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Charles' heart hurt. He could feel it protesting as he walked, piercing pain with each step, totally unreflected on his face. Briefcase in hand, he was led deeper and deeper through the bureaucratic, Kafka-esque nightmare of a Federal prison in New York. It hurt, for, oh, so many reasons. He was low on sleep, for one. Nothing new. He was getting nosebleeds, like Erik used to when he overextended his powers. Except Charles couldn't even use his powers; not for any real length of time. Not the way he once could. It probably didn't help that he'd lost weight; lost the color in his skin. His legs worked, though. They helped distract from the truth: Charles Xavier was dying.
And before he died, he needed a plan. The children; his children; deserved that much, even if they'd hate him for it. So he called Magneto in, closed ranks. Brought Moira back into the fold as well. Every old guard ally he could think of; every connection. Anything that would protect the children from what was to come. He could feel otherworldly threats breathing down his neck. The Beyonder. The Phoenix. Big players; small children. Not to mention a social environment starting to get hostile towards mutants; starting to really think about us and them. Charles had been assaulted, earlier this year; and his last thought before a brick connected with his head was: at least it was just me.
Of course, the icing on the cake was Erik getting arrested by the fucking Brotherhood. Cyclops had been breathless, on the phone, talking about the sheer lunacy of Erik submitting to arrest, but Charles understood right away. The Brotherhood had blown a wall out of the side of the Holocaust Museum, for God's sake. No, they'd face this mutant hatred head-on, while Charles still had his head. It could even be an opportunity to set things to rights, internationally, before he kicked the bucket. And, privately, Charles had known this day was coming for Erik for a long time. A few years ago, he'd had some documents forged. They wouldn't be the best cover, but Charles had always figured that if things went South; between a vaguely plausible new identity for Erik and Charles' telepathy; he'd make it stick.
Now, of course, he could barely use his telepathy, but he had a sinking feeling that the documents would still come in handy. Better than nothing. He wasn't a legal expert, or he was, but only an amateur one. At any rate, he knew enough to know this didn't look good. Enough to know he needed a bit more backup. His last favor to call in; his last untapped connection. He'd called Gabrielle.
All that was left was to face Erik, which of course, was its own challenge.
"It's going to be touch and go," Charles admitted. Erik was watching him with muted concern, slouched forward over the table where his hands were cuffed. Charles turned back to the guards, tutting in annoyance as he gestured to the offending plastic restraints. "Can you please remove those? If I were in danger from Erik Lehnsherr, I think I'd know by now."
"They made you wear plastic buttons," Erik said, amused.
"If you could be serious for the next five minutes," Charles replied, as the guards complied finally, "that would be much appreciated."
*I need to talk to you about our options, in private,* Charles said in his mind. "We should go over the format of the trial."
"Oh God, Charles, you're so weak," Erik said, finally feeling the faintness of Charles' power. He was up in an instant, frowning deep. "When did--"
"--I'm fine, Erik," Charles said firmly. "I'm not the one in a prison jumper, so, again, can we please focus down?"
"What did you want to discuss? Your obvious decline in health throws into serious doubt whether I should be letting you perform as my legal counsel."
"You'd prefer someone else?" Charles shot back.
Magneto folded his arms. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not exposing you to any danger, with you like this."
"Erik," Charles said. *I need you to not be in prison. I've weighed the costs to my health.*
He could feel Erik's reluctance to cooperate, but they both knew Charles would get himself involved one way or the other. "All right. I've been told it's a special circumstance."
"It's worse than that. They were considering setting up a new UN body for you."
"I don't understand," Erik said, frowning. "I'm to be tried as a war criminal. Germany of all places has laws for that."
Charles shook his head. "That's the difficulty. They're trying you as a non-citizen; Germany's given you up. Really, they're trying you as... well, a state, I suppose. It's to go to the International Court of Justice as a dispute between you and the UN member countries. All of them. Even though you are facing charges of crimes against humanity."
"That..." Erik said, and paused. "That doesn't make any sense."
"It makes more sense when you look at the format," Charles said, unbelievably weary. "They're trying you like at Nuremberg. It's an international military tribunal in all but name."
Erik stared at Charles, whose heart hurt again for about a million more reasons.
"I always did want that war," Erik said, a little rueful. A little hollow. "Apparently it's happened while I wasn't looking."
