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Chapter Text

Charles Xavier,

Your sister, Raven, says she has shared some general information, as she’s shared some to me as well when she suggested this idea of ‘pen pals’. Nevertheless, I will still introduce myself to you.

My name is Erik, I am a private of the British Army. I know it is ironic to be in the British army and carry a German name, my family left Germany a little after the Great War, I barely remember my life there. Although, the generals do appreciate a soldier who speaks German, so I can’t really complain here. I was stationed in France before I so cleverly stood near a landmine as it detonated, strategically earning enough injuries for them to pack me up to London, with your sister treating me. I doubt my recovery will take long, though, I suspect I will be shipped back before the end of the month.

Now, I suppose we should start finding topics of discussion more distant from the war. I have recently got my engineering diploma, and I hope after this is over I will land myself a job in my field. Your sister tells me you are doing your doctorate in genetics, you’ll find I am more than eager to read more about it should you wish to share. Books are as well a great passion of mine, especially the more philosophical and political kind, although one can find me reading ‘The Hobbit’ from time to time. If I had to choose a favourite, I would have to say Franz Kafka’s ‘The Trial’.

On other minute details, I have an older sister working in a lawyer firm in Belfast, she turned her love for arguing into this while I decided to not further empower antisemitic stereotypes and just kill nazis like a civilized man. And yes, I do come from a Jewish family, but practising has become almost impossible in the army. But alas, there is nothing to do but be patient and resilient in such cases.

Your sister has mentioned you play chess. Perhaps, we could entertain ourselves with a game while writing these letters, don’t you think?

e2-e4.

Your move,

Erik Lehnsherr

Chapter Text

Erik Lehnsherr,

I was most delighted to receive your letter, and I am eager to receive more from you. Since you took the time to introduce yourself, I believe it is my turn now.

As you know, I am Charles. I was not drafted because an accident in my youth left me unable to serve, so I am focusing on my studies. Genetics is such a rich field. My thesis is focusing more on genetic mutations, and the possibility of a new species of human appearing through genetic mutation and dominating the planet, just how Homo sapiens dominated over Homo neanderthalensis thousands of years ago. Mind you, this is nothing compared to Nazi Germany’s ideology, the extinction of Homo neanderthalensis was not the result of a systemic genocide, but of the ability of Homo sapiens to better adapt to their environment, allowing them to reproduce further. My thesis speaks of the possible mutations that could exist in this new mutated species of humans. Most likely, it will appear though extraordinary abilities, the likes of which we have not seen before. Perhaps such mutations, such mutants already exist among us, we have examples of so called ‘witches’ and ‘sorcerers’ in the medieval times, which could be an early presentation of mutants. Or other unexplained phenomena throughout history could be the action of a mutant. If you want to be blasphemous, even figures like Jesus and Moses could be mutants, but that is a big discussion, I fear.

Any ways, about your taste in books now. Politics and philosophy are vast fields, I am afraid I will need more details should you wish we have a throughout discussion about such topics. For example, I am quite font of the writings of Emanuel Kant, Rousseau and Darwin (cliché, I know), although I wish could have read their writing in their original text, as I am gifted in languages other than English only in their spoken form. Unless, of course, you cannot share the names of such philosophers for security reasons. Now, while Kafka’s work is admirable, I found myself unable to finish ‘The Trial’ due to the frustration it caused me. It absolutely is what Kafka tried to portray, and I wish I had the mental strength to finish it. As for a favourite book, I will have to name ‘Demons’ by Dostoevsky.

On more minor details, I am sure Raven has already informed you I am an old man trapped in a twenty-five-years old body, that I am a filthy optimist bordering on delusion, and other pleasurable things. I find it better when small details like these appear subtly throughout the letters, do you think not, my friend?

I wish you a swift and safe recovery from whatever injuries your ‘strategic’ accident caused.

The chess is an excellent idea. I would just storm in your hospital bed with a chess board, but I am afraid my mobility does not allow me so. I shall, however, accept the invitation for a chess match.

e7-e5.

Your move,

Charles F. Xavier

Chapter Text

Charles,

I don’t know if I should be amused or terrified with your thesis. Moses being a mutant with superpowers? Did you smoke the burning bush? If you suggested that to my Oma, you would be hanged by the manhood.

I am however interested in that theory of yours. Do you indeed think such mutations have appeared today? As a scientist, do you have empirical proof of such mutations existing, or is it merely a theory?

