Work Text:
Charles gets a text from Moira, just two words: come outside.
Definitely in favor of spending their free lesson enjoying the first warm rays of sunshine, Charles waits until the end of class before contacting Erik mentally. Erik liking the idea as well, they meet up in front of Charles' locker before heading out. Moira is already outside having found them a spot right in the sunlight, sitting cross-legged in the grass with a book in her lap. Hank and Anna there as well, looking deeply involved in a discussion that turns out to be a listing of all the things one can do with ketchup and mayo, much to Charles' amusement. They call out greetings as Charles and Erik get closer and the two sit down as well, building a loose circle.
Curious, Charles leans over to Moira to check out her book; it's a big, heavy tome with crisp white pages and pictures. With just one glance Charles immediately recognizes that it's about Genosha and he feels his stomach tightening. Erik seems unbothered even though it's impossible he wouldn't have noticed – Erik notices everything.
"It's the book Mrs. Skinner recommended, about Genosha," Moira informs Charles, oblivious to the delicacy of the subject. Charles can't exactly blame her for it; two months ago he hadn't known either and had told her he wanted to read the book too when they had talked about it.
"Cool," Charles manages to say with some resemblance of nonchalance, carding his fingers through the grass and studiously not looking at Erik. Clearly noticing Charles' discomfort, Erik squeezes his hand and aims a thought towards Charles. Calm down, it's fine.
Charles isn't so sure he can do that, despite being well-aware that he doesn't even have the right to react so sensitively. It's not exactly a casual topic for Erik, but it's still nowhere near as close as delicate to him as it is for Charles. He feels ridiculous about it too, but he just… he just can't be casual about this.
Suddenly, Erik says, "Did you want to see a picture of Anya?"
Completely blind-sided, Charles blinks. They had talked about Erik's younger sister only twice, the first time when Erik told him two weeks ago, and a couple of days after that. Charles hadn't brought it up since, and Erik hadn't either – until now. "Yes?" He says, a little unsure. The last thing Charles would have expected is for Erik to bring it up in front of their friends.
"Who's Anya?" Moira asks curiously.
"My sister," Erik replies. "Turn to page 393."
Moira looks confused until Erik gestures towards the book in her lap; then she frowns, not comprehending. But she does turn to page 393 – it's the end of the book, pages upon pages of photos of the faces and names of those who died in the camps. The whole book had taken over two years to make, full of confirmed facts and figures and eye witness accounts, a lot of photos. Mrs. Skinner had recommended it both for its accuracy – everything had been checked by countless sources – and, as she put it, humanity. Every single person in the photos or their closest surviving relatives had been asked for permission of the photos to be published.
"Three rows down, third picture from the left," Erik says, voice not entirely casual.
Moira looks down at the book. Hank and Anna are perfectly quiet as well now. Wordlessly, Moira hands the book over to Charles, who takes it into his lap and stares down at the photo of a blonde little girl, smiling widely. Her two front teeth were missing.
"She looks cute," Charles manages. He had looked at the family picture, the only photo on the wall in Erik's home with Anya in it, but her face hadn't been visible as clearly. Anya Lehnsherr, it says under the picture, followed by her date of birth and date of death. She had died a couple of weeks after her seventh birthday.
"At first they had the picture that was taken there, like these," Erik says, pointing towards a couple of other pictures of people with pale faces and dull eyes. "It was the first time we saw it. Mama didn't want them to have any picture of her in there after that, but papa said that she deserves to be seen." There are some people without photos listed at the end, and a couple of blank lines for the names of people whose relatives hadn't wanted to be published.
"Erik?" Moira asks carefully. Her voice is faint.
Erik glances up and holds her gaze. "That's the reason I was allowed to do independent study while you covered Genosha."
"Because your sister was there?" Moira sounds like she clings on to that against her common sense. Charles can't bear to look at her, to look up at all. It reminds him too much of his reaction when Erik had told him a month and a half ago. He had been a complete wreck.
"Because my whole family was there," Erik tells her calmly. Leaning closer towards Charles, he leafs back about half the book – he clearly knows it very well, because he quickly finds what he wants to show them. It's a photo of a couple of children in their early teens sitting together in the corner of a cell. They don't look too thin, and they all wear suppression collars and empty expressions, though some of their faces are blurred beyond recognition.
Pointing to one of them, Erik says, "There. That's me." Pointing towards a boy sitting next to him, unbridled fury in his eyes as he looks right at the photographer, he adds, "And that's Logan."
Charles knows Logan from photos where he doesn't look as filled with helpless fury; they're on the wall in Erik's home. "Emma isn't there, is she?" he asks. His voice barely wavers. It's very clear Erik wants this to be as casual as possible – he wouldn't have decided to do this now, in this setting otherwise – and Charles is trying his best to honor that wish.
"No. She was in a different block. Boys and girls were separated unless…" Erik doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to. They covered this in Current History, and Charles remembers – he remembers everything. "Emma is…" Turning a couple of pages, Erik points at a photo of a person strapped into a chair, electric nodes attached to their head. Her head is completely shaved, which isn't much different from the boys in the other photo, except it's clear hers is fresh. "There."
Charles almost asks what they're doing, but he knows Emma is a telepath and he really doesn't want to know.
"How long were you there?" Hank asks soberly.
"Twenty-three months and eighteen days," Erik replies. Leafing through the book again, he gets to a photo of Liberation Day, a photo spanning two pages of a big space surrounded by grey, quadratic houses that were built to be cells. It's one of the camps for children in their early teens, and many (Charles hopes all) of them are outside, sitting or standing in groups. All of them wear the same drab gray uniforms that look like pajamas. There's soldiers spread out between them, handing out food and blankets.
"There," Erik says, pointing towards a group of teens on the left page. One of them is clearly Erik, holding on tightly to Emma's hand, who is holding Logan's. All three of them are wearing what looks like military-issue t-shirts and BDU's that are way too wide on them, and defiant expressions.
"That was taken three hours into Liberation," Erik explains. Mentally, only to Charles, he adds, also about two hours after… Shaw. They gave us new clothes and brought us there. They had no idea what to do with us.
Charles can only imagine; the soldiers' faces speak of horror and helplessness. Clearly, they're overwhelmed.
"I'm so sorry," Moira says quietly, hand covering her mouth as she stares at Erik with wide, watery eyes.
"Thank you for telling us," Hank adds with Anna nodding.
Erik shrugs. "I thought you should know." He allows Charles to reach out and take his hand.