10Author's Note: This is written for a prompt on the meme that asked for more old Cherik in a 'House of M' type universe. There are 2 chapters planned and the second should be up within a couple of days.
This is dedicated to the lovely tuila who has been so wonderfully supportive and loves old Cherik as much as I do.
He wakes up on a sandy beach, face pressed against tiny grains of powdery white sand. The sounds that surround him from all sides are foreign; not the blaring of horns or the incessant hum of the big city, rather the roar of the ocean and the buzzing quiet that denotes the pervasive presence of nature.
It takes him some time to gather enough strength, even the little that's needed to roll himself onto his back. His bones and his muscles; everything about his tired body aches and for once he doesn't have the energy to pretend.
He's old.
Perhaps in this long, lonely life he's led, all the battles he's fought – maybe his body is finally telling him it's time to let it go.
When he's finally able to push himself up he almost chuckles at the scenery around him; it's strangely like an every man's paradise, though to Erik it's more akin to his personal version of hell. Is he dreaming? Is he awake? He finds himself uncharacteristically apathetic; what does it matter when he's aimless and powerless? A man with no purpose and no heart?
The sun is beating down relentlessly, air humid and hot; gentle waves lap against the shore. There are palm trees and white sand and clear blue sky...and he has to force his mind not to supply images of the wreckage, the smell of metal and fuel; the missiles in the air. To remember it's not that beach, not that day.
His hand reaches absently to rub at the phantom ache in his chest; there's a hole there, a piece of him missing since Charles...no it's too painful, too raw still to finish the thought. The man is dead, Erik thinks viciously, why bother dwelling on him now? Craving him? Still pining for that naive, arrogant fool of a telepath some fifty years after their first auspicious meeting?
"Stop being so maudlin Erik," Charles says oh so helpfully with his perfect manners and crisp accent, his own traitorous mind supplying that smug, infuriating tone. "There's no shame in admitting that you needed someone, that you needed me in your life."
"I did need you Charles," he answers the wind, the waves, the open sea. "Where the hell are you now when I need you the most, you bastard?"
There's no reply of course; dead men don't answer the errant prayers of the old and weak. He wonders -what will he do with the time he has left on this forsaken planet? Now that his friend, his enemy, his ex-lover isn't around to challenge him? To thwart him?
To care about him?
"Magneto!"
He turns at the sound of his name, eyes narrowing at the two figures approaching him, obviously out on a lovers' stroll. Two people who should be just as dead as his Charles. Erik doesn't understand it; there's no hesitation, no fear and no anger when they see him, sprawled in the middle of nowhere in a cheap wool cap and jacket.
Scott Summers reaches an arm down to help Erik to his feet, clapping him cheerfully on the back like they're the best of friends. "What are you doing out here by yourself, Magneto? And dressed like that? Shouldn't you be busy with preparations for the state ball?"
If Erik still had his powers he would drop a piece of metal on the boy's head for his idiocy; there are so many things wrong with those sentences he doesn't even bother to respond. Instead, he arches an eyebrow at Jean Grey, whose presence he feels now in his mind, probing gently but thoroughly at his secrets. Face pale from shock she reaches a hand to grip his arm and then announces, quite urgently, "I think you'd better come with me."
Smart girl. He always did like that about her.
They stare at him with awe and uncertainty as they fill him in on the way back to the palace. The Palace - his mind can't help but mock scornfully, thinking about all the tiny hotel rooms, safe houses and dilapidated warehouses he's stayed in during his lifetime. Erik had somehow been transported from San Francisco to the Island Nation of Genosha, a mutant-run sanctuary acknowledged as a sovereign state by the countries of the world and existing largely separate from human interference.
He finds himself reluctantly charmed as they wander through the bustling city, taking in the sights of the mutants all around him, living normal, peaceful lives in this beautiful utopia. His heart bursts with pride and wonder at this world; this world that doesn't – can't - exist in the harsh reality of Erik's own time and place. He finds himself aching for Charles even more here than he did on the beach; what would his beloved Professor think about this magical place where both of their dreams have apparently come true?
There are curious glances from all the people they pass as he follows the young couple through the ornate marble halls. They finally stop in front of a massive set of metal doors, Erik taking a moment to admire the intricate engravings on either side of a stylized 'M', curled intimately around an equally impressive 'X'.
Jean stops him before he can push them open. "You need to prepare yourself for who you'll be meeting inside."
Erik just rolls his eyes at her and marches into the cavernous hall. It's obvious that this is the throne room; two large, elaborately detailed metal chairs decked out in plush red cushions sit side by side on the central dais. What's also obvious is that one of the thrones is currently occupied; by an imposing, silver haired man in a crisp black jacket and red pants, flowing magenta cape around his shoulders.
His own voice greets them, wry and cutting, "Is this some sort of joke, my dear? This pathetic wretch of a man cannot possibly be me."