"I'm so sorry, Erik. It's all ridiculous. It's--"
"--fine, old friend. I have complete confidence in my lawyer."
Charles smiled. "I brought in Gabrielle."
"Oh, thank God," Erik said immediately, and they both laughed.
*This is your only warning, our first defense is going to be weird,*
*Weirder than trying me as a one-man nation?*
*Almost certainly. We're going to claim that you're a legally distinct person to the you of a few years ago, and therefore not responsible for your prior actions, because of all that business with the rebirth-as-a-baby. Oh, do keep a straight face, old friend, they're watching.*
"They're only going to have five judges, though. Each UNSC seat gets one. We expect one judge to be friendly to us; the French judge is a known liberal, civil rights advocate. Michelle Devereux. She's also the only woman on the court. The rest?"
Erik shrugged. "I don't delude myself about my chances, Charles. But I'll submit to whatever ruling they make."
Charles nodded. He'd expected as much. It was what Charles himself might have said. Still, a voice in the back of his head comforted him with the existence of a manila folder, tucked away somewhere safe, with a fake passport. "You'll face the gallows, Erik. It's going to be a close fight."
"I didn't commit any crimes against humanity," Erik said simply. "And if I had, Charles Xavier and his ever-growing hordes of children would have been there to hand me my own ass."
It wasn't, entirely, true. He'd tried rather hard at world domination, after all, but in this the idea of statehood for Erik might actually work to their benefit. If one could frame Erik's actions as those of a nascent state acting in rational self-interest, he could pick at the seams of the legitimacy of the court. After all, the ICJ wouldn't drag the United States before a tribunal if it threatened war with another country.
They were both quiet for a little while. "How are you, really?" Charles asked, finally.
"I could ask you the same," Erik replied.
"I--the arrest--"
Erik waved a dismissive hand. "I can recognize it for what it was. The Brotherhood know which way the tide is turning, and they know it's against mutants. In their zeal to get out of the way of the waves, they overstepped their bounds."
"That's--" a surprisingly forgiving outlook, Charles thought. "Still," he said instead. "I'm sorry."
*I'm going to try my best, Erik. I need you around too much to let you be martyred here.*
*Such a romantic,* Erik mocked back.
"I'll be here," he said instead. "It's going to work out."
It wasn't. Not for Charles, but Erik didn't need to hear that. Charles had never been a good liar when it came to Magneto, but he could keep this much to himself, for as long as it took to ensure Erik got out of the trial.
That night, staying in a hotel in New York City, Charles had another nightmare. He used what little remained available of his psi-talent to wipe it away, scrambling for something to replace it with when he suddenly found himself in--Israel? Magneto was laid down on a beach, supporting only his torso to watch the sunset. He was painfully, dizzyingly handsome; dressed in the way he might have been back then occasionally. A white polo shirt, light pants. Something appropriate to the heat and the sun. Charles looked down at himself. He was wearing the suit he planned to wear to the trial. The best one, black and sharp and good at hiding how much weight he'd lost. Here, in the astral plane, he still fit it properly.
Erik turned to look at him, smile playing at his mouth. "Is this a conjugal visit?" he asked, as Charles sat down in the sand next to him, loosening his tie.
"I wasn't sure you were real, for a moment," Charles replied. "But in my dreams you're never that crass."
"Oh?" Magneto said. "And what do I do, in these dreams of yours?"
Ruin my life, Charles thought. "We talk," he said, shrugging. "It helps my subconscious figure out where I stand, I think."
"Just talk?"
"I'm seeing Moira again," Charles tried, annoyed with himself that this was headed in such an obviously dangerous direction.
"No, you aren't," Erik replied, easily, leaning back onto his hands, folded behind his head. "Nor, obviously, are you seeing Gabrielle. You've got them around, Charles. As armor, so that you don't appear weak in front of the children. They're only here because they're worried about you."
"And that prohibits me from a romantic relationship with either?"
Erik turned to his side to look at Charles. "Nobody fucks their armor, Charles."
Charles sighed. "I was hoping not to think about my problems for a few hours," he said.
"And I was hoping this would be a conjugal visit," Erik replied, mock-terse. "Life is full of disappointments."
