. “I’m a good actress, Charles, I have to be. I can convince them that you’ve wiped my memory. They’ll be suspicious at first, of course they will, they are the CIA after all, but they’ve long underestimated me.”
“And then?”
“I’ll be put on desk duty for a while,” Moira admitted, “But that works in our favor. It’ll be far easier for me to access classified information that way.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit, Moira.”
“I know you don’t, but we need to know what they plan on doing next, Charles,” Moira said reasonably, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his left arm. “I promise that I’ll be as careful as I possibly can, but I have to do this.”
Charles understood her motivations, the love and concern for their patchwork family that she projected was like a beacon for a telepath.
“You have nothing to prove to us, you know?” Charles said softly. “You did not fail me in Cuba; you’ve never failed me.”
She blamed herself for the bullet, no matter how many times Charles had insisted that she should not.
“I won’t fail you in this,” Moira determined and then smiled at him. “Everything will be fine. Let me handle the CIA and you focus on training your X-Men.”
Charles raised an eyebrow, “X-Men?”
Moira laughed, “Blame Sean, he came up with it. But I do like it, it fits.”
“I suppose.”
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The boys took to learning that Moira was leaving to spy on the CIA about as well as Charles had expected them to.
Which was to say, not at all.
If one were to relate that they had severe objections to her plan, it would still have been an understatement of epic proportions.
All three of Charles’ boys had been extremely vocal in their protests regarding her leaving Westchester, Alex the most so, over the next few days. Moira, however, was determined and by the ninth she had departed for Washington D.C. to implement her hazardous agenda.
The boys, predictably, spent quite a while moping and worrying once she was gone. After witnessing a ridiculous number of scenarios involving Moira’s untimely death flitter like rotten butterflies through the boys’ thoughts, Charles had thrown up his hands and ordered them to follow him on a trek across his massive estate. Charles’ destination had been on the far northern end of his property, were grew a lovely little grove of tall, beautiful pine trees.
“Pick one out,” he instructed, gesturing to the pines with a gloved hand, “Because we’re going to need a marvelous tree for our first Christmas together as a family.”
Hank, Sean, and Alex’s eyes lit up in excitement, warming Charles completely despite the frigid air.
The ‘Great Coniferous Tree Debate’ took long enough for Charles’ face to go completely numb, but in the end a gorgeous fourteen foot pine tree had been happily situated in the mansion’s great den, the biggest of the several it boasted, its sweet perfume already wafting throughout the large room after only a few minutes.
“I say that we all go wash off the sap on us and then get to decorating,” Charles suggested.
The boys were quick to comply and soon boxes that had been untouched for years were being dragged down from the attic. With Charles’ blessing, Alex and Sean went a little crazy draping garlands and tinsel all over the house while Hank helped Charles hang up wreaths and bows. Once this had been finished, the four set their sights on their tree. As Charles and Alex carefully hung the crystal ornaments that had been in the Xavier family for generations, Hank and Sean studiously strung together various flavors of popcorn to wrap around the tree. For the final touch, Hank and Alex lifted Sean up onto their shoulders so that he could place a porcelain angel on the topmost bough.
“Beautiful,” Sean breathed once he was back on the ground.
“It certainly is,” Charles agreed.
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Christmas came surprisingly quickly and the celebration was bittersweet. They all had people whom they dearly missed, but managed to take comfort in the knowledge that they still had each other.
Along with the practical things that Charles gifted them, things like clothes and bank accounts and allowances, he had also given each of the boys one of his cars.
Brian Xavier – and, unfortunately, Kurt Marko after him – had adored collecting high-end, expensive vehicles. Charles cared not one whit for the extravagant collection and had decided that gifting some of them to his sons, for there was no denying that they had become just that, would at the very least establish happy memories to associate with the ostentatious automobiles. The boys had been stunned and then giddy with gleeful excitement when he told them that they could each pick one out. It had taken hours to get Sean to stop bouncing around the cherry red Bandini 1100 that he had chosen.
Charles knew what Erik would have had to say about it all.
“You’re spoiling them, Charles.”