And on the topic of books, what do you mean I won’t be allowed to name my favourite authors? Charles, my friend, you are talking to a Jewish man raised in Catholic Northern Ireland. Do you really think I would be scared? I’m not. I have read Kafka’s work in its original German, just like I read the original texts of Nietzsche, Engels and Marx. Granted, their texts had some elements I found myself disagreeing with. But Rousseau? Could you not find a larger idealist? His ideas are more close to fiction than anything else, he sees everything through rose-tinted lenses. Should Rousseau be right, why are my people rounded up and slaughtered in the hands of men who would call me a compatriot if I were a Christian? If humans were indeed kind by their nature, then this genocide would not exist. Maybe your Homo superior will be free of this poisonous mindset. Seriously, was that the delusional optimism you were talking about?

Anyway, to distance ourselves from politics before I start suggesting bloody revolutions, thank you for asking about my well-being. Thankfully, they were more scary than actively harmful, my next letter will be sent from France most likely. And your sister was a great help, I cannot thank her enough. You should be very proud of her. But you should not worry about visitation, not even my family is allowed to visit me here, due to the state of the other soldiers. I could make use of a visit, though. I would love to hear to someone who’s not medical personnel or a screaming and weeping soldier.

I am eager to get your next letter, hopefully before I go back to France.

Bf1-c4

Your move,

Your friend, Erik Lehnsherr

Chapter Text

My friend, Erik,

Your frustrations of the state of the world is completely understandable and respectable. But this is not the natural state of human beings. We are made for compassion and empathy, we are a pack animal after all. Or else you would not feel the need to volunteer for the army, Raven would not be an army nurse, we would not have roads and food banks, we would not help our fellow men. And since the nature of man is friendly, conflicts should be solved by civilized talks among equals. No guns and bloody revolutions and further bloodshed. Are the men who died in the Great War not enough dead bodies?

And thank you for your interest in my thesis, finally someone who doesn’t think its only use is a lullaby! And, to answer your question, you should ask Raven to show you her real self, tell her I told you. I believe you will find her easier to believe than me, but if you do ask her, I am asking you to keep it a secret.

I am glad you recovered smoothly, although I wish you could stay for a bit longer in the safety of London. I hope this letter reaches you before you go to France, I hope you will stay safe.

On my own matters now, the thesis is going well, I merely have to transfer my nearly incomprehensible notes into something that can be printed out and delivered to Oxford, which is more challenging than expecting. Thank God, my health is stable, but Hank is fussing over a few injuries on my legs. Oh, Hank is a fellow scientist, he offered to be my assistant to avoid the draft by applying as my caretaker (and between the two of us, he also wanted an opportunity to be close to Raven, but his strategy seems to be to just exist near her and hope she considers it wooing. Even my mutation lines are better than his mean of approaching her).

It’s unfortunate I can’t seem to convince the poor man to go to a pub. I have missed those terribly and I can’t push myself on the cobblestone after a few pints. Maybe when you return we will visit one together? I know all the best places in Oxford. Unless, of course, you plan on starting that revolution of yours as soon as you have crushed Hitler’s head under your boot.

Stay safe and stay hopeful, my friend.

d7-d6

Your move, my friend,

Charles

P.S. I cannot use the name Homo superior in my thesis for reasons that there is no concrete proof of this new species, but I have to inform you I wholeheartedly approve of it. Maybe we would name the genome that separates Homo superior from Homo sapiens the X gene, from Xavier.

Chapter Text

My friend, Charles,

I am writing this letter on the ship towards France, so you can say your prayers were heard. There is, however the possibility of finishing writing this after I am back on solid land, the combination of claustrophobia and sea sickness is something I would not wish to my worst enemy.

I got your letter just in time to see Raven one last time, and she did agree to give me the privilege of seeing what you meant with your thesis. I must say, your sister is an incredible woman, and you should be proud of her, I definitely would if she were my younger sister. Although, I cannot help but despise how she has to hide, she has the right to be embraced for who she is, not who she appears to be. She should embrace herself, her real self, just like all your Homo superior. Maybe, when this war is over, we could work towards making ourselves known to the world… And, regarding your comment on how she is easier to digest than you, I must confess that I am in the same position. Perhaps you will show me yours and I will show you mine over that pint you suggested?

For I would gladly carry an intelligent and infuriating company like yours to every pub in Britain, and I am in desperate need for a real sip, a proper pint of ale or a glass of whiskey. For all the fame France has regarding the wine, I find it unbearable to drink. My general’s piss would be a better experience. And I had high hopes for French wine, my parents used to tell me it’s the best when I was complaining about the wine after a Seder. Another example of parents sugarcoating the pill they give to their children.