Oh – well this is a surprise, Erik thinks. He's more than a little gratified to see that he – this alternate universe (or is it dream? a hallucination?) version of him at least – appears to be running the show in this little mutant utopia. It's nice to know his grand plans worked somewhere, even if they hadn't worked where it mattered the most.
When it mattered the most.
Jean shoots him an apologetic look before turning to address the man on the throne. "I've read his mind and...well obviously his memories aren't the same but he's most definitely you." She shrugs, a little bewildered and then places her hand on his arm again. "If you don't believe me you can ask..."
"No," Magneto interrupts – and it is definitely Magneto and not Erik Lensherr who stands and descends from the throne towards them. "I will not ask and neither will you. I don't trust this man and his intentions and I will not expose him to my loved ones and risk putting them in danger."
It's interesting to be on the receiving end of his own unique brand of paranoia and hostility. He wonders what Charles would have thought of this surreal meeting. No doubt he would have babbled on with some scientific explanation about space time anomalies, being brilliant and yet distracting from the problem at hand. Or perhaps he would have taken them both to bed instead, a flesh and blood replay of their telepathy enhanced love making from much younger and more adventurous days. His Charles had always been a wonderfully contradictory and confusing man.
Jean flushes a lovely shade of pink and he can't help but grin at her discomfort. It amuses him that she's avoiding his eyes and he wonders if it's at the thought of her mentor's sex life or something else that's troubling her.
"He doesn't have the use of his powers anymore Magneto. He's not a danger to anyone here and certainly not to the Consort."
"Consort?" He arches an eyebrow at his doppelganger – and really that's too surreal an experience to fully comprehend – "You're married then? And that makes you what? The King?"
The Summers boy finally opens his mouth to contribute. "Magneto is His Majesty the King of Genosha and the General of her Military Force. He and the Royal Consort have ruled this nation together for the past 30 years."
"Enough, we're not here to give him a history lesson." The King steps into his personal space, no doubt in a misguided attempt to intimidate him. Erik almost wants to laugh out loud and remind the man the absurdity of trying to impress himself. "How did you lose your powers?"
His eyes dart over to Jean who looks distraught, her face white and hands shaking. "The humans invented a 'Cure' that stripped mutants of their power. I got injected with the serum." He marvels at his own detached tone, already feeling disconnected from those recent events. "I lead a war for our people and lost."
"And Charles? Did he arrive here with you?"
Erik catches Jean flinching out of the corner of his eye and huffs impatiently, "Do sit down my dear before you fall over." He levels a glare at Magneto and crosses his arms. "No he's not here. Charles Xavier is dead," he lifts his hand to wave off any comment, "And no I didn't kill him."
Summers looks so stunned at his words that it makes Erik want to tell him about the other pertinent people who happen to be dead in his world. Magneto just appears confused, as if he can't comprehend why Erik would need to explain such an inconceivable thing.
Perhaps the King of Genosha had never parted ways with his own Professor all those years ago on a Cuban beach. Hadn't spent the last fifty years on the opposite side of the mutant/human conflict from the man he loved.
Didn't regret all the ways he'd hurt and betrayed Charles and let him down.
Magneto stares at him, gaze sharp and scrutinizing for a few moments before he turns to guide Jean to sit on one of the thrones. "Scott, secure him in the Guest Quarters and make sure he doesn't wander around outside the palace."
Summers takes the dismissal with grace, though he shoots a worried look at Jean before turning to Erik. "Come on, follow me. I'll show you to your room."
Just before they exit through the massive steel doors, Erik glances back at the two figures on the dais. The King has crouched down on one knee in front of Jean, stroking her hand gently as the girl tries desperately to calm herself.
It's a strangely affectionate gesture and a kindness he himself hasn't allowed in more years than he cares to remember. He shakes his head and can't help but wonder what other surprises Genosha will have in store for him.
He doesn't see the Charles Xavier of this world until five days later.
They give him a spacious guest room that's easily the most opulent place he's ever stayed in, more grand and modern than the Xavier mansion in Westchester. He is given free rein to wander, though he was warned on the first day by Wolverine to remain on the Palace grounds. The man is as obnoxious here as he is in Erik's world and seems to enjoy his strange predicament a little too much - enough for him to wonder at the state of his relationship with Magneto.
He sees many former allies and foes in the ensuing days; most of his and Charles' respective teams are residents of the Palace. Along with Wolverine, Cyclops and Jean Grey, he comes into contact with many of Charles' X-Men – Storm, Kitty Pryde, Iceman and Colossus. There are also those of his old Brotherhood here; Riptide, Azazel and Angel are all here as well as the long departed Emma Frost.
They treat him with a muted curiosity, keen to share their stories of the building of Genosha and the current state of mutant/human relations. Erik listens to them all with mild interest, wanting only to know when he'll be able to see Charles again.
All of his questions about the Professor go unanswered.