And he would have said it with such resigned disapproval as well.
Charles could hardly bring himself to care. The boys deserved to be spoiled after everything that they had gone through. They had been so brave and so loyal and they deserved everything that Charles had to offer them.
Charles knew how Raven would have reacted too.
“How come I don’t get a car?” she would have pouted at him.
“Because I’ve seen you drive, darling,” Charles would have responded dryly.
And then she would have pretended to be upset with him until he gifted her with the sapphire and pearl necklace that he’d had commissioned just for her months earlier while they had still been in England. The necklace was upstairs, wrapped in golden paper and a bright blue bow, sitting atop her bed. It, like her brother, was waiting patiently for her to come home.
He had not bought a Christmas present for Erik, of course, knowing full well that his lover had grown up Jewish – for all that Erik spurned religion of any kind now – and would not appreciate the gesture. There was a gift in Erik’s room, however, a beautiful book straight from the shelves of Charles expansive library. The book was a first edition of Erik’s favorite story, a German fairytale that his mother had often read to him when he was very young. Charles had planned to give it to him upon the successful completion of their mission in Cuba, except the mission in Cuba had been anything but a success. Shaw was dead, yes, but the cost… the cost had been too fucking high.
The book was waiting for its owner too.
Christmas Supper was a glorious affair. Charles had hired a team of professional cooks to prepare it and the result was a tremendous amount of delectable food. After they had eaten as much as they possibly could, Hank demonstrated his previously hidden talent at playing the piano while Charles, Sean, and Alex sang every Christmas Carol that they knew, and a few that Charles was sure the boys had made up. Charles had allowed the boys each a glass of brandy with dinner and the liquor had certainly done its job.
To the delight of all four, the best Christmas gift arrived around nine-thirty that night. A brief but loving phone call from Moira, letting them know that her plan was working and that she was safe.
Despite the absent friends and family members, it was, Charles decided, a rather successful first Christmas.
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True to Hank’s word, Mini Cerebro, as Sean had unabashedly christened it, was finished midway through January. Even knowing that its range would be greatly reduced compared to a full scale version of the device, Charles was eager to test it out. For several reasons.
Firstly, to locate Erik and Raven and give them an incredibly good reason to abandon their ridiculous crusade against the humans and come home, where they belonged. Secondly, to find Scott and keep his promise to Alex. And thirdly, well, Charles very much wanted to once again experience the incredible sensation of touching so many beautiful minds at once. An experience that only Cerebro could offer him.
And so, Charles found himself sitting up on one of Hank’s lab tables with Mini Cerebro’s helmet securely on his head.
“Ready?” Hank double-checked.
“Ready,” Charles said confidently.
Hank turned the portable Cerebro on.
It was just as amazing as Charles remembered it to be. Unlike its predecessor in Virginia, Charles could only feel the minds of those in the North-Eastern section of the United States, but he was hardly going to complain.
After a few moments of simply basking in the sensations that the device offered, Charles began sorting through the minds of the Mutants that he could feel, looking for the specific ones that he wanted to connect with. It was a familiar enough process and should not have given him any great surprises. But, of course, that was the nature of a surprise – you did not expect them.
“Armando!” Charles tried to grasp the almost ethereal-like mind of the boy whom he had believed lost forever, but it was wispy and impossible to keep steady.
“Professor?” Armando’s mental voice echoed back weakly – without Cerebro, Charles likely would never have been able to detect him at all. “Is… is that you?”
“It’s me,” Charles replied, “Where are you, Armando?”
“Near Alex… I think. I can feel him… sometimes, but I can’t reach him fully.”
“I want you focus completely on my mind, Armando,” Charles ordered with as much calm as he could muster, “I’ll guide you to Alex’s.”
Armando obeyed and Charles felt the boy’s mind slowly begin to solidify, becoming something that Charles could latch onto once more. Charles did and then pulled it to Alex’s mental signature; to his great relief, the boys’ minds wove together almost immediately.
“Mando?” Alex sounded heartbreakingly hesitant.