And of course I found your thesis interesting, my friend. Who would read these words to fall asleep? They are words that wake people up, that prepare people to embrace the future. But, I cannot say I think people will accept this new species, humans are notorious for hating what they don’t understand. I am sure you have experienced this as a man with (as far as I have gathered) a disability, just as I have experienced it as a Jew. In my humble opinion, your new species will have to fight for their survival, will have to resist being exterminated by the Neanderthals. Maybe the members of this new species should be discovered by themselves, united to prepare for the upcoming battle.

I assume I am already starting my revolution and I have yet to crush Hitler’s skull under my boot.

I am glad you are doing well, we should all be mindful in these times. Just because you and Hank are not with me in the front lines doesn’t mean you are unaffected by this war. But you have made me morbidly curious on these ‘mutation lines’, I must admit. I understand you might feel uncomfortable using them on a man, but maybe you could spare an example? I cannot, for the life of me, imagine how mutations and biology would woo someone.

Now, on my own report of my life, you will have to be understanding that it will be vague, we cannot risk state secrets spilling out. The recovery went well, although the hospital was awful. I generally have a great dislike for hospitals, rooted in some family history you do not have to bother yourself with. I am eternally thankful for your sister for managing to make this dreadful experience much more tolerable. As I said earlier, I am on the boat at the moment, fighting the uphill battle of not breathing in the body odour of the other soldiers. I would describe the boat, but highly doubt you are interested in reading long paragraphs of steel, smoke, sweat, vomit and at least three types of prayers from soldiers on various degrees of dread and desperation.

I hope my next letter will be less grim, but I do not delude myself.

Ng1-f3

Your move,

Your friend, Erik

P. S. You are free to use the term ‘Homo superior’, and I am eager to read a scientific paper referring to your ‘X-gene’ and chuckle to myself.

Chapter Text

My dear friend, Erik,

I am reading this on my study, yet still I feel the suffocation as I read your words. You should consider pursuing a career as an author, you have a way with the pen and paper, my friend.

On the matter of Raven, you are correct on how most people will not accept her blue form, which is why she has to hide. Which is why I cannot be honest with you through this pen and paper, and I must hope we will meet in person. But, you are right, my friend. It will take time and effort for Raven's self and my abilities to be accepted by the world. Perhaps, as you say, after the war, some negotiations can begin, in hopes of educating our fellow men and teaching them how to accept us. They need to understand we are not here to harm them, but we are here because we exist. We don't look to become the superior race just because we won the genetic lottery. We don't have to resort to violence and war, you already experience the price of this option. Yes, we should be united as a front, but for negotiations, for talks. We have to be the better man. But I do thank you for your appreciation for my thesis, you cannot imagine how exciting it is to discuss this matter with someone.

I find, myself, that we do not only disagree on politics. You see, I love wine, but wine does not share the sentiment, as it has often betrayed me with splitting headaches after a night of indulgence. Therefore, out of need and out of desire, we will have to settle with a few dozens of pints of bitter. Perhaps a glass of whiskey as well, should the mood allow, but I find whiskey a more formal drink, more suitable for the dinner tables than the old pubs. Then again, it is not rare that I am the odd one.

My friend, Erik, what makes you think I am not willing to use my excellent mutation lines on a man? They are truly exceptional, one sex should not have exclusive access to them. The only issue is I mainly use them on person, and I personalise them depending on the phenotype of the receiving party. Via letter, I cannot know your phenotype and use it to my advantage and woo you. You will have to wait until we meet.

I completely understand the secrecy you must maintain in your letters, but I assure you, I would love to read about the worst circumstances if they’re said in your tactful and delicate pen. I hope you came out victorious from your battle, and I wish you the best of luck in France, my dear friend.

I have succeeded in typing out my thesis and delivered it this morning to my supervising professor in Oxford. I would ask you to say I should break my leg, but I am afraid it has already been done. We now wait for the day I shall defend my thesis against the ruthless attacks of uptight rigid old academics, but I am sure victory is a given. And after that, I will be able to amuse you with my papers on my X-gene and your Homo superior. I have also convinced Hank to go out someday this week, I am in desperate need for some fresh air.

Nb8-c6

Your move, dear friend,

Charles

Chapter Text

My dear friend, Charles,

I apologise in advance if this letter is more rushed, as time is slowly becoming a luxury in my day-to-day life.

Your politics, my dear friend, both amuse me and concern me. Do you really think they will accept this new species so easily? Do you really think educating them will be enough? Look around you, my friend, look at the hate surrounding is and tell me that this blind idealism of yours is correct. You are a scientist, for g-d’s sake, you should know of the importance of a throughout assessment of your environment. Humanity will never accept what is different, no matter how many educational programmes and committees you pull. The only way mankind moves forward is via the knife, and so this is what we must embrace. Anything else will merely prolong the inevitable. We do not have to prove them that we are the better man, we are already. We only have to embrace ourselves, to start existing openly. And when, because it is a ‘when’ and not an ‘if’, the humans attack, we will have to defend ourselves and our future by any means necessary.

