Professor X

Remy's brows knit together with a small shake of his head, "Can ya quit doin' dat? Sayin' wut I'm t'inkin'. S'freaky."

Now he knew he was broke too?

Charles pointing out the possibility of Remy injuring himself, others, or worse, killing them, had him immediately thinking of what got him here in the first place. Julien was dead because of that exact warning: having accidentally charged the knife he was meant to be "fairly" duelling with.

He was offered a new business card, one that he hopefully wouldn't explode this time. Remy took it with some hesitation; this was all too weird not to consider, but his natural wariness remained.

So he was a telepath? Yeah that did explain the whole reading his thoughts and talking in his head thing. It was also startling that someone like that even existed; now Remy was considering all the different variations of powers people out there could have.

Wait, he called him a what? There was no malice in his words but—

"...Wut'chu call me?" A mutant? Damn, was that name any better than being called a freak back home?

"Been called a freak, 'bomination, diable, un monstre even. Mutant's new."

In his closed off life in the guild, he and Bella Donna were the only ones with powers that he knew of. Remy didn't know there was an actual name for people like them, he always just thought they were cursed like he so often had been called.

When the other seems offended at the word, Charles merely gives him a kind smile. "Mutant. There are many more people like us out there. People with genetic mutations that cause them to have extraordinary powers. I'd be happy to tell you all about it, about us and how we came to be, but it's a pretty long story so I think the middle of the sidewalk isn't the best place for it. You're not a freak or a monster. Though I do know it can feel like that at first. I've been there myself at some point after all."

When the next words are spoken, an amused look crosses his features. "Reading a book? I don't think there are any books about the specific power you're dealing with here. So no, I wouldn't have you reading a book about it. That's not going to do much. Neither will homework. Or at least not in the traditional sense. But I think this would all make a lot more sense to you if you came to see for yourself. Can't hurt, right? To just come and take a look? You're not the only one having this sort of a problem, and you wouldn't be the first one I helped. I won't force you into anything, but I strongly advice you take the offer and at least come see what it is about. It might help you understand yourself better at the very least. To meet more people like us."

Remy jolted back in startle, unintentionally detonating the business card in his hand. He let out a pained yelp, shaking his sore hand and rattling off a string of expletives in French.

How the hell a man in a wheelchair was able to move so fast was beyond him. He was oblivious to the fact that it had actually been him that was rendered immobile earlier.

The first thing Remy thought to do was bolt; he wasn’t supposed to be seen after stealing, let alone talking to his victim. Well, ex-victim now. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to check if he had one of those prestigious gold or platinum credit cards.

Before he could get his legs to synchronize with his thoughts, the man’s voice projected in his head, lips unmoving. Remy’s head instinctively whipped behind him, as though the source came from outside of him. Charles would probably get a kick out of all the panicked and confused curses now flooding the other’s mind.

“W-wut de hell?!” His attention spun back onto Charles, expression matching how freaked out he was mentally, “How’re ya—”

Was he…talking in his head? How did he know he couldn’t control his powers? How did he know he had powers at all?! Remy’s face went about as red as his eyes, both embarrassed and offended. He was prepared to snap at him, wanted to counter that he could control them just fine, until Charles mentioned that he too was ‘gifted’ as he put it.

Remy paused a moment to gather his bearings, process that this was in fact real. Other people with powers? Ha! More devil-spawn, he could hear the Cardinal Thieves now. Maybe he wasn’t the only baby to crawl out of hell.

He hesitated, rubbing at his injured palm, “School…ain’t fuh me…”

I don’t have the money to pay for private school, are you crazy? I’ve never even set foot in a school! Is what he wanted to say. He could barely keep a roof over his head with these petty thefts since he no longer had access to his big shot buyers, and even that one was shoddy.

It is rather funny, watching the confusion unfold in front of his eyes like it had been the best plottwist ever written, but despite it all, Charles is dead serious. Power like this seems like it would be very dangerous when out of control, and judging by the business card that was now in shreds, it for sure wasn't in control. An issue. For this man, the people around him, and mutantkind. He's been around long enough to know that any kind of mistake will reflect back on all of them.

"No, Mr. LeBeau. I have not been watching you." Charles tells the man with a tilt of his head. "And you wouldn't have to worry about paying for it. I'm happy to help. Or you can keep exploding business cards in your hand until an accident big enough happens that someone, you or anyone else, gets seriously injured or killed. You don't have a grip on it. Not yet. I'm telling you, after you tried to steal from me might I add, that I can help you with that." He opens up his wallet and takes another business card out, holding it out to him.