“It’s me, Alex,” Armando responded, growing stronger by the second. “I’m here, baby, but I need your help to come back.”
“Anything,” Alex swore. “Anything, Mando.”
“Just… just don’t let go.”
“Never.”
Charles opened his eyes and grinned in unfettered delight as Armando began to materialize before them – Charles and Alex pulling him back in tandem with his mutation pushing. It only took a minute and then he was standing in the lab, naked as the day he was born, but really there, really alive. Armando briefly started to sink downward, unused to having actual legs after so long, but Alex caught him and held him up, tears of joy running freely down his face.
“Sean, Hank,” Charles spoke thickly, “If you would be kind enough to go fetch some clothing for Armando?”
At Charles’ instruction, the boys managed to scrape the jaws up from off the floor and then quickly rushed to do just as Charles had asked. Charles lightly hopped off of the lab table and followed them out. Alex and Armando needed each other right now.
Everything else could wait.
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Alex stared at Armando and was quite resolved to never, ever look away. Mando stared right back, a fierce love burning in his chocolate eyes. Alex raised a shaking hand to gently stroke Mando’s cheek, half certain that the other man would vanish as he did. But, to Alex’s utter amazement, he did not and a harsh sob tore its way out of Alex’s throat as it finally hit him that Armando was really there.
“Hi,” Alex managed to say.
“Hey,” Mando murmured back.
“You’re here,” Alex whispered. “Oh, god, I thought… I thought I was never gonna see you again. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Mando, I killed you. I’m so sorry!”
“Oh, Alex,” Mando pulled him close without hesitation and Alex buried his face in the other man’s neck. “Have you been blaming yourself all this time? It wasn’t your fault. It was my plan, baby, and it was Shaw who hurt me. Not you, never you. You could never hurt me. I love you so much.”
“I love you,” Alex returned, clutching Mando’s shoulders almost desperately. “I… I missed you.”
Armando was here. He was real. And Alex was never going to let go of him again.
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“How?” Sean demanded, clutching the set of sweats he had dashed off to collect for Armando to his chest.
“Darwin’s mutation is the ability to adapt to survive,” Hank reasoned, though he looked just as startled as Sean.
“Yeah, but…” Sean trailed off as memory assaulted him.
‘We saw him die. Saw Shaw…’
“When Shaw attempted to kill him,” Charles explained, placing a reassuring hand on Sean’s shoulder, “Armando’s mutation did the only thing it could to protect him. It transformed him into pure energy. The problem was turning him back. He is quite fortunate that he has such a strong connection to Alex; he could have been stuck as energy forever otherwise.”
“Oh, man!” Sean said in glee after a few moments’ consideration, elation overtaking his shock. “We’ve got Darwin back!”
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For the first few hours, there seemed to be no end to the joy that the inhabitants of the mansion felt in the wake of Darwin’s miraculous return. But then Armando had brought up the whereabouts of the others and things had sobered up quickly.
It was Alex who explained the details of the ill-fated mission in Cuba, Sean who spoke of the division that had rocked their little family, and Hank who had finally revealed their Professor’s shocking condition.
“That’s incredible, Professor,” Darwin said in amazement.
“Yes,” Charles agreed, “The capabilities of mutation are, quite simply, astounding.”
“So, what’s the plan now?” Armando asked. “We obviously can’t work for the CIA anymore.”
“We’re going to turn this place into a school,” Sean said excitedly.
“A safe place for all mutants,” Alex added, “A place where they don’t have to be afraid of who they are and what they can do. A place where they’ll be accepted, unconditionally.”
Armando’s eyes lit up, “Count me in.”
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In the days that followed, Charles used Mini Cerebro each morning like clockwork. With Alex, Armando, and Sean attending Columbia University during the week – money really was incredibly useful when it came to convincing school boards to ignore criminal records and other such potentially problematic things – Hank was responsible for monitoring Charles while he was hooked in. Hank did this despite the fact that Charles had repeatedly insisted that he did not need a babysitter.
It turned out that all four of his boys were quite protective of him.
