“So it is you.” Charles’ voice was shaky. “I had my suspicions. I’d hoped… but no, it is you. It was you all along. You’re Magneto.”
“Professor X,” Erik replied coolly. He’d been expecting the bearer of that moniker to be an actual professor. Or at least, not a fellow PhD candidate. Especially not Charles. But in retrospect, of course it had to happen this way. Of course his idealistic friend was his nemesis all along. Of course they would meet on this very rooftop, under cover of night. He’d had such hopes for their budding friendship. But now that Charles had seen Erik in his helmet, there could be no going back. “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”
“I don’t know what you think you have to do, but whatever it is, there’s another way. A better way.”
“Is there?”
“I know there is. If you’ll just tell me what it is you want. There are so many people who care, who would help if you’d only ask. You have me. You have Dr. Shaw. You have-"
“Shaw?” Erik barked out a laugh. “Who do you think brought me on to this line of work?”
“No,” Charles whispered.
“Yes, I’m afraid. Oh, believe me, I didn't want this. I was driven to it. I sought external funding sources for my research. I wrote more funding proposals than I thought were humanly possible. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. But Shaw was magnanimous enough to offer me the rest of the funding I need. On the condition that I join his little side project. Oh, I was just as surprised as you to learn that my advisor is in fact a supervillain, but how could I refuse such an offer?”
“Magneto. Erik. Please let’s talk about this. You’re not alone.“
“I know very well that I’m not alone. Funding is not the only reason I do this. It is because I am not alone that I’m here. This system funnels overworked, underfunded students through, when the powers that be know full well that there are more students than there are jobs. It cannot do.”
“You’re right! You’re right, Erik, I know you are and I am right there with you. But physically tearing down College Hall is not the answer.”
“On the contrary, Professor.” He bristled a bit at calling a peer ‘Professor’ - did Charles pick that for himself? Erik, uncharitably, decided he wouldn’t be surprised if Charles had, because the thought was annoying enough to counteract the effect of Charles’ puppy eyes. “It should all be torn down. Every piece of it. The entire system must be destroyed and remade.”
“There’s a better way, Erik.”
“I’m not Erik. Not now. I’m Magneto.” The wind, helpfully, chose that moment to whip across the roof, stirring Erik’s magenta cape behind him.
“There’s still good in you. I know there is.”
“I'm not so certain. Last week I got an angry call from a student’s mother because I docked her a few points for failing to cite her sources properly. Scientific style citations! They’re so easy! You don’t even need to include a page number! This is a junior in college! And a parent called me!”
Charles blanched. “Oh, Erik.”
“Over the weekend,” Erik barreled on, “I read a ninety page paper about the relevance of English Romanticism to physics. Romanticism. Physics. It was required.”
“I understand your pain, Erik, I truly do. But have you considered that interdisciplinary perspec-“
“That was after the bursar failed to disburse my pay last Friday. The office was closed until Monday.”
“That’s terrible! Did you ask wheth-"
“I HAVE SPENT ALL DAY TODAY,” he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips, “TRYING AND FAILING TO MAKE SENSE OF DERRIDA.”
Finally, Charles had nothing to say. His head fell forward and he nodded to himself, eyes downcast.
“All right.” He held up his hands. “I can’t argue anymore. It’s enough to push anyone over the edge. But Erik, before you destroy the building, you should know… there’s a reception happening on its third floor.”
Erik snorted. “You think that’s going to stop me?” He turned to face the building and raised his arms.
“Well, it’s… it’s catered, Erik.”
Erik faltered. “Catered.” He hadn't been expecting that. There could only be one reason Charles was telling him this.
“Catered. Any current PhD candidate is welcome to join and mingle.”
Erik lowered his arms. If only he'd anticipated that Professor X might actually be a grad student, he might have expected this. But alas, he was unprepared for the exploitation of this particular weakness.
“What sort of catering? Crudites don’t count.”
“I saw Sterno trays being set up earlier.”
Erik pursed his lips. “Do you know what the reception is for?”
“Prospective doctoral students. You know what that means…”
He sucked in a sharp breath and nodded. “They want to impress. They’ll have sprung for the good stuff.” He hummed to himself, considering his options. “So if I go for the free food, then…” Maybe he could come back and finish the job after the reception was over and still have time to get some work done on his literature review draft.
“Well, it’s Thursday. That means it’s two dollar pitcher night at the Tipsy Seaman’s..." Erik hissed, hoping Charles wouldn't say - "...my treat.”
Checkmate, Erik.
Heaving a sigh, he pulled his helmet off and tucked it under his arm. He tousled his hair to try to mitigate the extreme case of hat-hair he was sure he had, then regarded Charles askance.
“You promise that if we leave this roof, you won’t reveal my identity to anyone? This isn’t some elaborate ruse?”
“We may be archnemeses but we’re still friends. Onwards to free food and cheap alcohol. I desperately need a drink, anyway. Today I graded a student’s response paper who feels quite certain that periods of rapid evolutionary change can be attributed to alien intervention. She’s the third to say so this academic year.”
“Oh, Charles.” It struck Erik how selfish and blind he’d been, how self-pitying, to not think that Charles was sincere when he said he understood Erik’s pain. “I’m so sorry.”
Charles extended his hand. “We’re in this together, my friend.”
Erik glanced between Charles’ hand and his face. “You swear?”
“I’m not above wiles, but lying about free food is a line even I will not cross.”
Erik clasped Charles’ proffered hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. “Then onwards, my friend.”
Charles clapped him on the shoulder, returning the hand-squeeze with all his might. He glanced down at his own yellow-and-blue-clad chest. “So we can, um. We have time to change before heading over, right? I mean, the good food goes first, but I don’t know, is it worth showing up in spandex to try to get dibs, or…?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. I left my street clothes in my office downstairs. Do you have a change of clothes nearby?”
“Yeah, I left them in the stairwell.”
“Okay, yeah, let’s change first, then.”
“Right.”