He does not see Magneto during those five days, his other self obviously uninterested in Erik's presence in Genosha. More importantly he senses the other man's unease and distrust from the others – the most obvious being the ban on any information related to Charles being shared with the new arrival.
"Magneto is very protective of the Professor," Jean says to him over lunch on the second day, making Erik snort out loud at the blatantly obvious statement. "I'm afraid he's asked everyone to keep information about Charles...private. But the Prof. will be back in a few days and I'm fairly certain he'll want to see you right away."
"Is he well, Miss Grey? Is Charles happy?"
She looks at him with understanding and compassion, neither of which he wants or deserves. Erik glares until she blushes and looks away, only to feel her hand on his a few moments later.
"The Professor has everything he's ever wanted, Erik. He's very happy here."
Jean is the only steady presence during his stay; the others are too busy preparing for the Royal Consort's return from a diplomatic mission to the U.N. to spare more than a few minutes at a time for a lost old man. Information about Magneto's significant other is even more tightly guarded by the inner circle and it doesn't take any kind of genius to guess that Professor X and the Consort are one and the same.
Erik thinks he should be happy for his Genoshan counterpart; it would appear that he and Charles have somehow found a way to make things work in this idyllic other world. Instead, the thought that this possibility exists – if only we'd done things differently – that he could have spent fifty years with Charles by his side burns a hole in his gut so painful it's almost impossible to breathe.
It doesn't help that everywhere he turns he is reminded of one Charles Francis Xavier. The Palace is filled by his presence, mere hints of his oversized personality but no less potent. The gardens are immaculate and well groomed, green and tranquil like the grounds of his Westchester estate. Children of all ages run through the halls, exuberant and full of life. The grand library with old antique furniture, the warm fire in the large study – everything and anything seems to call out to Erik, to remind him all the more of the man he has loved and lost.
Erik sees her on the evening of the fourth day.
Mystique is as beautiful as he remembers, her eyes sharp and knowing, her every movement suffused with a lethal grace. Here in Genosha she is still blue and proud and his heart clenches at the thought of the friend he abandoned in his own world, mutant no longer due to the Cure.
He can still see a little of the girl she used to be, though this Mystique differs remarkably from the one he left behind. They are both formidable no doubt, but the woman in front of him is alight with a fierce pride versus a seething anger. She eyes him critically for a few moments, before handing him a glass of scotch and dropping onto the couch across from him in the study.
"He'll be back tomorrow night."
She doesn't have to clarify and Erik doesn't have to ask; they both know who it is that Erik is waiting to see. It's the thing he misses most about her - that no nonsense attitude and forthrightness he's grown to rely on and trust after all those years fighting side by side.
"How much did Jean tell you about me?"
The look she gives him reveals no secrets. "Enough. She says the Charles Xavier in your world is dead. That she was the one who killed him. That you lost the war with humans and no longer have your powers."
Erik takes a sip of his drink, swirling the ice in his glass as he answers, "All true."
She pauses again, taking the time to make a decision it seems before she leans back against the cushions and pulls her feet onto the couch. "Ask me what you want to know."
He doesn't know where or how to begin so she decides for him, starting all the way back, fifty years ago on that fateful day in Cuba.
It unfolds in exactly the same way and Erik feels the guilt and the shame just as keenly now as he did then. He only half listens to Mystique as she relays the sequence of events until she gets to...
"You said 'We want the same thing.' And Charles told you that he did, but that your methods were very different."
"I...he said what?"
"And then you talked Azazel into teleporting all of us off the beach so we could get Charles to a hospital."
The light threatens to dim around him as he struggles to comprehend the words. Had it really been that simple? A whole life spent together instead of apart because Charles had answered him differently? And Erik hadn't abandoned him on the beach?
Mystique continues on as he sits silently, the rest of the story not quite as idyllic as he first assumed. Charles wasn't paralyzed that day but they still parted ways soon after and then spent twenty years fighting separately for mutant rights. They only came together again with the death of his daughter Wanda, a tragedy that Pietro still blames on Magneto. They co-founded the sanctuary of Genosha, and spent another fifteen as co-rulers before finally giving in to the wishes of their children and grandchildren and getting married.
He sits in a daze as she tells him about Pietro's role as Charles' protégé, accompanying the Professor and Genosha's official U.N. representative Hank McCoy to New York. His daughter Lorna is apparently married to Alex Summers and the two are currently travelling the world with their kids, recruiting mutants and acting as goodwill ambassadors.
She tells him about her own children, Rogue and Kurt and her on again, off again relationship with Azazel. About Sean Cassidy and Moira MacTaggart, who left the CIA a lifetime ago to become a geneticist and a doctor. They are a large, varied, loud and troublesome bunch, all bound together by their love for Genosha and the two men who lead them.
They're his and Charles' family.
When she leaves hours later, Erik is still reeling from the revelations.