Charles leaned down and kissed him. Erik made a low, satisfied noise, and his arms came around Charles' torso, just above his waist. He rolled them over easily so that Charles' back came to the hot sand. Erik looked at him, eyebrows raised, and Charles got the point easily enough. He waved a hand and they were atop a generous blanket, sand banished from their suits. He'd have changed locations, but he honestly worried he didn't have the concentration to maintain their connection if he did. Magneto kissed his thoughts away, blissfully, and it was so easy to understand why Charles' mind had fled here.
This was a different, smoother thing than they'd been in a long time. Charles almost didn't know what to make of it, and he was a little unsettled by how gentle Magneto was being. Like Erik was trying not to pressure him.
"Is this just nostalgia, for you?" Charles asked, as if that might save him.
"The fact that you have to ask means you're not as far into my head as you'd like to be," Erik pointed out, but refused to delve into why.
"Casual sex, then," Charles mused, as Erik kissed his neck.
"You're begrudging me? I've been in prison for so long--"
"--for two weeks--"
"--I hardly remember the outside world," Erik intoned richly, faux-miserable. "My only solace the memory of a couple of warm nights by the Mediterranean with my supremely attractive legal representative."
"Well," Charles said, rolling his eyes, "when you put it like that..." Erik kissed him again and Charles put a hand in Erik's wavy, brilliant-white hair like he'd been dying to do ever since he convinced the mutant to come to his side. "What's a bit of casual sex, covered under attorney-client privilege?"
Magneto undid buttons the old-fashioned way, which Charles knew actually was nostalgia, and Charles luxuriated under the attentive touch. They were both, in a sense, lying. For one, Magneto was lying to himself about Charles' rapidly fading strength; what it really meant. This idea that Charles was recovering, it was a comforting delusion. And a close second: absolutely nothing about this was casual. The way Charles could barely stand to look at Erik, but couldn't tear his eyes away either. All he could do was shut them, until Erik's head dipped down to kiss his chest.
Charles thought about when they were younger, and he was still trying to puzzle out his odd obsession with the admittedly handsome orderly. Power called to power, of course, but Charles only learned that later. First, he fell in love with the way Magneto concentrated.
"Charles," Erik sighed against his ear. "Wanted this for a while now. God, I always want you, I can't keep running around like this, I can't keep--you know there was a woman?"
"I did know, yes," Charles agreed.
"Human. You'd have liked her."
"She reminded you of me, you mean."
"Oh, spare me," Erik rumbled. "You're the one who tried to convince yourself you were in love with Gabrielle Haller; perhaps the closest thing on this Earth to the female version of me."
"Were you going to fuck me, or--" Charles started, and Erik had him undressed too quickly to complete the thought.
Magneto got the picture, acted gentler than usual. Downright gallant, even; kissing trails over Charles' body; and Charles got that horrible dysphoria-like sensation of being reminded that one's astral plane self did not align with one's physical self suddenly, when Erik's lips ghosted over the slight divot of his hips. Much more pronounced, in his actual form. The beach tremored, for a moment, and the twilight flickered black. Erik looked around in concerned confusion.
"Never mind," Charles said, stretching. "It's been a while, for me."
Erik nodded, willing to accept it without fully believing. He held Charles close, and fucked him almost painfully gently. It might even have been romantic, on the beach, so obviously wrapped up in the past, if both men weren't so obstinately against admitting how badly they needed this. Erik had come closest, though, and Charles was worried it was because he sensed a goodbye on the horizon. Whether it meant Magneto was leaving again, or he knew Charles was.
Whenever Charles' thoughts got morbid, it must have shown somehow, because Erik would roll his hips, or bite at his skin, or whisper something unimaginably profane against his jaw, and Charles would be dragged away from it, back into their little corner of the astral plane. Erik made his eyes roll back, made him bite his lip rather than his tongue, knew exactly, always, what Charles needed. And the dream ended far too soon, but both men woke sated and concerned in equal measure.
Magneto had to be briefed a few times by Charles and Gabrielle, and it was all painfully reminiscent for Charles, who kept that photo of the three of them at a prized position on the desk in his study. Gaby, though, was obviously over the both of them. And honestly, Charles couldn't exactly blame her. Still, she was sharp and deadly serious, and Charles was infinitely grateful that she was here defending the man her ex left her for.
"God, your romantic life's a mess," Erik said, as Gaby left them to talk it over. It was easier to joke in person.