Bloody hell. He didn't think starting from scratch would be this painstaking. Being exiled from New Orleans meant a significant cut to all of his contacts and connections, most of which came from the guild itself. He'd gone from city to city, never settling into the culture like he did back home. He felt like a fish out of water really; how ironic it was that despite the amount of traveling he had done, he felt lost exploring and not having a real home to go back to.

At least he kept his mind occupied; traditional work was out of the question looking the way he did, not that he wanted to partake anyway. He got by doing what he had been raised to do; he stole to keep himself clothed and fed, stole in order to afford some semblance of an abode, but one major aspect had stopped working in his favour.

His powers.

Most of the time he had only used them in secret, trying to figure out how to control them and wield them to his benefit. As he grew older and into his teens, his powers grew too. He had gotten the hang of charging small objects, the staff his father had gotten him...made for a flashy getaway. Now that "flashy getaway" was outright dangerous. It scared him.

What had started as what he thought would just amount to a cool party trick had developed beyond his control. Having the ability to regulate what he charged and the scale of the explosions was now out of reach. Everything—no matter how small the object—exploded massively, to the point that he had harmed himself one too many times. What if this thing inside of him meant more people would die the same way Julien had? Or he maimed himself?

Remy shook the thought from his head, focusing on the task at hand. Today's target of thievery: one Charles Xavier. Nice car, well dressed, held himself with a confidence someone well-off would embody. New York was full of those, but this guy was the only one he had been pursuing that didn't clutch his belongings like his life depended on it. A full course lobster dinner sounded great, maybe some expensive champagne while he was at it? Underaged be damned...Maybe get a few upgrades for his place? Yeah, he was sure this guy's card could afford it.

The young thief waited for the right moment, until Charles was distracted by some chatty street vendor. He passed behind him, barely disturbing the fabric as he swiped his wallet from his pocket. The thrill that came with stolen goods was always exhilarating, but Remy kept his cool, keeping his pace steady and even as he ducked into an alley.

"Maudit...really missin' dem contracts Pop's used t'pull..." He muttered to himself, flipping the wallet open to peruse its contents.

He would be living comfortably if he had one of those heists now, not picking pockets. They were far more exciting too.

Charles doesn't venture into New York City often. He doesn't feel the need to, not when he has his school and his children to look after. But, now and then he has to. Either for political reasons, sometimes to give guest lectures at one of the universities, and sometimes he's there because he sensed a mutant needing his help.

It was a lecture this time, and he'd been about to leave when the last thing on the list became relevant again. He hadn't necessarily noticed his wallet being swiped - not until he heard someone think about his school. That caught his attention.

So Charles did what he did best and he froze the culprit in place. Calmly, he rolls his chair over to where the mutant is standing, his wallet and businesscard in hand.

The professor takes the wallet from him, but lets him keep a hold of the card as he looks right into his eyes. Odd ones, but it's by far not the strangest feature Charles has witnessed.

   He's trying to distract us from our anger, interrupts Jack Wayne, the alter's own anger mixing with David's.

   I know, David replies, curt as he divides his focus between the real and his mind.

   He's going to interfere in our revenge! shouts Kirbax the Kraklar.

   It's not revenge. It's ending a problem, David insists.

   Does he know who the bad man is? asks Susan in Sunshine, nervous but hopeful. Is daddy gonna protect us?

   Sorry, Suzy, but no. I kept the name hidden from him. He's probably gonna do a blanket telepathic message, David explains, words softening for the youngest personality.

   The fire boy's humiliation must be public. We can not allow him to confront us in retaliation of Xavier's meddling, hisses Ksenia Nadejda Panov, her indignation clear.

   Pyro is an idiot. He's not gonna figure out the message is ‘bout him. Besides, if he does confront us, he will want an audience. Likes to make a spectacle, that one. The plan is solid. It'll work. Trust. Remember we're workin’ on trust and cooperation, David assures, the words meant to temper his own anxieties as well as those of the entire system. It'll be fine.

   In the real, David pauses for a moment too long, his mental conversation running alongside the verbal one with his father. His eyes don't quite focus, and yet, he does hear Charles’ words, and a different worry becomes his surface thoughts.