Two weeks had passed since Armando’s return and Charles had still made very little progress in locating either Erik or Scott. He had suggested moving Mini Cerebro to a different location, but Hank was hesitant to do so until they heard from Moira about whether or not the CIA was actively searching for them.
Charles sighed as he felt Mini Cerebro shutting down, “Hank I know that that was not a full hour.”
“Sorry, Professor,” Hank replied, “But you’ve got a phone call. I put the guy on hold, but he seemed really impatient.”
Charles quickly scanned Hank, but could not place the voice he found in the scientist’s memories, “Thank you, Hank. I’ll take the call in my study.”
“Okay,” Hank replied, and his mind quickly turned to the project he wanted to start on.
“Don’t forget to eat lunch today,” Charles reminded as he exited the lab.
“I won’t,” Hank returned absently.
Charles shook his head fondly. No doubt he would have to drag Hank upstairs come noon.
Once in his study, Charles immediately picked up the red colored phone on his desk, “Charles Xavier.”
“Finally, Mister Xavier. I’m the social worker in charge of handling the Scott Summers case,” an irritated voice announced with preamble.
“Ah, excellent,” Charles replied, “And your name is?”
“Buntz,” the man retorted waspishly. “What exactly is it that you want to know?”
“I’m representing a member of Scott’s family that is trying to locate him,” Charles explained. “I understand that Scott is in the foster care system.”
“He is,” Buntz responded, “He was last assigned to the Pritchett family, but he’s not there anymore.”
“Then where is he?”
“No idea,” Buntz said, sounding remarkably unconcerned. “He ran away, the little bastard. And good riddance too, he was nothing but trouble.”
“He’s nine years old,” Charles seethed, one hand curling into a fist and the other strangling the phone receiver. “He’s just a little boy and you… Where do the Pritchetts reside?”
“Chicago, Illinois.”
Damn. Chicago was right outside the range of Mini Cerebro.
“Good luck finding the little shit,” Buntz continued, and Charles heard the sound of papers rustling in the background, “I heard he ran off with some girl, a Jane Greg or something.”
“Thank you for your time,” Charles spoke with a calm that he did not feel, “I strongly recommend that you search for a new line of work, Mister Buntz, as you are sorely unqualified to safeguard the welfare of children.”
Charles hung up on the man before Buntz could say anything more, slamming the phone down with more force than was necessary. His hands automatically rose to his temples in an attempt to rub away the headache that he could feel coming on. He would never understand people of that ilk – and he did not wish to.
There was a chance that he could find Scott and the girl that he had left with if Charles remained in Westchester, but that would only be possible if the children decided to wander toward the east coast and Charles had little reason to hope for such a thing. There was nothing else for it.
Charles had to go to Chicago.
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Chicago was exactly the same as it had been the last time Charles was there. Bustling, loud, and, of course, windy.
Charles had booked the Presidential Suite at the Drake Hotel, an Italian-style resort at the top of Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. His boys, despite the seriousness of their mission, were absolutely enthralled by the place.
“Guys,” Sean exclaimed, “There are full-size chocolate bars on the pillows, the good kind.”
Hank was engrossed with a brochure of the hotel, “It says here that there’s an exclusive club on the premises.”
“Ah, yes,” Charles said absently, “Club International. The Xaviers have been members since its inception in the forties, although I’ve never been.”
“The bar is stocked, guys,” Sean said, “Like fully stocked. With the good stuff.”
“Did you see that chandelier downstairs?” Alex remarked in an aside to Armando, “It probably had a million crystals on it.”
“Why don’t you boys go enjoy Afternoon Tea in the Palm Court?” Charles suggested, “While I get started with Mini Cerebro. It’ll probably take a while and I know that you four are hungry.”
“I’m covered in blue fur, Professor,” Hank tried, because he did not like leaving Charles alone when he was using the machine, no matter that he had designed it in the first place.
“Which no one has noticed or will,” Charles countered easily, “A lovely benefit to traveling with a telepath. Go, I’ll be perfectly fine.”
