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Charles sat by the large window in his office. Sunlight streamed into the room, warming him and highlighting the dust specks that swirled lazily in the air. Settled comfortably in his wheelchair, he gazed out the window overlooking the grounds of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. That was the official name now. It had taken months, much shorter than Charles had initially expected, for the government to formally approve the school as an official institution. Granted, Charles and Hank had worked hard, buried deep in research and paperwork for days at a time, to keep the school’s location and exact purpose a secret without arousing suspicion among the government. But through loopholes, careful study of application procedures and school codes, and meticulous maneuvering, they had successfully and finally transformed the mansion into a school for mutants.
In truth, it was more than a school. It was a home for youngsters who had felt lost, afraid, uncertain. Alone. Charles made sure that he met every newcomer, looked every child in the eye and assured them that they were not alone.
Charles closed his eyes. It had been almost half a year since Cuba. There wasn’t a day that went by that Charles didn’t think back on it. Depending on the day, the memory brought varied emotions. On some days, anger. Other days, pain. Different days, sadness. But there was one feeling that never failed to accompany that particular memory: longing. It had taken many weeks after the incident for Charles to admit to himself that he ached to go back to that day and change everything. He still didn’t know how or what exactly he would have done differently. But he wouldn’t have let it end like that.
Charles opened his eyes and watched a group of children play basketball in the courtyard. Nearby, two youngsters were engrossed in a game of chess.
Cuba felt so long ago and yet at the same time so raw and fresh. The grief had finally numbed to a dull ache that Charles carried in his chest wherever he went. He never ceased wondering where Erik was now. What he was up to. If Erik ever thought about Charles the way he did. Like now.
Even though Charles knew that Erik wore the helmet, he refused to give up on trying to find him. What Charles would do if he did locate Erik, he wasn’t sure himself. He just needed to know he was okay.
During his daily exercises in Cerebro, Charles searched not only for other mutants, especially potential students for the school, but constantly for Erik. And each time, for the past six months, Charles had reached out, only to feel nothing.
Charles was brought back to the present by a gentle knock on the office door. He silently scolded himself on getting lost in his thoughts; he didn’t have time for that when he had a school to run. Charles supposed that one of the new professors had come to ask him a question, possibly about the curriculum, or maybe to share concerns about a particular student. They had been having a few cases with disobedience lately as more youngsters arrived at the school with wild impulses and untrained powers.
“Come in,” Charles called. The door clicked softly as it opened and closed.
“Thank you for knocking,” Charles said as he spun around in his wheelchair to face the newcomer. “A few students have become fond of barging right in without a—” Charles never got to finish his sentence. Because standing before him was Erik Lensherr.
Rarely was Charles ever caught off guard. But then again, if he had been alert, he would have noticed that he could not sense the mind of the person who had knocked. He had been surprised by the very person who had been inhabiting his thoughts at that precise moment.
Erik was dressed in a long gray coat, blue shirt, flared plum-colored pants, and a short green scarf. His helmet fit snugly over his head, but Charles could see that Erik’s hair was still trimmed short, unlike his own.
“Erik, what are you doing here?” Charles’s voice was sharp.
“What do you think, Charles? Oh, wait.” Erik tapped his helmet. “You don’t know what I think.”
“If you harmed anyone on your way up here—”
Charles was interrupted by Erik’s humorless chuckle. “You insult me, Charles. You think I would hurt children?”
“I don’t know what to think of you anymore,” said Charles, his voice hard. “You seemed fine with trying to kill hundreds of innocent men.”
“How many times must I remind you? There’s no such thing as an innocent man.” Erik’s voice was cold, traces of anger visible on his face.
“What do you want, Erik?”
“I wanted to visit you, of course. See how you’re doing. Is that a crime?”
“So you decide to unexpectedly drop in at my office without any warning after six months of no contact?” Charles couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice nor, to his frustration, the pain. And the longing.
“Good thing I did, too. You look terrible,” said Erik. Charles had given up caring for his appearance. He now wore a scraggly beard, and his once well-groomed hair was unkept and stringy. Was Charles imagining it, or was that genuine concern in Erik’s eyes? What Charles would give to know what Erik was thinking. “Anywhere else, and I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
“Actually, I don’t believe there are too many paralyzed cripples in wheelchairs,” Charles stated dryly. “And I’m sorry I didn’t deal too well with losing my sister and my best friend.” Charles was never this bitter. Never this selfish. And he hated himself for it.
Self-loathing was common for Charles since Cuba. He had spent a month in bed recovering from his spinal injury and then another month forcing the wheelchair into submission. He had also reverted to his drinking habits from his college days and only recently became sober again. Although he had worked with Hank on applications and paperwork for the school, he had spent the rest of his time drinking. One particularly bad day, Sean and Alex had come to his study only to find Charles in a drunk rage, the furniture overturned, broken bottles and chess pieces scattered all over the floor.
There was no denying the flash of guilt and pain across Erik’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Mystique is fine. In fact, better than ever. I came to ask you if you would join us. The Brotherhood.”
We’re brothers, you and I. Every day Charles had thought of those last words on the beach. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m busy running a school.”
“We could use a great mind like yours,” Erik pressed. “I need someone next to me that I can trust.”
Erik’s persistence surprised Charles. Was Erik… pleading with him? It reminded Charles of what Erik had said to him in Cuba, how he had begged Charles the same thing he asked of him now. Charles’s heart ached. He felt a sudden whim to leave everything and follow Erik, but just as suddenly it was extinguished by hard logic and reason.
“I’m sorry, Erik.” And Charles was.
“I don’t see why you can’t do both at once. Be the school’s headmaster and part of the Brotherhood.” Erik had taken to begging. It shattered Charles’s heart. Had Erik truly expected that he would be able to persuade him?
“We don’t want the same thing,” Charles said quietly but firmly.
The effect was immediate. Charles could see the small flame of hope die in Erik’s eyes. He didn’t need to be a telepath to see that. Or the pain across Erik’s face.
Charles felt defensive. “I could ask of you the same. You could teach here.” Charles proposed it like a mere notion, but he was dead serious. At this point, he realized that he was willing to do close to anything to regain Erik’s friendship.
But Erik just gave a cold laugh. “I don’t fit here, Charles. You know that.”
You do. You fit with me. Like puzzle pieces. Charles’s thoughts dashed through his head. We’re a puzzle that needs to be put back together. If only Erik could hear him. If only Erik wasn’t wearing that bloody helmet!
Charles looked directly into Erik’s eyes. Please, Erik. Come back. Stay with me. I want you by my side. These were words Charles knew he could never say aloud.
I need you.
“This place can be your home,” Charles blurted. The words rushed out of his mouth. Now it was his turn to plead. To beg. “I can make it your home.”
Erik hesitated. “It was my home, Charles. But that was a long time ago.”
“It still can be. Erik.” Erik looked away. “Erik. Please.”
“Maybe I should get going.” But Erik didn’t move. And then Charles knew.
Erik didn’t want to leave him. Not again.
Charles forced himself to seal up the cracks in his heart, the fractures in his mind. If he couldn’t hold himself together now, if he couldn’t keep himself from falling to pieces right here in front of Erik, he wasn’t sure if he could ever put himself back together.
Charles regained his composure, although the burning sensation in his nose near his eyes that never failed to warn him of oncoming tears didn’t go away. “How about a game of chess first?” He gestured at the chess board already set out on his desk.
Erik looked at Charles. His eyes said everything he wanted to say, and more. But Erik simply replied, “I don’t see why not.” He paused and allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “Old friend.”