i feel my temperature rising

“  you’re going to hurt people even worse if you don’t get this under control. hiding away from this isn’t going to help you – it hasn’t been helping you at all.  ”  charles had wanted to be softer, more level but he isn’t quite the same after cuba either.  snappier, prone to outbursts.  and from the way he can hear alex’s temper boiling underneath his words, maybe that’s what the both of them need.  “  you’re terrified of what you can do, believe me, i understand. but your powers aren’t safe, alex, and the more you hide away in that bunker pretending like that’s going to make it safe, the more you put everyone around you at risk. you have to gain control, and you have to confront this – fear that you have. the more you play it safe, the more you hold onto the illusion of having control, the more dangerous it is when you get into a situation where you have to use your powers to defend yourself or someone else. that bunker is a security blanket for you but it’s not a solution!  ”

charles didn’t think his request was unreasonable  –  outside, with charles watching from a distance in the opposite direction and no one else around.  it’s agitating and wearing him down to have to constantly argue about this.  hasn’t he warranted some level of trust from alex?  hasn’t he proven that he knows what he’s doing?  that he can help?

It does not seem like it is unreasonable of Alex to have trust issues with anyone, even if it is Charles, who has given him no real reason not to trust him.  In fact the entire mansion is probably the center mass of a mess of trust issues that spreads across much of New York.  Alex’s are run-of-the- mill at best, although they inconveniently include himself and his own mutations.

His brow clouds.  His fingernails are digging into the heel of his palm but there isn’t anything gathering in his chest.  His mouth pulls down at the corners and nothing other than his ears is turning red or even pink.

     “No one gets       hurt when I       don’t do it.

      They’re not       going to be       safe.”

Maybe he’s lying to himself about what’s going to fix this.  (Nothing is going to fix this.)  But, he thinks, the Professor is lying to himself about this being used as a defensive measure.  Alex’s mutation can be used defensively in the same way a gun could be; it is a weapon first.

He tapes up a good handful of weak points, going through a plentiful chunk of the roll of tape before he’s satisfied that it will hold up against his efforts. Wondering who had been taking their frustrations out on the bag previously–silently impressed, though a bit annoyed that whoever it was hadn’t taken the time to fix it–Josh tosses the tape to the side of the room, out of the way.

“Honestly?” He shrugs a little, beginning to stretch out his upper body. “I didn’t even think to ask Sean. I feel like if he held the bag, and I hit too hard… He might actually bruise like a peach.”

With one arm pulled up and behind his neck and the opposite hand applying light pressure to his elbow as he stretches his triceps in turn, Josh rolls his eyes at Alex, still sitting on the steps.

“But if you’re really that busy,” he begins before switching arms, grinning, “I can go ask him.”

In this house, the question of who destroyed a punching bag is not easily answered, because virtually any of them has the pent-up anger --- or, in some cases, super-strength --- to make it happen.  Possibly the only non-suspect is the Professor, because he probably couldn’t reach the taped parts from a sitting position.

     “He’s stronger       than he looks,” Alex says, which could be construed as a defense of Sean but probably isn’t, but pushes off the step to walk over behind the bag, squaring up behind it and framing its edges with his shoulders to steady it against his chest.

It’s good etiquette.  He thinks.  He hasn’t been to a real gym since he was seventeen and even so he never was much for the punching bags.

     “But I’m right       here, so, uh,       might as well.

“that much cheese is too much cheese.”

Before he thinks better of it:

      “Do you want        to do this?”

   eyes are still fixated on the horrible album cover,  still trying to make sense of it all.   (  no matter how ugly it is,  elvis is the key to the remainders of her happy childhood memories,  and tj isn’t willing to let that go quite so quickly.  )   his words,  however,  tear her gaze from the cover,  and a blush rises in her cheeks.   “ i’m tj … presley. ”   a pause.   “ no relation,  i swear !  that’d be cool,  though. ”

For a moment after she says her name, Alex panics internally, seriously contemplating the fact that she might be related, but he relaxes again at the specific reassurance, an aborted huh sound forcing its way out of his lungs, a half-laugh at himself.

     “---gave me a        heart attack.”

magneto watches havok’s back, watches the motions of doing the coffee. the routine of it. a pang of nostalgia surprises him. prison, the army. it feels like he’s been watching the way havok adjusts for decades. 

he lets the sound of the coffee exist between them in lieu of speaking. twists his mug to him and lets his flat smile flick up at the motto. it’s domestic for a second. it’s not my house. “isn’t it?” he lifts his heavy-lidded eyes and catches havok’s profile. “you’ve been here long enough.”

he snorts. “not this time. –– feel free to tell him he’s stupid.” it isn’t hard to gauge havok’s feelings, but charles has been making his own mistakes for decades. difficult to stop him. magneto doesn’t know if he’s one of the better or worse ones. he decides not to think about it. “i try to as much as possible. deflates that head of his.”

Twenty doesn’t feel like a long time ago, but it’s long enough that Erik’s getting grey and sitting in the fucking kitchen while Charles’ eight thousand kids start waking up upstairs.  Alex, technically one of the first of those kids, doesn’t feel like one and never has, shrugs one shoulder, and turns around to look back at him.

     “How long have        you been here?”

Day for day, Magneto’s probably got him beat in time out of the house. But the point is more about the fragile permanence of the place; Charles is the only one who ever stays.  It’s his house, not Alex’s.

     “I don’t have a       high school diploma       and he has a PhD.

he nods.  “  yes, i can do that. the sign isn’t really that small  :  i think sean’s just bad at driving.  ”  there’s almost a conspiratorial tone to his voice, like it’s a secret between them.  sean is terrible at driving but charles does appreciate the effort.  he’s never had to ask sean and he imagines it will be much more awkward with alex, who has never really liked charles the same way that sean or hank do.

(  he misses raven.  he always misses her but at times like these, he feels the loss so acutely he can barely breathe.  he misses her presence and her voice and her warmth by his side.  he misses the way her smile dulled the edges of his own crushing loneliness.  you and me against the world, they had once said, and it feels like a lifetime ago.  )

“  we’ll have to leave a little early tomorrow to avoid the traffic.  ”  he says instead.  “  will that be alright with you, alex?  ”

He and the Professor have a great system, where they mutually know things---Alex because they are usually his things to know and the Professor because he reads minds---and agree that it is better to pretend neither of them know them, like how Alex does not have a driver’s license and how they don’t like each other quite as much as you would expect, given how long he’s been living rent-free here.

He guesses maybe that’s a one-way street since he doesn’t actually read minds and therefore doesn’t know whether or not Charles likes him, but he is at least fairly damn sure that he is not the favourite son.

Metaphorically speaking.  Anyway, it’s not like he doesn’t like Charles.

     “I think he needs        glasses,”

Alex says, even though he doesn’t think that, because the two of them have definitely tried on Hank’s and they did not work for Sean.