Work Text:
Charles woke up with a sigh, seeing the pale sunlight entering his room through the glass pane on the wall. As he turned his head to face it, eyes blinking to get used to the light, he saw the world outside from his small apartment.
There were green fields in the distance, the Wall standing tall but looking small from where Charles looked, and the sky was grey, thin clouds covering its blue, but the sunlight still reached him, hitting his pale skin but not warming it. It was the world he knew ever since he was a child, familiar and safe.
He couldn't understand, then, why it pained him to see that familiar view, and why the cold side of his bed felt wrong.
Charles looked at himself on the glass window of the small cafeteria where he ate, fork and knife in hands, frozen in the place his hands had stopped as he caught a sight of his reflection. There was something wrong with him, he knew that, although he couldn't remember what, couldn't pinpoint why his own reflection looked wrong, distorted. Blue eyes stared back at him, questioning him.
What is wrong, Charles? What is wrong? What is wrong?
There's a frown on my face, he noted to himself, immediately putting the frown away, wondering why he had a frown.
His eyes lowered, staring at the reflection of his wheelchair. For a quiet moment, he didn't remember how he ended up in it in the first place, what had caused him to need it. Around him, no one else had one, and Charles felt a quiet burst of something fill his body, as if suddenly the others would judge. He was different. He shouldn't be.
Remember to eat healthy, the dull voice said on the speakers around the cafeteria, Charles' eyes moving from his reflection to his food again, his mind quickly pushing back all the other thoughts to focus on his food, that dull sensation coming back to him after a few moments. No feelings again, as it should be.
Even so, Charles filed away another thing that was wrong with him.
Emotions.
"And how are you today, Charles?" Cassandra Nova asked in a plain voice, almost cold. Her eyes moved to look at him as he thought about his answer, hands moving to stay between his legs as he did so.
"Healthy, productive," he answered, because it felt like the right answer. The woman's expression didn't change. "But my- my back hurts today."
"We can't have that," she offered back, walking around the room towards a cabinet as Charles' eyes followed her. "I can give you one pill for the pain today, but, if it comes back, you'll have to come back another time. You know the rules- Civilians can't be in possession of drugs."
"Of course," Charles confirmed. Something about the way she looked at him made Charles feel that feeling again, the same one that overcame him in the cafeteria just the day before.
Fear, it was fear, somehow…
"Anything else you'd like to tell me?" She inquired, their eyes meeting again as she held the bottle of pills in hands.
Charles thought about it, staring at the woman, before shaking his head. "No, ma'am."
She didn't smile, no one there ever did, but for some reason Charles could clearly see what a satisfied grin would look in the woman's face.
Charles, the voice called, warm and familiar, sweet as nothing Charles had ever felt. Charles, where are you?
Charles.
Charles, wake up.
Charles, please.
Please, answer me.
My love…
Charles' eyes opened, the room dark as he took a deep breath, eyes looking at the room as if the voice had been all around him.
A dream. How odd.
He moved on the bed after a few moments, getting his chair to move towards the glass pane that showed him the world outside, his eyes instinctively looking at the Wall in the distance.
For some strange reason, Charles could swear that, even far away, and even with the darkness, there was someone standing at the top of the Wall, looking back at him.
"And how are you today, Charles?" Cassandra Nova asked, making Charles tear his eyes away from his reflection as he stared at the woman, something cold settling on his stomach at the question.
Her eyes looked cruel for a moment, even though he knew it was impossible; In her hands, she held Charles' pills like she was keeping them away from him.
"Fine," he replied.
"Fine?" She pushed, head tilting to the side for a moment. Charles nodded, not sure of his answer anymore.
"Fine," he repeated. "But in pain."
The woman stared for a moment, and Charles panicked at the thought she wouldn't give him the pill.
Panic. Fear. Dreams.
What is wrong, Charles? What is wrong? What is wrong?
When she offered him a pill, Charles held back a relieved sigh.
"Let's fix the pain, then," she muttered, her voice dark.
His chair moved through the pavement, his eyes set on his destiny — work, the one he had been in for most of his life now, the only one he'd ever have. Each day, Charles wondered why it felt wrong, why everyone else around him seemed to have the muscle memory to know where everything was, while Charles hesitated.
He stopped himself in the middle of a plaza, hands placed on his wheels to move them again, but unmoving. His eyes fell to his lap, a weird feeling taking hold of him.
He stared at the fountain in the middle of the plaza, the innocuous monument standing there as its water made noise where the only sounds were of the steps against the pavement.
He stared at the fountain, the ghost of an enormous pain making itself present at the base of Charles' spine, right at the scar on his back, although he didn't know why.
He stared at the fountain again, looking at its grey more intensely, his breathing coming in short all of the sudden.