"Tell it to your blondie," Charles replied, unaffected at the ribbing. "Remember: don't bother with trying to sway Sakharov, and don't let that little rat Jim Jaspers rile you. He's the only really profoundly bigoted one up there. Against mutants, that is."
"Me? Riled? Charles, it's like you don't even know me."
"Maybe your massive biceps will enthrall the Brit," Charles mused, holding his chin between his thumb and his forefinger. "He's been thinking loud thoughts about the Court security officer; who, in fairness, is quite a looker."
They were in the men's room before the first day of the trial. Charles had pulled Erik in by the arm the moment he'd seen what the other mutant was wearing: his Brotherhood outfit, in all its sleeveless magenta and black glory.
Erik rolled his eyes. "If I am to stand trial as a mutant, I'll damn well do it in full regalia."
"Minus the helmet, of course."
"Of course."
Charles was still staring at him. "I can't believe you're wearing a cape in the Palais de Justice. Do you want to hang?"
"I enjoy that we've progressed to the point in our friendship where you understand you can't stop me, so you've instead taken to whining."
"I'm allowed to voice my concern, as your lawyer--"
"--Gabrielle is my lawyer. You're just her... what? Expert counsel? Sidekick?"
"I'll be sat just to your side, if that's what you're worried about, old friend. You can even hold my hand if you get nervous."
Erik shot him a withering look, but it gave Charles the chance to really examine Erik's eyes, and that gave him pause.
"Any listening devices?" Charles asked. Erik closed his eyes, focused for a moment, shook his head no, and Charles took him by the front of his ridiculous getup and kissed him. Erik was warm and solid and strong, everything that Charles lacked, despite his time in captivity. It took Magneto a second to respond, and it bought Charles time to pull away before Erik's hands could be on him. Before he could get a better sense for how weak Charles was. Still, Charles imagined Erik knew, deep down, because he let Charles go. There was a profound fondness in Magneto's eyes, though, which threatened to form itself into words.
By now, Charles was so weak that these expressions were all he had to go on.
"Please don't say anything today," Charles said suddenly, only barely joking. "Just--try to keep a neutral face."
"Excellent pep talk, Charles," Magneto intoned.
That day went smoothly. Just preliminaries; opening arguments. Erik, surprisingly cooperative, didn't speak once through opening arguments and the first motion; to get his crimes pre-rebirth thrown out of the case. He didn't look amused or derisive or condescending, but projected a sort of austere thoughtfulness which Charles quite appreciated. He did, however, run his hand up the inside of Charles' thigh when the lead prosecuting attorney James Jaspers called him a terrorist for the first of many times. Presumably petty revenge for the holding-hands joke, but Charles kept a solemn expression as Erik's perfect fingers splayed against the sleek black fabric, bleeding warmth. Somehow, their motion to throw out a hefty portion of Erik's more serious criminal years on the technicality of being reborn as an infant worked. Charles briefly wondered about the legal precedent they were setting here, and decided he didn't much care what conclusions the legal profession drew from this sham trial.
Still, there were certain... interruptions. Someone from the viewing space, verbally assaulting not even Magneto himself but one of his supposed mutant-loving human allies; Gaby. Charles frowned, and Erik finally sneered, but it felt rather appropriate, all things considered.
The next morning, all over the papers were the exploits of whoever it was framing the X-Men, trying to incite a race war. At this point, another spinning plate could either go completely unnoticed or it would be the one that killed him. Charles had to comfort Scott, and devise a plan to expose the plot, before rushing off to the Palais.
He met Erik again at the alcove leading to the restrooms; with Erik's handlers waiting impatiently out of sight. They wouldn't have done even that if Charles wasn't influencing them, which was more draining than he'd like to let on. At this point, even if he wanted to, he somewhat doubted he'd be able to telepathically change the minds of the judges. Not without making it look obvious.
Magneto was good at looking like he was separate; somehow above everything. Unimpeachable. Unassailable. Even when, obviously, he was not. Charles couldn't help but admire the strength of a man who faced the gallows with barely a frown. Not even for his pride, but for his people. And, of course, over the last year or so, with Erik's precipitous return to Charles' side, Charles was finding himself having no difficulty at all slipping back into a dangerous familiarity.
"It's begun," Charles said, pacing. "Free Magneto is officially a terrorist movement. Supposedly the X-Men are behind it."
