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"It's your move, Charles."
The sitting room adjacent to his bedroom was Charles' favorite room in the house. The direct sunlight bothered him a bit in late afternoon, but at sunset, the western-facing windows revealed a quiet panorama of violet-streaked sky. He looked ruefully at the chess board, his pieces somewhat in disarray.
"You only remind me it's my turn when I'm losing," he said.
Across from him, Erik leaned back in his heavy chair. The matching chair stood against the wall by the door, unused. "I only have to remind you when I'm winning. What has you so preoccupied that you can't keep track of your bishops?"
"A girl. Her name is Jean Grey." He studied the board. He could pin down Erik's remaining bishop with his knight, but that would leave a hole that Erik was sure to see. Erik almost always saw the things you would rather keep hidden.
"And you want to go recruit her."
Hoping Erik might be distracted, he moved his knight. "I've barely touched her mind, but the power there is...awe-inspiring. Nearly frightening."
"A telepath?" Erik edged his queen three spaces nearer to Charles' king, almost nonchalantly. Charles knew he resented having to move the pieces with his hands, but he treasured the beautiful ivory and solid marble of this particular chess set. And he liked seeing Erik's long fingers on the pieces.
"Among other things. Properly trained, she could probably do anything she wanted with her mind." He hadn't even been looking for her, but one day, using Cerebro, he'd brushed against something that exploded at his touch in a burst of searing heat. And once he'd found her, she'd remained in his head, shining like a beacon. She was young, he knew, and angry. And very scared.
"She sounds like quite an asset."
Charles declined to reply. This conversational style was a specialty of Erik's, seemingly non-committal statements that drew you into talking, filling in the pauses. Besides, the net around his king was drawing tighter, and he needed to concentrate. He had ten or twelve moves left, possibly a few more if he fought it.
"I could help her," he said. "I have an obligation to help her."
"To help her or to control her?" Erik asked.
Charles shook his head. "Surely you know me better than that."
Erik didn't reply, but his mouth quirked in a smile. Over the course of their relationship, Erik had gotten gradually better at shielding his thoughts from Charles; whether this was intentional or unconscious, Charles had never asked.
"Will her parents let her go, or are you planning to dazzle them with stories of the girl's potential?"
"I get the feeling they may be glad to make her someone else's problem." Erik's expression didn't change, but Charles didn't need telepathy to sense how Erik felt about that. He'd talked to Charles about his parents once, on a very late night, in a quiet room with a sliver of moon showing through the window. Charles hadn't made a sound until he finished the story, and when he finally opened his mouth and said, "Erik--", Erik pushed him down onto the bed and kissed him until he no longer had breath to speak.
So few mutants had anything like the power he sensed from Jean Grey. The capability to shape the world, or to wound it. To serve as an example, positive or negative, of what mutants could be. Wasn't it his duty to help guide her to the correct path?
Charles captured a pawn with his rook, a delaying tactic. "Parents have done worse things to their children. She could never remain hidden, anyway. They'll be doing what's best for her."
Erik said dryly, "That's what they'll tell themselves, at least." That barb hit home, too close to the private concerns he'd stopped voicing to Erik. Not that Erik didn't know, regardless. They'd spent hours sharing their hopes for the future of mutants, but they'd never had to speak the worst of their fears aloud.
"Do you have a better suggestion?"
"Of course not, Charles." The surprise in his voice sounded genuine. "You know I approve. Better for her to come here than to stay in whatever provincial little town she lives in, populated with those who fear her and make no effort to understand her." He moved a bishop through the hole that Charles had been hoping he'd overlook.
More often, these days, Charles wondered if he would ever manage to create the safe haven he envisioned. A place of learning, of tolerance, of comradeship. The kind of place he and Erik had never had, except with each other. He felt a rush of affection at the familiar sight of Erik's face across the chessboard. Older now, lines on his face and gray in his hair, but still beloved. Whatever doubts he had about the rest of his life, he never had cause to question Erik's commitment.
Erik stood and walked to the window, raising his face to the last rays of light. "You're not concerned that she'll be too much for even you to handle, Charles?"
"I'll have you to help me," Charles said, and then added, "I'm losing this game."
Erik chuckled. "You've been losing since the beginning." He drew the curtains closed, then moved to stand next to Charles, caressing the back of his neck with two fingers. Charles shivered, though the room was still sun-warmed.
"And yet you let me continue the farce." He reached out to tip over his king, but Erik stopped him, grasping his hand.
"Sometimes I enjoy a demonstration of your fallibility. You usually win, you know." He bent to kiss Charles, his mouth soft. Charles sighed gently and brought his hand up to stroke Erik's face. He hated the awkward angle, but Erik never gave any indication that it bothered him. He leaned down when he needed to, or kneeled at Charles' side, and every kiss made Charles feel cherished.
Erik eased back, pressed his lips to Charles' cheek, and straightened. "Come, Charles. The girl will be there tomorrow."
And he was right. No matter what the world threatened them with, this, at least, was still theirs, and only theirs. He took one last look at the board, pieces scattered across it like fallen leaves, and then followed Erik into the bedroom, leaving the game unfinished.