"They have multiple veggie only options, actually." Charles tells him as he heads out of the door with him. "It's very popular these days, they have all kinds of options. As a matter of fact, pizza actually came into existence as a way to get rid of leftovers. People would put all kinds of things onto them."

They head down the hall and soon enough, Charles opens the door to the elevator so they could get in and head back up. "I have a menu in my office, you can have a look at it when we get there, but I'm certain they'll have something that'll sound good to you."

When they're both on the elevator and it begins to move, he looks up at his son with a gentle smile. He's proud of how he's handling this thing. Even if he did shut him out. He's really making progress and while situations like these suck and really shouldn't happen, it does show how far he's come. He doesn't say it out loud though. Not because he wouldn't give him the compliment, but because he doesn't want to pull his attention back to it when it's still so fresh. He'd rather have him process this all first. "It's nice spending time together, truly." He'd have to order them a lot of pizzas to make up for the lost time, but they can start at one. Their relationship is still strained, due to the past, but it, too, is improving.

And Charles really couldn't be happier about it.

The cute boy in his lap was asking him about his mutation. He knew. How did he know? How much did he know? Had Logan done anything-? 

And then there’s a voice in his head. It’s not his voice, it’s his new friend’s voice. But his lips hadn’t moved, and his breathing pattern hadn’t changed. And it had been in Logan’s head. 

“What the…?” His soft, confused muttering trails off, his expression shifting to a confused wonder instead of suspicion. He doesn’t pull away, not from the gentle touches to the back of his neck, or from where his hands rest on Charles’ hips. “How’d you do that?” Of course, the question answers itself. A mutation. 

Someone like him. 

Like him, but different. … Very different. 

“I don’t, uh… Don’t do anything like that.” He said, shrugging one shoulder. He puts one hand behind him to lean back into the mattress. “I heal, I got good senses… I’m fast, I’m strong, I don’t get tired - and I got these.” He removed his other hand from Charles, and a brief tense of his forearms, the quiet, wet rip of tearing skin, and his claws protruded from his knuckles. More than the pain in his hand, he was hyper-aware of a tightness in his chest. He’d never shown his claws to anyone - anyone but Rose. … And his folks, but that hadn’t gone over well. 

As Logan puts one hand behind himself, his weight shifts back some, and Charles shifts along at first before he moves a hand to Logan's chest to push himself a bit more upright to be able to look at him better.

Healing, senses, speed, strength, stamina and claws. So... he's a predator, basically. An apex predator, one might say.

Charles watches the claws a moment, eyes full of wonder instead of fear. Mutation just so happened to be his special interest and every time he finds someone with a mutation, it is so vastly different from anything he's ever seen or heard of before, it amazes him every single time.

A smile stretches along his lips. "So - you're a predator. A really, really good one. Technically." A pause. "But I had best not get into that too much, because I'll be talking all night and I'm pretty sure you didn't bring me here to talk." Oh he would've been just fine discussing mutations all night with the man in front of him - or, under him is more accurate maybe - but he doesn't want to bore him to death.

"I read minds. I can control them too, technically, but I don't. Not really. I can create illusions, too. Read emotions. Very, very weak telekinesis too." He then leans over again, considering Logan is still leaning back on one hand. He rests a hand on Logan's shoulder and smiles a little as he leans in more, lips almost touching his. "And I'm trying to piss off my homophobic family tonight. You'd help me with that, wouldn't you?"

His offer to go outside manages to catch her by surprise. Has her blinking at him silently for a moment. Then, she nods, fidgeting with the cuff of one of her sweater sleeves as relief washes over her. While she’s starting to get used to it—can somedays even call it home—this place is still new enough to her that she’s a little afraid to get in trouble. She’s still working out the rules, figuring out where the lines she can’t cross are.

Maybe going outside when she can’t sleep isn’t something that will get her in trouble.

Wings folded carefully behind her back, she leads the way, once Professor Xavier joins her. Twists a strand of hair ‘round and ‘round her finger as she walks. Flying, stretching her wings properly, might be nice, but she doesn’t want to accidentally break anything inside.

At the admission, Charles tilts his head to the side a little bit. "She did?" He asks, just to show interest. He's aware she isn't lying about it. "She sounds like she was a really good mom." The professor tells her with a soft smile. While the death of her parents was incredibly sad and unnecessary - which are both extreme understatements in his eyes - she was lucky to have known such love. A lot of his other students never had that. "You should cherish those memories, always. It's good to hold onto them, especially on nights like these.. when things are a bit more rough."