Or else the history we live right now will repeat itself. You will see mutants disappearing from the streets just like Marxists and homosexuals and crippled veterans and the Travellers and the Jews did. You will see families sending their children away to save them from the extermination, just how the Kinder transport programme worked. You will have to do as I do when I enter an abandoned building and find a starving and terrified family, drop your weapon and tell them again and again in Yiddish that they are safe, and then turn and offer them the food you were given. I was fortunate that my family left Germany years before the Nazi party took over, I am fortunate I have not joined my cousins in those camps. I still see their blood on the ground I walk on, and so I can easily imagine the blood of the Homo superior staining the earth. Humanity has and forever will fear that which is different, be it a species, skin tone, religion, sex, body type or preference in lovers. Committees and education and peace were never an option.

We are fortunate to have come to an agreement on what we will drink when we finally meet. And I shall ensure I will survive the horrors and return to Oxford to find you and get drunk with you, listening to you rumble about your thesis and tell me all the worst opinions on books and politics I will ever have the misfortune to hear. But I will be gravely disappointed if I do not receive a mutation line, I am eager for an example of your charisma. And, I agree with you on how no sex is more equal than the other on the matters of attraction, although the Frenchmen are wildly unattractive, only seconded by the women in this g-d forsaken country.

I wish you the best of luck with your thesis defence, even though you sound like you do not need my wishes to succeed. Just, if you can, do not use that argument that Jesus and Moses are mutants, you might sound like a pothead scientist which you are.

The last few days here have been undeniably intense, this is war after all, but we luckily had no losses yet. We have been promised an evening out in a few days time, we are yet to see how this shall go. For now, it is only scouting areas, frightening locals and catching the odd Nazi. War, despite its reputation, is mostly boredom and waiting, with intermissions of horror.

Nb2-c3

Your move, my naive friend. Yours,

Erik

Chapter Text

My dear friend, Erik,

I completely understand that your time is limited now, you need not worry about satisfying me with your letters. Of course, you should prioritise your safety (or else we might never go out for those pints).

I am concerned about your pessimism. Do you really think all of them are villains? I never said it would be easy, for I would lie if I did. But this does not mean that violence is the way we should proceed. If we begin this movement expecting violence, we will only cause violence. We should be prepared for all, yes, but we owe it to ourselves to hope for the best.

Because this is what I believe you are lacking, my friend. Hope. You'll find that hope is crucial if you want to make the world a better place. I understand it is difficult to find hope in a place like the one you currently find yourself in, but hope still exists, my friend.

I am more than glad we come to an agreement about love, as I am saddened on your behalf. It is indeed a shame that the people you are surrounded with do not meet your expectations. My advice would be to be patient, to wait until you return to England, and with enough luck, you shall find a match. Unless, of course, I win over the fight for your attention. We shall see how this shall go, but allow me to hope.

I am glad you remain relatively safe, perhaps in war it is better to be bored than to experience those intermissions of terror? I know you most likely already had your outing by the time you receive this letter, so I am hoping it went well and satisfactory, perhaps it even changed your opinion on the locals, even though you seem like a man who does not change his mind easily.

I will have you known, Erik, that I in fact am not a ‘pothead scientist’. However, as of yesterday, which was the day I defended my thesis, I am indeed a scientist. My friends, I passed with flying colours, and my graduation is at the end of the academic year! From September onwards, you will be writing to Dr. Charles Xavier! I am yet to be titled a professor, however, for I need to be teaching a class to be called that. I believe I can find a university which is willing to put up with me, they even allow us on the White House these days.

After we finished with Oxford, I did manage to convince Raven and Hank to visit a nearby pub (I seemed to be in a winning spree yesterday). I wish I could tell you I woke up today with someone sharing the bed with me, but it would be a lie. Unless you consider a glass nearly as tall as myself a ‘someone’. But I did manage to drink that tower in one long sip, so not everything went to waste. It is quite challenging to find a partner when you are sitting in a wheelchair, I must admit. Most people assume that nothing works, not just my legs (Which is completely false, I shall have you know). But what can I do but endure and hope?

Bc8-g4

Your move, my dear friend,

Charles.

Chapter Text

My dear friend, Dr. Charles,

You claim you understand what it means to be unable to see hope around you. But, through your words, I can easily see that you cannot.