“I need you three to keep Alex distracted,” Charles projected to Hank, Sean, and Armando, “I don’t yet know what I’m going to find.”
One more gentle mental nudge had the boys out the door and heading for the elevator. Charles settled onto the couch and activated Mini Cerebro.
Finding the Pritchetts was easy; getting into their minds was even easier. It was what he found in their minds that was startling. Scott and the little girl, Jean Grey, that he had run away with were Mutants.
Images of fire-like beams bursting from Scott’s eyes and of Jean making things go flying through the air without ever having touched them flashed through Charles’ consciousness. The Pritchetts had not yet told anyone about what they had seen Scott do, but they meant to as soon as Jean’s parents returned from searching their old farmhouse for their errant daughter. They wanted Scott and Jean locked up, kept far away from normal people.
It was so very easy, perhaps too easy, for Charles to carefully take apart the memories of John and Lucille Pritchett and then stitch them back together sans any knowledge of Scott Summers and Jean Grey. These people would not be a threat to Scott any longer – right now, anonymity was a Mutant’s best defense.
Charles turned his attention to scouring the city for Scott and Jean.
After nearly an hour of methodological scanning, he found them huddled together in an alley hiding from a pair of police officers who were searching for truants. Even though they were covered in layer of blackish dirt, Charles could see the familial resemblance between Scott and Alex and was impressed by the startling dark red of Jean’s hair. Scott had his eyes scrunched shut, as if he could not bear to open them up.
Using Cerebro as a boost, Charles projected an almost corporal image of himself into the mouth of the alley, causing Jean to jerk backwards in fear and Scott to quickly follow suit, “It’s alright, it’s alright. I swear that I have absolutely no intention of causing either one of you harm.”
“Who are you?” Scott demanded, looking in his direction as if he could see him.
“My name is Charles Xavier. I’m a friend of your brother’s, Scott. I’m a friend of Alex’s. And, like both of you, I can do things that ordinary people cannot.”
“You know Alex?” Scott asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” Charles answered gently. “He has missed you a great deal, Scott, and has been looking for you for a long time. He is going to be so glad to see you again.”
“Where is he then?” Scott questioned. “Why isn’t he with you?”
“He is with me, actually,” Charles replied. “We’re both at the Drake Hotel right now.”
“What?”
“I’m a telepath, Scott,” Charles explained. “I’m communicating with you with my mind. I’m not physically here, not yet, but I will be soon and so will your brother.”
“No!” Scott cried suddenly. “You can’t come here! Alex can’t come here! I’ll hurt him too! You’ve got to tell him to stay away! To stay far away from me!”
“No, Scott, it’s alright,” Charles soothed. “Alex has powers very similar to yours. I helped him to gain control of his gifts and I can help you too. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“Really?” Scott’s tone was a mix between desperate and hopeful.
“I promise,” Charles reassured, “We’re going to come get you now.”
Scott looked fearful for a long moment before slowly nodding, his longing for his big brother stronger than his alarm, “We’re near the Navy Pier. Please hurry; the police will be checking this alley again soon.”
“We will,” Charles said before deactivating Mini Cerebro.
Not a moment too soon as Alex, Armando, Sean, and Hank reentered the suite only seconds later.
“Alex,” Charles spoke, “I’ve found your brother.”
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The sight of young Scott stumbling blindly into Alex’s outstretched arms was one that Charles would never forget. It was heartwarming and beautiful and Charles would have loved to watch the two of them forever, but there was another matter that desperately required his immediate attention.
Jean Grey.
To Charles’ surprise, he quickly realized that she was not just telekinetic, but was telepathic as well. She was how Scott had been able to get around Chicago without ever opening his eyes; she had been his guide, projecting what she saw into his mind so that Scott could still see.
Jean was petrified of the adults and Charles could not blame her. Not when he could so clearly see her memories of being drugged, beaten, and chained up by her own parents.
The images made his blood boil.
Charles knelt down in front of her and slowly reached for her much smaller hands, projecting as much love and safety as he could toward her. Despite her fear and wariness, Jean allowed him to take her hands in his. Charles counted this as a small victory.