"While I appreciate the irony, I'm sorry for all the trouble I'm causing your children," Erik said. It felt--honest. "It seems everything I've done has hurt you. Is hurting you."
Charles shrugged. "You bore no ill intent. And I've hurt you some myself. But... I hope you know that your apology means more to me than I--" he stopped himself. This really wasn't the time.
Erik floundered as well, for a moment. The restroom felt suddenly very small; Charles felt a tightness in his chest. "I--you go ahead. I'm going to get some--some fresh air, find Gaby."
They could both hear the jeering and the chanting from the mob out front. It wouldn't do to leave her to that alone. God knew Gabrielle Haller had suffered enough for the likes of Charles F. Xavier and Erik M. Lensherr.
"It's been a while since I've heard the term Jewess," Erik mused. "I suppose the classics never go out of fashion?"
"Disgusting," Charles said. His heart wrenched painfully again, and his first instinct was to talk his way out of it. He couldn't stop fucking pacing, but it was better than letting the tremor settle into his hands. He'd used most of the last of his telepathic strength on the guards, and the rest on Scott this morning, smoothing over his own image so that Scott didn't worry. It didn't work, of course. Instead of saying any of that, though, Charles got on a more familiar tack.
"And the least the prosecution can do is condemn it. Damn Jaspers. You know he was at college with me, in Oxford? Absolute bastard, even then. Tory prick, one of those people who think they deserve to be where they are in life, some preposterous divine providence of the wealthy. Utter madness, as if we weren't just lucky--"
Erik leaned in, kissed him, and Charles didn't know what to do. He didn't know what it was, reassurance, perhaps? But for whom? His chest was still tight, but Erik had lessened the panic. He breathed a little heavier than might have been necessary, but that was it. Whatever attack he'd been on the brink of receded.
"Go, Charles. I'll allow my handlers to lead me to the courtroom. You were quite right, one of them is rather attractive."
Charles rolled his eyes affectionately, and went to find Gaby. The second day of the trial of the century was at hand, and it would be the most crucial.
When Erik took the stand to speak, Charles felt his heart give way. It melted, dribbled out his ribcage. There was no one on Earth who could deny now how bad Charles had it for Magneto, least of all himself. The instant this trial was over, he'd confess. He'd stop this foolishness, this false distance. The ridiculous charade of occasionally intimate friends, who didn't need each other, who didn't covet the entirety of their counterpart's being. Charles was so terrified of those words: stay with me. And now he'd left it too late, assuming as Erik probably had that they'd reconcile eventually; that they'd meet in the middle just as soon as someone had an idea for what the middle looked like. Just as soon as mutants were headed down a safer path.
As he thought it, the Palais de Justice exploded. Two young mutants; holding hands, with broad, menacing grins; crashed through the walls and aimed for the kill. Erik was between them and the crowd in an instant; and Charles' heart skipped a beat. Magneto slipped his restraints with the ease of a bored shrug, pulling Charles and Gabrielle behind him with a protective arm.
"Stop them, Charles," Gaby said.
"I can't," Charles admitted. Erik spouted a bit of false bravado at the young would-be assassins. "I've nothing left of my--"
And the floor gave way. Charles was falling, and apparently he did have something left, because he heard Erik's psychic cry, felt his overriding thoughts of find-Charles, save-them-all. Magneto cushioned their fall with his powers, but caught Charles, and separated them from the mutants once again. Gabrielle and Charles helped each other up, as the judges wiped stone dust off their suits. They were in some sort of cavern, in the catacombs, Charles realized slowly.
"You're bleeding, Charles," Gabrielle said. "But the cut's not serious, thank God."
Thank Erik, Charles thought wryly, checking Gaby over.
Charles watched carefully as Erik entered into a second bout of combat with the mutants. Their powers only seemed to work when they were touching. It was a strange theory, but no stranger than many of the powers Charles had encountered. He bided his time. They called themselves Fenris, and they talked enough to give themselves away, he was sure of it.
"Tell us, Magneto," the male one said, taunting. He put on a haughty voice, perhaps even a mockery of Magneto's own style. "Isn't your life worth more than these humans? Would you really sacrifice it to save them?"
The young blonde mutant had gestured to Charles and Gabrielle. So he didn't know Charles was a mutant, but seemed to know the three of them regardless.
"Yes," Erik said immediately, putting himself between them and Charles again. Still not facing up to why he knew he had to protect Charles, not giving it a moment's ground in his mind.