Through your own misfortune, you were spared from the draft. Unless the Luftwaffe bombs London, you are spared from the horrors. This is not said to reduce your experience, it is a simple stating of the facts. You have the fortune to not see what I see today, to not experience what I experience every waking moment.

Can you tell me, Charles, how do I see hope when I walk around the ruins of France and Belgium? When I sleep and listen to fellow soldiers crying themselves to sleep, and be glad I'm not hearing footsteps, artillery or screams? When I have forgotten what it is like to inhale air and not smell the stench of blood and rot and death? And those are mere daily examples, not mentioning having to desperately keep the blood inside a boy, barely eighteen, while waiting for the medics to be done with the other soldier. How can I see hope when all I see is faces of men who could be my compatriots if I remained in Düsseldorf, their guns pointing at me? When I see the same dying young men as we have in our platoon, with merely a change of uniform, reading the German last name in my uniform and begging me to send a letter to their mother? Call me a pessimist, but I struggle to see the bright side here.

I indeed wait every day until I return. We have our outing arranged, after all. I also feel the need to see my family once again, although I also fear they will sense that something has broken in me in my absence, that they will find their son is somehow wrong, the same way my grandparents did when my father returned from the Great War. My sister is getting married when I return, since she wants me for her best man, and I do not even know if I should purchase a suit or be on my dress blues or if I should ask her. I do not know how they will react upon my return, and I must admit to you that I fear their reaction, as I do not have the courage to express myself to them in such way. They have enough worries about my well-being already, I cannot bear to burden them further.

To make this letter a little less gloomy, congratulations are in order, my dear Professor X. I will have you known I had complete and utter fate in your pothead science, but you are still more than deserving of the title, my friend. And before you say that you are yet to be a professor, unlike you, I do not doubt your ability to get a position in a respectable university. I am merely training the tongue.

Although I am glad you had your celebratory evening out, I am saddened you were not fulfilled by it. It is a shame, really, how people seem to be unable to see a man behind a mobility aid. Perhaps I can offer you a rebound when I return? And then we shall see where the night takes us. I understand it is not a great offer, but I fear the distance is a great obstacle at the time.

As you predicted, it has been so long until I managed to write that we had had a few more nights out in the company, thanks to Lance Corporal Howlett and stubborn insistence of refuelling his privates with tobacco, alcohol and coitus. Unfortunately for me, my appetite for all these luxuries seems to have stayed in Britain, as I spend these outings slumped up in a chair with a pint, watching them play cards and dance with French women through the smoke of my cigarette. At one point, Cassidy, one of the youngest soldiers and an Irishman who has taken me under his wing due to my accent, managed to get his mates to sit on my table and trick me into a game of cards. I am pretty sure I saw Summers and Muñoz trade a tenner when they saw me with cards in my hands, but I prefer not to think of the implications or Summers boots may end up being filled with horseshit in retaliation.

Outside the inns, things have been steady. A considerable amount of confrontations with the enemy, fortunately their bigotry has made Muñoz their main target, and this man is able to escape death as if death is a room with an open door. Other groups have not been as fortunate, but we do seem to be better at using our abilities. We do however have our own set of adventures, more fitting for a comedy than a battlefield.

I do not have time to elaborate on these now, please remind me to tell you all about it on my next letter.

Nf3-xe5

Blood has been spilled. Your move, Herr Professor,

Your dear friend, Erik

Chapter Text

My dear friend, Erik,

Flattery will take you far, my friend. Your words about my doctorate had me blushing over the paper like a schoolgirl. And I am glad to inform you that you are correct, Oxford has already accepted me as an associate professor.

As of your words about hope, my friend I am afraid I am at a loss for words. You are correct, I am shielded from the horrors you endure, I cannot say that I feel your pain, or that I understand it. For it would be a lie, for I do not. My friend, my dear Erik, your words made shivers run down my spine. I wish I had a concrete answer, but I do not. I wish I could tell you that things will be better, but I cannot know this, and I cannot bear to lie to you. I wish I could take that pain away from your mind and soul, until the horrors have left you untouched, until you have preserved yourself to the way you were before the war. I wish I could offer you some comfort, I hope my letter will manage to bring even the slightest smile in your lips.

Since your family is familiar with war, I believe you need not worry about their reaction. From your letters, they sound like kind and understanding people, who raised an exceptional young man. I believe you will find reuniting with them easier than what you expect. But do not think I do not understand how you hesitate to share such words with them, nor that it is a burden on your letters.

I once again thank you for your kind words, and for your jinx which resulted in me getting that position on Oxford. Do you believe they said they offer a tenure to a paralysed man for the first time in history? I am counting the days until September 1945.

