Chapter Text
January 1964
There was music coming out of Charles' study.
Erik stood outside the door, hesitant, and listened: a woman singing, and a piano, its melody rising and falling in time with the record player he could feel turning inside. A moment later, the song coalesced into words, and he recognized the language, and the song.
Meine Ruh’ ist hin, Mein Herz ist schwer…
Erik turned the doorknob without touching it and entered the room. The music stopped.
“Schubert, really?” he said.
“It seemed appropriate,” said Charles, unsmiling. He was ensconced in a heavy armchair behind the wooden desk, his face set in lines that had only begun to appear when Erik saw him last in Cuba. “Sit down.”
Erik sat.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, not without some irony. The way he had been received at the mansion barely deserved the name; Hank had not spoken to him aside from the initial demand (no doubt passed along from Charles) to take his helmet off, and he had not seen anyone else in the halls. Not that he could blame them.
Charles did not react to his goad. An awkward silence fell.
“I hope you’ve been well?” said Erik desperately, at last.
“As well as could be expected,” Charles said. The deep-set shadows under his eyes indicated this was not very well. “Why are you here?”
“You told me once that you wanted to turn this house into a sanctuary.”
“A sanctuary for mutants,” said Charles, unblinking. “Not for killers. Not for assassins.”
Erik suppressed the urge to reach out with his power and warp all the metal in the room. “Charles, I—”
“And you were a killer long before you met me, or will you deny that too?”
“I was trying to save Kennedy,” said Erik urgently. No doubt Charles had read that from his mind already, but it had to be said. “We mutants would have been heroes. You have to understand — you have to believe me—”
“The bullet curved, Erik. You were there.”
This was the first Charles had said his name since he arrived. Erik suppressed a flinch. “I was there to save him! I had the trajectories all worked out.”
“You seem to have failed catastrophically. The autopsy was quite clear. I really should congratulate you on your aim.”
“I was distracted,” said Erik. His failure in that critical moment still haunted him, another entry in the ledger of his mistakes. “Look, you made me take the helmet off, didn’t you? Why not but to read my mind — ”
Charles’ face was a study in incredulity. “You have the gall to come here and tell me to read your mind now that it’s convenient for you? I don’t need to make any particular effort. Your mind is screaming guilt.”
The guilt was for Cuba as well, thought Erik, but he stayed silent. The thought laid unspoken between them: Erik had come to the wrong place if he wanted sympathy for a misdirected bullet.
Finally, Charles broke the uncomfortable silence. “Leaving aside the question of your intentions — it really doesn’t matter, at this point. You were seen. There was someone recording, and the CIA recognized your face and your powers immediately. McCone has been expecting you to turn up here for a while, though I doubted you would.”
“Ah,” said Erik. “I do wish I were here under different circumstances.”
“Would you really have come back here if you didn’t need something from me?” said Charles, a tinge of bitterness seeping into his voice. “Erik — if you were truly trying to save Kennedy’s life, why didn’t you come to me earlier? No matter our philosophical differences, I would certainly have helped you prevent a presidential assassination. You must know that.”
Erik’s concern for his principles and his mental privacy, once so closely-held, hardly seemed important now. Charles would have been able to banish the memory of Shaw that had twisted his hand at the fatal moment. With Charles there, the plan would have succeeded, ambitious as it was — but Charles would hardly have agreed to the plan as Erik had dreamt it. He would never have agreed to put Kennedy at risk deliberately, even for the cause.
“I had to do it myself. It was a matter of principle, after Cuba.”
Charles’ frustration was obvious, even for a non-telepath. “But do you realize what you’ve done? The setback to the cause — you brought mutants into the public eye and tarred us with your brush. How will we be trusted if we’re associated with the killer of the President?”
Erik had no response; this was nothing he hadn’t asked himself a thousand times since Dallas.
“Why are you here?” said Charles again. “What do you imagine that I can do for you, Erik? I can neither turn back time nor bring back the dead. Are you planning on hiding here forever?”
“I had nowhere else to go,” said Erik bleakly. “And I imagine you’ve cultivated connections.” That had always been Charles’ way, after all.
“They won’t do you much good, I’m afraid,” though Charles’ tone did not indicate an excessive degree of concern. “Leaving aside the question of your true intentions, your best strategy might be to provide another target for the government’s attention. If you can turn in the shooter or anyone else involved, it might help your case.”
And that was the other topic they’d avoided for this long, but Charles had asked, hadn’t he?
“It was Mystique,” said Erik. “We were working together, but she has some advantages in getting away and staying undercover that I don’t.”
Charles stared at him flatly. “You come to my house and ask me to help you, after everything I’ve already done for you, after everything you did to me — and now you tell me that you brought my sister into this —” He cut himself off, breathing deeply, and visibly made an effort to compose himself. “Could you really not have thought of anyone else to throw the blame on?”
“Charles,” Erik began, but he was ignored.
“I cannot and will not harbor a criminal here,” Charles said. “I dreamed of turning this house into a school. Now more than ever, I will not allow you to put at risk what I’m trying to build here.”
It was only fair, really. Erik had tried to lead the mutant cause and failed utterly; it was left to Charles to take up the mantle now, despite their differences.
Charles shook his head wearily. “Hank will show you to a room for the night. We’ll continue this tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry,” said Erik quietly, but Charles had already turned away. There was clearly nothing more to be said.
Hank was waiting outside the study (had he been there the whole time?); he said nothing as they walked towards the residential wing.
Behind him, Erik could hear the music starting up again:
My peace is gone, my heart is sore
I’ll find it never and nevermore…