Charles stretched out against the hotel sheets, the linen deceptively soft where it brushed against his skin. Silk that was more like water, easy to drown in if you wanted to, as easy as closing your eyes and letting go. Charles wasn’t ready to let go. Not for a few more minutes, anyway. Something about Erik made him want to try in the worst ways, even when he knew better. Charles lost the right to try after Jean died. Whatever good was left in him died with her and was buried alongside Raven.
He barely remembered the version of himself Erik had loved so passionately and recklessly, the one he found this morning. He caught vague glimpses of him in memories sometimes. Wide-eyed and arrogant in that callow way of youth, with smiles that came easily and a gentleness Charles suspected he left behind in Cuba. Erik loved him for his compassion, how he offered him softness when the rest of the world only showed him cruelty.
He was … flawed then, more than most people admitted. The seeds of who he became were there in his arrogance and his need to control the world around him, in his rejection of every other point of view. Erik saw those sides of him, and he loved him anyway.
That was more than Charles could say for anyone else.
They only saw the gentle wisdom and easy generosity, the way he made space for his fellow mutant brothers and sisters. They trusted him. Raven came to him when she needed his help with Erik. Hank stayed by his side for decades, no matter how much he drank or how detached he became. Charles no longer taught classes, instead attending government social events, and no one asked why.. None of his sins mattered. Charles was a paragon in their little community, a force for good, no matter how he actually did in the short-term.
But they were wrong. He was never good. He was far more than that.
Charles played chess better than anyone, save maybe Erik, and he’d dedicated himself to it entirely in the past few years. Humanity couldn’t be trusted, but neither could his mutant brothers and sisters. Apocalypse made that clear when he used Erik’s grief and Charles’ powers to try to destroy the world. Charles needed to make sure that humanity trusted them, and that nothing threatened that faith. Both humanity and mutant kind needed his protection, and so did Erik.
Erik, whose mind radiated out from the street. His confusion echoed through Charles’ own mind, muddling his every move. Erik’s mind was easier to sink into than any other’s. Time changed many things, but never that. Charles swallowed and pulled himself free from Erik’s mind, though his presence still lingered. It always did, and all he wanted was for Erik to stay.
But he never did, so Charles did what was necessary. He ensured no nuclear missiles or atomic bombs could be launched by implanting fail-safes in all the heads of government and military leaders. He wouldn’t have done anything so drastic when he was younger, when he believed free will was sacrosanct. A part of him still did. He wasn’t taking away their ability to make that choice, just stopping them from following through on their mistakes. Ideas were one thing, but actions had consequences, and those Charles could not allow.
He protected the world at large, made sure that he and his mutant brothers and sisters had a future. Then he turned his attention to protecting mutants from themselves.
That was simple. Hank and Raven came up with the idea for the X-Men, and Charles reluctantly signed off. It took him a few months to realize the X-Men would make the public see mutants as heroes. So, Charles ignored Raven’s withering stares. He convinced Ororo to extinguish fires and stop natural disasters, even when it left her on the brink of exhaustion. Jean held bridges up with nothing but her mind, the strain imperceptible in her smiling face and bright eyes. He turned Scott into a tool, slicing metal beams in half and burning holes into the side of boats.
Sometimes, those missions caused acid to rise from his stomach, leaving his heart charred along the edges and his lungs full of soot. Charles swallowed down the guilt and the ashes, reminding himself that the X-Men were necessary. The pain and sacrifices they made now would pave the way for future generations, create a world where mutants were embraced instead of feared.
Charles now understood what Erik always had. Humanity would never accept them, not as equals.
Charles made them something more instead, something better. It was a careful tight-rope walk, where the slightest misstep could undo decades of progress in mutant rights. They would need a sanctuary, a country to seek haven in if humanity turned against mutants again. Charles would do everything he could to prevent a war, but if it came down to it, he wanted his mutant brothers and sisters to have the advantage.
And Erik would give it to them. Charles believed in Erik in a way he didn’t in anything else, even when they were at odds. Erik’s brilliance was only matched by his passion, his determination to protect those he considered his own. He knew that if a war came to pass, Erik would win. Charles needed to ensure that Erik had a base of his own, a home he could offer to his mutant brothers and sisters when the war was over.
Charles hobnobbed with different government officials, adapting himself into whatever garnered their support. Sometimes he was charming, his smiles a threat, every pat on the shoulder a reminder of the knife he could leave in their spine. With other senators, he played the role of the rich idiot, promising them donations and under the table deals for lobbies and votes. And sometimes, when Charles was lucky, he got to be earnest. His smile was genuine as he told Vice President Morales that there was no better leader for Genosha than Erik.
Charles’ plan worked for a near decade, everything and everyone slotting into place. No bombs were dropped, and no missiles launched, and especially nowhere near Cuba. X-Men became idols, admiration and wonder slowly displacing the disgust and fear reserved for mutants. And the UN-sanctioned Genosha, recognizing it as an independent country and Erik as its leader. Every possibility was accounted for, every necessary action taken. Charles considered everything. He left no room for mistakes.
But there was one variable Charles never properly accounted for: himself.
He understood that now with a clarity which had evaded him for decades. Charles had been and always would be the problem. His arrogance suffocated everyone and everything he loved, sucking the air out of their lungs more thoroughly than space ever did to Jean. His every action led to his mutant brothers and sisters’ ruin, a decade of good publicity meaningless in the face of his careless cruelty. He destroyed his own dream, killed his sister and his surrogate daughter, broke Hank’s spirit and Scott’s heart, everything he created turning to ash –
Except Genosha. It still stood, free and untarnished by his hand. Maybe with a few less buildings, if the rumors were to be believed, but Erik kept his people and his country safe. Charles wasn’t surprised. He was the only person in the world who could beat Charles at chess. Charles knew Erik would make the right choice when it came down to it, no matter how many mistakes he made along the way. Erik was exceptional, his convictions pure and unflinching.
Charles felt that strength now, Erik’s mind closer than it should have been. Charles swallowed, letting himself sink into the sheets a little more. It was time to go.
Charles smiled softly to himself as he shut down a few of his synapses. When they first met, he saved Erik from drowning. Now Charles would protect him by letting himself drown instead. There was something poetic in that. He hoped Erik would see it that way someday. Charles wanted to leave him a note, but there wasn’t time.
Charles swallowed, his vision growing hazy as his brain shut down a little more. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, the air around him oddly still. Erik’s mind was the opposite, a maelstrom of rage and fear, a panic that made Charles’ own heart race despite himself. Underneath it all was love, pure and unrestrained, overwhelming in its intensity. It was the kind of love which killed men and brought them back to life again, turned ashes into feathers.
Charles retreated from the emotion, reminding himself that it wasn’t for him. Not anymore, not for a very long time—Erik loved so often since then, and so much more easily. Charles didn’t deserve his adoration anymore. Maybe he never had.
Charles’ vision went dark, the sound of his own breath barely audible. He no longer tasted the stale air around him, the scent of his unfinished tea fading little by little. His mind was turning off bit by bit. Soon he wouldn’t be able to think, to hear. There would only be silence. He wanted silence.
But there was also Erik. His mind bled into Charles’ own, that same love from before at the forefront, though it was surrounded by a terror which stole what was left of Charles’ breath. He was on the other side of the door.
He was close. Too close. Charles needed to send him away. But he couldn’t. Not Erik. Not when he finally was with him, even if it was too late for both of them.
So, Charles sunk into Erik’s warmth and let himself drown.