I will be honest with you, Erik, I did laugh quite a lot at your description of the scene in the inn (and I support the horseshit filling). You really have a way with words, my friend. But it is a shame you cannot enjoy those nights in peace. Perhaps we can fix those wrongs in our outing, correct the mistakes of France and Oxford in one unforgettable evening?

My friend, you are such a tease. I expect nothing short of a few stories of your group mates, but do keep the best of them close to your chest until we meet.

My days, now that the stress of the doctorate has ceased, are quite slow. I am listening to the radio, watching how your efforts are going, I have the pleasure to dive into books completely unrelated to genetics (I am currently consuming Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work like my life depends on it). I have even taken into experimenting in the kitchen. I must admit, failure is reigning in this department, I was awfully spoilt as a child and was never taught how to even boil an egg, so most attempts at cooking end up in a horrible disaster. But have yet to set anything on fire and my Frankenstein’s Monsters are starting to resemble something closer to a meal. Or Hank will forbid me from entering my own kitchen, only time can tell.

I am eager for a new letter from you, my dear friend.

Bg4-xd1

Here goes your Queen. Next move, my friend,

Professor X

Chapter Text

My dearest Professor X,

I must apologise for taking so long to respond, but as I am sure you are aware, the situation on the front has grown quite erratic.

I am more than proud of your achievement even though I predicted it, and you are more than worthy of such a position. I cannot think of a person more stubborn, delusional and eager to rumble endlessly than you. You are made to be in academia. But still, congratulations on your tenure, and for writing history in Oxford.

I am not writing to you to seek salvation from what I experience, I am genuinely enjoying your company. You do not need to save me, to take away my pain. I chose to be here, unlike many men, and I take full responsibility for the effects my decision will have on me. But I still appreciate your words and I thank you for your sentiment. I just wish that we would meet as equals when I come back.

On other matters, much more gloom, I do not know if I have told you, but when my family left Germany, we left my uncles and cousins behind. Unfortunately, we have received news of them after the liberation of Auschwitz, and I believe you need not be said what happened to them. So, one can say I am in a state at the moment. I grew up with them, we used to visit for the holidays, or they used to visit us. My cousin is the one who gave me my first cigarette, my niece was a baby when I last saw her. I cannot believe that they. I am struggling to wrap my head around the fact that I will never see them again. And I can’t keep thinking that maybe if… if my family had persuaded them to leave when we left they would be saved. Or if we had stayed, we would have joined them in there.

It may sound like a cliché, but I do envy you for your slow days, for your ability to sit and consume books. How you can stand Doyle’s writing when Agatha Christie is far superior in her mystery novels, I cannot comprehend. Or how one can be so disastrous in the kitchen that you can fear being banned from the entire room.

I wish I could fulfil my promise, but I am afraid that the Lance Corporal considers it a breach of security, and that he will ‘chop me up, skew me and feed the rest of the platoon with me’ if a word escapes from me. This is not a direct quote, by the way, he used much more profanity. Unfortunately, you will have to wait for my return to hear it all.

So I cannot give details for my day, but I can say the horrors are overriding the boredom by now. It does not help that we are relatively in the front due to the pyromaniac and the daredevils in the group. Mainly, I am trying to keep myself occupied, staying idle has been causing me to think a lot more and thinking is becoming a painful activity. I do not wish to burden you with the details, from the looks of it, this will be over soon enough.

Bc4-xf7+

You should have been more careful, my friend. Your move,

Your friend, Erik

Chapter Text

My dearest friend , Erik

I am deeply saddened and sorry for your loss, I cannot imagine what you and your family are going through. But I advise you, my dear friend, do not feed those thoughts, they will only take you to a darker place. You are doing already the best thing you could do with what you have, please keep this comfort if you are able.

As of your tales, do not worry, it is only fair that you owe them to me as I owe you those mutation lines. And a heated argument about politics and the masterful writing of Doyle. I will accept no slander.

My cooking adventures have unfortunately ceased, Hank has indeed barred me from my own kitchen, with Raven's support. It is me and Doyle against the world, as it seems.

Although, I have less and less time to spend on books, I have found myself planning my first lectures to ease my nerves, the anxiety of teaching a large group of people is slowly and steadily hitting in. I do not even know why the thought is making me so nervous, I have a talent with people. I suppose it does not help that I use the radio to focus, and I have stopped listening to anything but the news channels.

I am afraid I have little else to say, my days are mostly planning, listening and dreading. Perhaps, if you wish, I can write paragraphs and paragraphs about my lecture plans, but I am sure you will fall asleep by reading them.