The night air isn't extremely cold, not yet, but they were heading into autumn and it was definitely starting to get a little fresh out. Dew covers the grass along the driveway and the first leaves are starting to turn brown.

There is a pause as he looks up at her, before he speaks up again. "I'm not about to go pry or search your mind or anything for what's bothering you.. but I'm here if you want to talk about it. I can listen. Maybe even give a little bit of advice. I may not look it, but I've got quite some years on me. I hear they come with wisdom." Well.. in most cases at least.

“Right.” He says, forcing himself to breathe again. His hand finds Charles’ shoulder, and in spite of the tension Logan still carries, his touch is gentle (he will not, cannot, hurt Charles again). He follows closely at Charles’ side, doing his best to tamp down the red-hot, hungry rage that still tries to burn through his senses. Not now. Not here. Focus on him. As they leave, he casts one last glance over his shoulder, then lets out a sigh and hangs his head.

He rolls his chair away from the humans that had been taunting them. Not worth it. That's what he always tells himself and that's what he still believes every single day. Bullies, mostly. And the more of a reaction they get, the more fun it becomes. Well until they've got adamantium claws deep in their chests..

"You're okay." Charles tells Logan as he looks up at his boyfriend. "You're alright. We're going to go home and.. I was thinking I could read to you again. I'm quite enjoying the story we are into now." He's not about to make a big deal out of this. Because it isn't. This sort of thing happens way too often to still be a big deal. Does he wish it were different? Absolutely. And he still believes it will be one day. But for now it isn't, so Charles isn't about to grant them any attention they do not deserve.

'-normal'

"-got friends and programs here he's in. I'm not going to take him away from things and-

'-ruin his life, make him hate me'

"-make him go somewhere else just because I might have to change schools." because he did have to change schools, because students there weren't safe with him and teachers couldn't handle him just if he had another "incident" there. Because he didn't really have a choice at the end of the day and he felt backed into a corner. Because people were scared of mutants and Ed was still keeping half an eye on the window, waiting to see flashing lights coming. Waiting to see them at his own home if they didn't show up there. Hoping he didn't already make things harder for Al having him for a brother all thanks to a few jerks who thought it was funny a kid was gasping without an inhaler and no one else would do anything about it. Because they wanted to laugh and mock him and none of the adults around wanted to act like they noticed anything, and none of the other students were doing anything, and Fletcher was scared and Russel was gone and when they wouldn't back off and kept going even when Ed got in the way. Even when the first hits were dealt out between them all, even when he broke the nose of one and started pushing himself back up to hit another and was listening to Fletcher gasp and wheeze behind him and his own brother might not even be safe with him on the wrong day---

---It was like a ripple across the back of the chair, past the cotton and the polyester of his shirt and his jacket and reaching down to the fibers of the cushion. Down to the wooden frame that suddenly bowed as Ed leaned against it. Like it was trying to be an exit for something that for one moment felt like it could crack open again. He was too wound up, too on edge, and stressed and angry and scared, and it all felt like it had no where else to go. Like it was buzzing and restless right under his skin and screaming the compounds of everything around him that he could touch like it was an outlet...and it felt like just proving why no one wanted him to stay there anymore.

'-calm down, calm down, fucking calm down--'

"You want me to leave him out of it? I can leave him out of it. And what good is that going to do for him? Or for you?" Charles calmly speaks. He can tell Edward is getting panicked, it's spilling over and he lets it happen for a bit. Gives him new insight in why and how things happened the way they did.

It's not until things threaten to go south again when he steps in, reaching out to Edward to help calm him down, ground him some, and reign his powers back in. A wave of calm is projected, and Charles finds the part of his mind that controls his powers, pulling them back for now. He's usually not a fan of doing so, but there are still other people in this building.

"Whether you like it or not, regular schools are not going to accept you anymore. You know this. And what good would that do? For you and your brother both. I'm offering you an opportunity here, to learn how to work with your gifts and complete your education. You don't have to say yes, the offer will still be open later. Talk about it with your brother. You can come look at our facility, talk to the other students, if you wish." He rolls his chair back out from under the table and hands him his card. "Even if you come over to have a look, you don't have to say yes.. just.. consider it. That's all I'm asking."