“I am so sorry that you have been hurt, little one, but I promise that I am not going to let anyone harm you ever again. I have an estate in New York, a place where you can use your beautiful gifts without fear. A place where you’ll be safe. A home where you’ll be loved and protected. Would you like that?”
Jean tilted her head and Charles felt her bright mind seeking entrance into his own. He let her in, allowing her to easily find what she was searching for, namely images of Westchester and his dreams for a school.
Jean blinked and then launched herself into Charles’ arms, clinging to him.
“I think that’s a yes, Prof,” Sean said.
“I do believe so,” Charles agreed as he stroked Jean’s dark red locks.
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“Even if Scott can’t turn off his powers, I’m sure that I can develop something to give him his sight back,” Hank declared later that night, once they were back in their hotel suite.
Alex, Armando, and Scott were already in bed. The two Summers boys were exhausted from the day and Darwin was watching over them protectively. Sean was running around the resort attempting to steal chocolates, which left Charles and Hank talking in the sitting room with Jean curled up against Charles’ left side.
“I wonder if all Mutant siblings have powers that are complimentary to one another or if this is an event unique to Alex and Scott,” Hank mused, “It’ll be fascinating to research. There’s so much about our own evolution that we don’t know yet. If mutation is hereditary. If Mutant children will have the same gifts as their Mutant parents. Where mutation comes from in the first place. We’re on groundbreaking territory here, Professor.”
Before Charles could reply, Jean started whimpering in her sleep.
Charles immediately reached his mind out for hers and she latched onto it, using his mental presence as a type of security blanket that drove her night terrors away, “Shh, little one. You’re alright.”
Jean stilled and her breathing evened out.
“They hurt her, didn’t they?” Hank asked, “Her parents?’
“Yes,” Charles admitted, and it was a struggle to keep his voice even as he relayed, “They kept her chained up in their cellar and tried to… tried to beat the freak out of her. Scott broke her out and they ran.”
“We’re going to need to come up with a cover story for her,” Hank decided after a minute of seething, “Unless you want to have to mind-whammy everyone who sees her.”
“Mind-whammy?”
“Sean,” Hank explained with a shrug.
“Ah,” Charles nodded, “You’re quite right, Hank. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.
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Charles did not, in fact, think of something. It was Jean herself who, quite accidentally, came up with her own cover story a few days later.
“It’s not entirely unprecedented,” Hank said, “A lot of people bury traumatizing experiences to help themselves heal.”
“Yeah,” Sean replied slowly, “But most people don’t accidentally wipe their entire memory and replace it with something better.”
Hank shrugged his shoulders a bit helplessly.
“She got to Scott’s memories too,” Alex announced as he and Mando entered the study, “He doesn’t remember the Pritchetts and thinks that he’s been here for months.”
The boys turned as one to Charles.
“Hank’s right,” he managed after a few moments’ deliberation, “It’s a defense mechanism. I had no idea that a telepath could alter their own minds – although, I suppose there’s every chance that I wouldn’t remember if I ever had known.”
“So,” Armando questioned, “What are we going to do?”
The group contemplated that, all still astonished over the recent, unprecedented turn of events.
Jean had pranced down the stairs earlier that morning and the first words out of her mouth were, “Daddy, can we please have French Toast for breakfast?”
Charles had stared at her for nearly a full minute before regaining enough of his mental faculties to delve into Jean’s mind. What he discovered had left him gaping in shock.
Eventually, he had managed to choke out a, “Sure, love,” before turning to his boys and revealing what he had just discovered.
Sometime during the night, while she slept, Jean had shredded all of her memories of her biological parents and her life with them and had then patched together a new reality for herself. A reality where Charles was actually her father and her mother was one of Charles’ old girlfriends from his college days.
Jean now believed that Charles had not known that she existed until a few months prior, not until her ‘mother’ had died in a car accident and Charles had been contacted by a social worker. It was a much more pleasant life than the one she had actually lived and had instilled an incredible confidence in Jean overnight. Her query for French Toast had been the first words that Charles have ever heard her utter, the first words that she had dared to speak aloud. Words spoken in a British accent no less.