I understand you do not write to me for salvation, but it is my nature to wish the people I consider close to be without anguish. To ache for my fellow man, to wish I can take their pain away. My empathy does not make you lesser than me, my friend, not in my eyes.

I forgot to add, there was an intermission on my planning, on the evening of the fifteenth of February. For once, Raven dragged me out of the pub to celebrate my birthday, can you believe I had forgotten what day it was? The result was not much different from my outing after my thesis defence or my graduation, but I did manage to match make Raven and Hank after all this time. I feel like a proud mother, my friend.

I am eager to learn when you shall return.

Ke8-e7

Thank you very much for the check, my friend. Your move,

Your dear friend, Charles

Chapter Text

My dearest Charles,

I have good news and bad news. In order to finish on a sweet note, I shall start with the bad ones.

I received a letter from my sister. According to her letter, there was an attack in our local synagogue, resulting in a fair amount of casualties. Unfortunately, our parents were counted among the victims. Ruth has said she will take care of everything, as I will not return home in time for the funeral. She said she will then move to London, that she wishes to never see that town again. I am considering following her, I have already written her so.

Words do not describe the state her letter left me in, and if they do, I do not wish to share them with you. It feels like I perished in my sleep, and I am in some kind of hell right now, punished for the lives I took these last years. Maybe the distance does not help, maybe it shields me from most of the pain. Still, I do not know what I will do when I return. I know Ruth will host me until I find a house, as staying with my family after my return was what we had agreed on. I know I will pursue engineering, use my degree, and then see where life takes me. But I do not know how I will go to the synagogue without my family, whom I will run to for advice when a shirt needs ironing, who will complain about me not eating enough. Charles, my friend, I have never felt so lost.

On the positive notes, as you know, Hitler is currently in eternal damnation. One might say the fucker’s final crime against the Jews is that he pulled the trigger and robbed me from the pleasure of emptying my riffle in his balls (or ball, depending on the newspaper you read). We have already been given a date of when we will return, I will be travelling along with this letter for speed’s sake.

You will meet me on the fifth of July, on The Eagle and Child, I assume you know the pub. I shall be there at five, with a chess board. See you there, my friend.

Nc3-d5#

Checkmate. We shall hope you will be better in person, my friend.

Yours, Erik.

Chapter Text

Charles has the letter in his lap as he pushes himself inside the pub, his eyes and mind scanning the room for anything familiar to the letters.

He spots the usual crowd of a Thursday evening. The regular bitter old men, the odd visitor, a few couples in some tables in the back… Then, a mind calling on him like a lighthouse, making him turn his head so fast he could see his vision spin for a moment.

A man sits with his back to the wall, auburn hair pushed back and threatening to spill on his forehead, a flap hat resting on the table along with a chess board, the whites facing outwards. The man is looking right through Charles with his steel eyes, his face sharp and tense, yet with something Charles can only describe as beautiful. And that mind, with that weariness Charles sees more and more as soldiers come home, yet with something so undeniably bright, luring Charles in like a siren lures a sailor. He moves closer to the man, watching as the man’s face tenses further in confusion before it lights up.

“Charles?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes glinting as his face splits in a toothy smile.

“Erik!” Charles smiles, his hand coming to cover Erik’s in a firm handshake. He feels the warm and rugged skin, he watches as the colours dance in the man’s eyes. Erik quickly straightens his back to go to his full height and moves past Charles to put away a chair before he sits back down, watching as Charles slots himself in front of Erik.

“I hope I meet your expectations, my friend,” Erik says, one hand coming to comb his hair back, his thin lips forming a small smile.

“And I hope I meet yours,” Charles chuckles, breaking eye contact only because the waiter is approaching. Erik seems to follow suit, only turning his attention to Charles once the waiter has turned his head around and left.

“I was biased, I didn’t know an Oxford professor can look that youthful and handsome,” Erik’s lip twitches up again, his hands on each side of the wooden travel chessboard. Charles smiles, not holding back the heat rising in his cheeks.

“And I didn’t expect such charm, my friend, although the signs were all there,” he responds, smirking when Erik’s cheek grow a rosy tint and his mind gets drowned in affection.

“So, I believe I owe you one of my mutation lines, do I not?” Charles hums as the waiter places the two pints down in front of them. He watches Erik nod slowly, then look at Charles with a raised eyebrow as he’s taking a pack of rolling papers and a pouch of shag tobacco out of his pocket. Charles would assume Erik is ignoring him if not for the eagerness in his mind.