He stared at the fountain, and he saw a dark stain against the concrete it was made of, faded but there, as if it hadn't been able to be fully cleaned. He could almost see it was red.
Charles, the voice called, lovely. Worried. Charles, we'll get you back- I'll bring you back.
Yes, Charles thought back in his dream, longing hitting him like a wave. He felt almost desperate, trapped. Please.
The voice hesitated, silent, and Charles panicked, until it was back, strong and determined.
Wait for me, it said, right before Charles woke up with his heart clenched, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to understand what was happening.
Emotions, once again. Strong and painful.
He understood why they had been taken from him and the others — what a burden, to feel.
"And how are you feeling today, Charles?" Cassandra Nova asked, Charles' eyes widening ever so slightly as he realized the shift in the question.
In her eyes, Charles could see she knew about his little secret that he had been able to hide for the past month.
She seemed unhappy.
"I don't-"
"Don't lie to me, Charles," she demanded, her voice making Charles' body tense up for a second. "I know when emotions are active on someone. When were you planning to tell me?"
"I thought they'd go away…"
She smiled then, but it wasn't kind, it didn't seem natural.
"They never go. Not on their own at least," she said quietly, moving towards the cabinet in the corner to take a syringe. "But with a little help and time…"
Remember to exercise, the dull voice said in the speakers as Charles followed the instructor's orders, arms and torso sore from the exercise, his back starting to give signals that it would hurt later.
A healthy body makes a healthy mind, the voice kept going, monotone.
Charles didn't look at his reflection on the window pane, nor the world outside.
"Come with me, Charles," a blonde woman said, her face serious and voice commanding. Something in her face made something stir deep inside Charles, a fog being lifted from his mind slowly.
He stared at her clothes, seeing the insignia that showed she worked to the Leaders. He barely could notice how they didn't fit her right, too wide on the shoulders, cuffs pulled back to let her hands free, as if it was someone else's.
"Of course," he finally answered with a nod, seeing her nod back.
They walked away from Charles' building, Charles following her obediently towards one of the older buildings on the outskirts of town — unused now, too unstable for someone to live in according to Nova; even so, he didn't frown.
Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, the first reaction from Charles finally showing in the form of disgust, his nose itching, a quiet spark of a doubt making itself present in his mind.
They entered one of the lower apartments, the place dark with the dusk and without the aid of lights to make seeing what was there easier. Charles noticed, whoever, the silhouette of a man next to the glass pane, standing there before turning around to look at Charles.
From far away, Charles couldn't see his face, but the man's form made an ache take hold of his body and mind. When the man walked towards him, hurried and seemingly desperate, the ache almost turned into agony.
"Charles," the man said, and his voice — the voice, the sweet voice from his dreams, who asked him to wait for him.
When the man's lips touched his, the agony felt less painful, but panic took over again as he pushed the man away, staring at him wide-eyed.
"Who are you?" Charles asked, his voice barely leaving his mouth.
There was silence, the man staring at him with desperate eyes that Charles could now see better now that he was closer. The man's mouth was thin, his jaw sharp and hair a mess, a stubble over his cheeks — Charles felt the panic of not knowing who that man was mixing with the relief of seeing him, emotions running through him again, painfully, making Charles wish they'd stop.
"They made you forget," the man muttered, more to himself than to Charles, and Charles' brow finally furrowed, trying to understand what the man meant. "They took that away from you… Charles, you don't belong here…"
The man's hands moved gently, holding Charles' face as his thumbs brushed against the skin of Charles' cheeks. The touch was calming but too much at the same time.
"This place- Tell me… Where were you born?"
"I'm… Here, I was- I was born here."
When the man shook his head, Charles' frown deepened, a chill running through his body.
"You're from outside the Wall," the man gently said, Charles' body tensing up for a moment. "You're from far away, Charles Xavier. You found me here, and you took me out."
"No-"
"Yes," the man nodded, his eyes moving to the blonde woman for a moment. When Charles looked at her, she seemed to be crying. "Yes, my love, it's the truth."
"You saved people, Charles," the woman said, voice shaky. "We breached the Wall and woke them up, brought them outside the Wall, where they could live."
"But I-" Charles tried, feeling his breathing short. "My memories-"
"Do you trust them?" The man asked again, and he looked afraid of Charles' answer.
After a few seconds, after he realized the answer was "no", Charles let out a shuddering breath. The man seemed to do the same, although his was a sign of relief.
"Let me take you home," his voice was gentle now, thumbs once again caressing the skin of Charles' cheeks. "Come back with me. Come back to me."
Charles stared at that man, whose eyes seemed more familiar now than the view he'd see outside his window; whose touch brought Charles emotions he couldn't even name.
With a shaky breath, Charles nodded. The smile on the man's lips and the tears in his eyes showed him relief and happiness; the feeling of his lips against Charles' felt like a promise of home.