Her grin at his affirmative answer had been the first time that he had seen her smile.
“Nothing,” Charles answered Armando.
“Professor?” Hank spoke up.
“We needed a cover story,” Charles said, “We’ve got one. Forcing her to remember what her parents did could cause irreparable damage to her psyche. I promised to protect her; I can’t hurt like that. Her telepathy isn’t like mine, so we don’t have to worry about her accidentally overhearing the truth.”
This was true. Unlike Charles, who had to work to keep out of the minds of others, Jean had to concentrate firmly to get into a single mind. This could change over time, as her powers developed, but Charles doubted that she would ever easily access more than a few minds at once. Her telepathy was her secondary mutation after all; it would be her telekinesis that would truly define her.
It only took a minimum amount of persuasion to convince the boys that reversing Jean’s alterations was a bad idea in the long run. Sean caved first, followed in short order by Hank and Armando. Alex had held out the longest, but was won over when Charles successfully assured him that Jean’s tweaking had caused no harm to his little brother and was actually probably beneficial to Scott.
Later, Charles contacted his lawyers and convinced them with a combination of money and telepathy to do several illegal things for him. Five days later, Charles was, as far as the government was concerned, the legal father of Jean Elizabeth Xavier
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“But what if they don’t work,” Scott fretted.
He was standing in the middle of the Danger Room wearing a pair of red-tinted goggles. Hank had explained that he had crafted them out of Rose Quartz, which was apparently one of the very few things that could block Alex’s plasma blasts. If, as Hank suspected, Scott’s eyebeams were composed of the same energy as his older brother’s, then the goggles would block the beams and allow Scott to see again.
“They will,” Hank told him, “I had Alex help me test them. Open your eyes, Scott.”
Scott bit his lip, still unconvinced. He had become more cheerful and happier since Jean had altered his memories, but he still feared his powers a great deal.
“Buddy,” Alex chimed in, “Everything’s going to be okay, trust me. Just open your eyes.”
Slowly and with great trepidation, Scott did. A second later he gasped in utter delight, “I can see!”
Everybody cheered.
“Well done, Hank,” Charles praised, “Very well done!”
“Wow,” Scott said, “You look awesome, Hank.”
Hank beamed in response.
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Moira called the next morning.
“I’ve got good news,” she announced, “The CIA has decided to put Mutants on the back burner on the orders of President Kennedy himself. Apparently, there are bigger fish to fry right now.”
“That’s splendid!” Charles declared. “Does that mean you’ll come home then?”
“Not yet,” Moira said with regret, “The higher-ups may have decided that you’re not a threat, but I’m still concerned about Stryker. He’s the one who pushed for the missiles to be fired in Cuba and I don’t believe that he’s going to leave Mutants alone just because the Director ordered him to.”
“You’ll be careful,” and it was not a question.
“Promise,” Moira agreed, “So, what’s new in Westchester?”
“You won’t believe what I have to tell you, my dear.”
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On February the eighteenth, Charles finally managed to locate Erik with Mini Cerebro.
“Erik!”
“Get out of my head, Charles!” Erik snarled at him immediately.
“Wait! Erik, please listen-”
“No!”
And then he was gone. His mind nothing but a void thanks to Shaw’s wretched helmet.
Charles wrenched Cerebro’s interface off of his temple, shoved it into Hank’s arms, and ran out of the lab. Only once he was safely ensconced in his bedroom did he allow himself to cry.
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The pain he had felt then was nothing compared to the agony inflicted upon him the following afternoon. Plastered all over the news were details regarding the deaths of over three dozen naval officers. Charles hadn’t needed Moira’s confirmation to know that each of them had served on one of the American battleships in Cuba.
Every single one of them had been killed by thick metal spears that had no business being anywhere near them.
Charles retreated to his study in order to escape the pity and horror radiating off of the boys. He made a decision that nearly rent his soul in two that evening.
To keep him or her safe from the fallout of their father’s warmongering, Erik could never learn about the existence of their child.