“Your hair, yes? It has beautiful MC1R mutation. I say MC1R, you say auburn hair, and yours is stunning. It’s a mutation, it’s a very groovy mutation. You, my friend, are a mutant,” he begins reciting, only growing more eager as Erik curiosity rises to a peak, and he looks up at Charles with an eyebrow raised, his hands moving automatically to roll the tobacco. “Seriously, you mustn’t knock it. Mutation, yeah, took us from single-cell organisms to being the dominant life form on the planet. Infinite form of variation through each generation, all through mutation,” Charles finishes off with a smirk, watching Erik’s smile.

“All this from my hair?” Erik’s voice doesn’t hide his amusement, his smile still on his lips as he pops the rolled cigarette on his lips.

“It is a truly marvellous hair colour, my friend,” Charles hums, feeling Erik’s amusement turn into something else. He watches as Erik places a rugged Zippo lighter on the wooden table. Charles’s jaw drops when Erik twitches his finger and the lighter floats up to his face, snapping itself on and lighting the cigarette on Erik’s lips before it nearly lands back on the table.

“Really? I thought you’d be interested in another groovy mutation of mine,” Erik hums before he turns to his side to exhale, leaving Charles speechless and staring. Charles dives in Erik’s mind at that moment, seeing the first spoons that would stubbornly stick to his skin, the doctor trying to figure out Erik’s powers, the crumbled pipes and snapped hangers of his teenage years, the physics lessons on electromagnetism that made lightbulbs light up in Erik’s head, the bending bullets and jammed enemy guns during the war.

«Since you showed me yours, it is only fair that I show you mine,» Charles’s fingers touch his temple, merely a gesture to show that he is using his powers, his mouth pressed shut. He watches the confusion in Erik’s mind turn into surprise, and then admiration. “You command magnetic fields, I command minds,” he explains, at first worrying that Erik will show that disdain and fear, protecting his privacy. Instead, his mind snaps open, inviting Charles in with a childlike glee.

“Your group, they were mutants as well?” Charles asks when he sees the memories, the ginger boy shattering beer bottles with a scream, two other boys, barely older, with the blond one releasing flaming red rings from his body and the black one turning himself into stone as bullets bounce from his chest. Then the Lance Corporal, a short bulky man with daggers coming out of his knuckles, shaking himself off from the explosion only to jump at the enemy tank, tear open the metal and decapitate the driver.

“Yes, we even had code names. Howlett was called the Wolverine, because he was small and vicious, then Banshee and Havok are self-explanatory, and Darwin chose his code name because he adapts to survive,” Erik explains as Charles sips his beer.

“And yours?” Charles did not expect the smile from Erik’s lips to fade into something close to embarrassment, his teeth chewing on the inside of his cheeks.

“Magneto,” he responds after a second, glaring at Charles’s chuckle, “we were drunk when we came up with them!” he protests with a barely concealed smile, but the pride is still tangible in his mind.

“No, no, I quite like it. Really on point, don’t you think?” Charles smirks, laughing when Erik keeps glaring.

“I don’t know what I expected from someone who prefers Doyle to Christie and reads Rousseau,” Erik pronounces the philosopher’s name like it’s an insult, but still fights back a smile when Charles puts a hand in his chest.

“You wound me deeply, my friend,” he puts up his best mock hurt voice, grinning when he feels Erik’s amusement.

“And I haven’t wiped your face all over the floor at chess yet,” Erik smirks.

“Oh, you wish. I am much better in person, I’ll have you know,” Charles scoffs, leaning forward near the chess board. He watches as Erik sips his beer and gesture at the chess board with his free hand, cigarette still hanging between his fingers.

“White begins,” he hums. Yet Charles doesn’t touch a pawn yet.

“Do you have other plans tonight?” he asks, too scared to look at Erik’s mind to find out.

“An interview on Monday, for an architect firm, and then the same evening, I will have to endure Ruth’s flower picking for the wedding. The responsibilities of a younger brother and a best man and the person who will walk her down the aisle. But nothing until then,” he smirks, as if he already knows that Charles will suggest an evening at his house, and a night on his bed. Charles does not need to look far to know that Erik did in fact arrange things so in order to leave every possibility open, and he can’t help but smile.

“Then I am afraid you are stuck with me, my friend,” Charles smiles, internally cheering at Erik’s enthusiasm. Slowly, teasingly, he puts one white pawn in his hand, then places it two squares forward.

“Your move, my darling,” Charles sips his drink and smirks at the blush on Erik’s cheeks, and then watches in a childlike admiration as a black pawn pushes itself forward. He should have guessed, metal pieces.

He does not let Erik win this match, but he does allow him to win over his heart, as easy as breathing.