sorry wasnât enough, and it never would be. too many were dead. but it was all charles could say, all he could really manage. his head and body ached and his insides felt cold, and he wished it were as easy as going to sleep and never waking. giving up had never sounded so sweet. and the more accusing and angry his old friend sounded, the more he knew he could never. âerik, please. iâm tired of fighting.â he glanced at his old partner, eyes soft, chest aching. ânot today.â his tone was more pleading than he wouldâve liked, but charles xavier was nothing if not honest.Â
he wondered where erik wouldâve struck. the white house, perhaps. the pentagon. perhaps there wouldâve been children on a school field trip, as innocent as the children at the school⌠charles sighed. âwe have to be better than them,â he whispered, and squeezed his eyes shut. âperhaps neither of us have ever been right,â he said quietly, and looked down, shaking his head. âperhaps there is no solution as simple as peace or war.â
perhaps it was time that they took on the offensive. heâd considered it time and time again â how simple it would be to march on people like ross. but to what end? âbut if i know anything, my friend, i know this: if we start a war, it will never end. not until one side commits genocide.â he looked up, finally, and saw erik lehnsherr instead of magneto â they way they were when they first met, brought together by impossible circumstances and with the mindset to change the world and mutant kind. they had been so close.
âi know you, erik. and i know thatâs not what you want.â he paused, and his good hand tightened over the handles of his chair, knuckles turning white. âi have to believe thatâs not what you want.â
Tired of fighting. Not today.
Erikâs fist clenched, and metal ripped from concrete with a harsh scream, before splintering and falling to the ground as he fought to regain control. âFighting isnât a choice, Charles,â he said, but his tone had moderated to a low growl. Pain seeped around it, dark and bloody like the wound on Charlesâ leg. âDonât you understand? For as long as the humans hate us - and theyâll always hate us - we donât get to say âI donât want to fight todayâ.â
He knew Charles was capable of fighting back. Heâd seen him in action, had seen the quiet resilience, the brilliance of a strategic mind at work, the sheer power that Charles could bring to bear - even without ever tapping his powers. His was a voice that could raise armies, could move continents, could truly, spectacularly, change the world.
And yet he fettered himself - yes, lives were important, moral high ground was important, but that wasnât the point. In fact, Erik could agree with him that unnecessary bloodshed wasnât the way to go. That slaughtering all of the humans wasnât the way to go.
What they disagreed upon was, really--
âYour misplaced optimism,â he found himself saying out loud. âYou look for the best in people even when it isnât there.â He stared into the otherâs eyes, readying himself for another rant, but he could start to see the gathering storm behind the clear blue, and that-- that made him bridle his tongue, made him pause, and listen.
âYouâre right,â he said, sudden clarity of thought breaking through the confusion in his mind. Somehow - that was always the way with Charles - as much as the man confused him, drove him to distraction with frustration, made him so furious that he couldnât see straight - some times, some very rare times ... he lent him an insight into himself that Erik could never find on his own.
âYouâre right,â he repeated, âI donât want them dead.â And he never had. Heâd made that choice -- way back when they fought Apocalypse. When heâd turned his back on the ancient mutant. When heâd chosen the side of the X-Men; the side of Charles Xavier; the side of stupid, hopeless, doomed optimism. âWhat I want is -- all of our kind -- safe.â
He drew a breath. Knelt before the chair. Placed a hand over Charlesâ, and willed him to understand. âYou once said - true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity. Perhaps the true solution does too. And perhaps it doesnât - perhaps weâll never find it. But we canât stop fighting.
âFight alongside me, Charles. Not alone; and certainly not against.â