   A hug. An embrace so warm and comforting. So, encompassing and … safe? Is that this feeling? This warmth in his chest? This emotion that slows his sobs and makes him start to breathe again. Safety. What a novel thing. What an impossible thing. When was the last time he felt safe? When was the last time someone ever hugged him, ever touched him with a kind hand?

   Ever since the attack that broke him, that killed Daniel, David has been afraid. He’s felt in constant danger. He’s been nothing but a thing geared toward survival and terror. A vicious, on edge thing that felt so other, so alone and twisted. But here, in this house full of luxuries he’s never known, that feeling has been fading. Sure, David doesn’t think he’ll ever be without fear. He’s still afraid of himself, of others. The other students don’t always look at him with kindness. They don’t understand him and some refuse to try, but some are kind. Some offer a hand in friendship.

   Then there is his father. Endlessly patient, endlessly kind. Here with a warm hug and gentle words when all that fear and twisted otherness rear its ugly head again. How wonderful. How alien. How entirely real. And then he says those words. Words that make David freeze. That make his stomach drop but raise his heart to his throat.

   “You … love me?” he murmurs into his father’s chest, the sobs now ended. Slowly he pushes himself back, loosening his grip on Charles. “You love me? L … Love.”

   The word is a breath. A prayer that seems foreign. Like he doesn’t quite believe it exists. But then David frowns and his mouth presses into a hard line. His gaze drops, hands removing themselves from his father.

His heart breaks a little, hearing David talk like that. Hearing his son feeling so entirely alien that he cannot comprehend the fact Charles would love him no matter what. Unconditionally. Just like he loved any of the kids here, although David being his own did make him a little extra special of course. A chance to do things right. Even if it came much later than he would have wanted.

He allows his son to pull back, guessing he wanted to look at him to see how genuine he was in his statement, and listens to the words. Really listens.

When David's done talking, a small smile tugs at his lips. "Of course I love all of you. All of you is what makes you you. Everyone is different, David. I won't lie to you and say that your gifts are easy to manage. I feel like you're very aware that they're not, and lying about it would just be condescending. But you're hardly the only person around here who has a more complicated gift." Charles speaks. "And it has never made me love you any less. Every time something happens, all I can think of are ways to help you deal with it and make things easier for you. Because I love you." He reaches a hand up to tap against his own temple just once. "My mind is open to you, David. Look into it if you must, find something to hold onto, I know you can.. and I'm sure that would feel a lot more reliable to you than words." He smiles a bit wider now. "I know it's always more reliable to me, anyways."

Despite his doubts and paranoia, Logan can’t help but listen to his words with rapt fascination. It’s about him. It’s who he is. He’s somebody. Not something, somebody. 

He’s a person. Not a thing, not an animal, he’s a real person. 

He exists. 

He matters. 

He’s real.

“I…” He began, trying to put his scattered, broken thoughts in order. His head hurts. He gives it a shake, as if that would clear things out. It doesn’t. He gives up trying. 

“My name is- Logan,” he begins slowly, seeing how it feels in his mouth before looking up at the other, “And you’re… Charles.” Okay. That much, he can put together. And they’re- friends? It sounds like that, at least. “... A party.” He feels like a botched recording. Parties? He went to parties? He’d existed somewhere aside from the lab? He shakes his head again, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment before looking up again.

Charles takes a slow, calculated step forward, towards him, watching him closely. He doesn't think Logan would hurt him, but he's also sure now that Logan doesn't remember him. Doesn't remember spending hours upon hours talking together. Laughing. Kissing. Cuddling. All of it. All of the things that now tightened up the muscle in Charles' chest thinking of. It all felt like it happened just yesterday, while at the same time feeling like it was another lifetime.

He reaches out, moving slowly still. "Hey..." There's worry in his eyes, a sadness behind them that with their history together was easy to explain, which is why it would probably not make sense to the other yet. "Let me help you.." He only needed to make Logan remember enough to want to go with him. To not put up a fight. Charles Xavier is a lot of things, but a fighter isn't one of them.

He glances around just a bit, noticing all the bodies there. He could be one of those in just a few seconds if he made the wrong move.. and yet he's not scared of him. Maybe it's because his mind cannot comprehend Logan hurting him in any way after spending so much time together. He should feel alarmed, but he doesn't.

Eyes find the other once more as he lifts his hand a bit higher, towards his temple. "You don't remember me.. but I'm here to help. I'm not afraid of you.."