The conversation focused the assailants--Fenris, they called themselves--on Erik, and the second they were suitably distracted, Charles dove between them and broke their contact. He shouted back to Erik, who handily dismantled them.
Jaspers rushed the girl with a rock, ready to bash her brains in like the caveman he was, but Charles watched through a fog. Devereaux chastised him. Everything was moving slowly, but Charles felt frozen in place. He heard the word 'Strucker' float in from somewhere. Oh, Rachel had somehow found her way in, Gabrielle was taking care of her now. Strucker. Oh, lord, that Baron, the Nazi he'd fought with Gaby and Erik, all those bloody years ago. So he'd had offspring. Charles' chest felt constrained, his heart hurt again, and Magneto said something bitter and remorseful about how his past actions keep hurting Charles. His arm reached to loosen his tie but it wasn't cooperative.
Suddenly it was just himself and Erik, and the mutant twins.
"Charles, how shall we deal with our wolf cubs?" Erik asked, and Charles realized he was deferring to him. Magneto might have killed them as easily as he breathed, Charles knew he'd lean that direction even without the telepathy, but he was holding off, for Charles' sake. Charles tried to shake the fog away but that only made it worse.
"We'll hand them over to the French auth--" Charles cut himself off with a cry of pain, strangled by his grimace.
Charles slid back towards the ground, and Erik was with him in an instant, holding him upright against the wall. He tried to explain, but all that came out was:
"My heart."
"Charles?" Erik asked, panic rising.
"Forget me," Charles said through the tightness in his chest. "Watch--Fenris."
"Fuck," Erik managed, and the twins' hands rejoined. They blasted a hole in another wall, and water rushed in.
The wall of water hit Charles like it was made of bricks, and he lost what little breath he'd had. He could barely feel that he was cold, the current was too strong for any thoughts of discomfort. It was like being dragged behind a car. He felt Erik's arms on him, pulling him up, but he had no idea how long they'd been under. Everything had a startling habit of going black. They surfaced under sunlight, coughing up water, Erik pulling Charles against his torso and laying him onto the grass.
All right, so his schedule, so meticulously crafted, would be thrown to the wind. Fine. He was in a garden, or so Erik claimed. As good a place as any to die. And Erik was with him. They talked, Charles wasn't sure for how long. It felt like an eternity. He felt Erik's hand cradle his face, at first grateful that Charles was alive, and then in painful denial that Charles was dying. Tears were forming at the edges of Erik's eyes, which Charles had only seen once before, and the only real wish Charles had in that moment was that he could move his blasted arms, so that he could wipe those tears away. Perhaps this was the middle ground. The telepath had a feeling Erik wouldn't appreciate that joke, so he made another.
"You're supposed to laugh," Charles managed weakly.
"I'm not in the mood," Erik replied, holding Charles just a little too closely.
Charles had never felt this peaceful before. Although--
"Wish this didn't have to... hurt so much."
"Stop talking nonsense. You're not going to die."
"Says who?"
"I won't allow you to give up," Erik growled. That God complex of his, always flaring up the worst when Erik was frightened.
Still, Charles petitioned him, and Erik was terrified, but he relented. He promised, with a bit of pushing from Charles, to take over at the school. That was the only real concern on Charles' mind. The children. And looking at Erik now, an inch away from his face, God, it felt so easy. Plus, of course, there was the added bonus of Erik fleeing martyrdom at this stupid sham trial.
Charles was imagining Israel again, the time they spent in the almost-dark, talking about ideals and dreams and hopes. All those half-whispered ambitions, when they both knew what they were, when they both realized at the same time the power of not being so damned alone. Charles asked if Erik remembered, and watched Erik's eyes wrench away.
Of course, no death was complete without some aliens interfering. Lilandra, another bloody ex, didn't seem to know what to make of Erik, except that he was holding Charles with a look like a child who'd broken something he didn't know how to fix, offering it up to the adult. Lilandra comforted Erik with the idea that her superior tech could help, but Charles could feel his insides wrenched around, and had more significant doubts. He made Erik promise to go to the mansion, regardless.
"You think you know me better than I do myself? Suppose I fail, and betray your dream?" Magneto asked in one final bout of self-pity. Charles pulled him close, so that he could see the detail on his face, even through the blur.
"Our dream, damn you," he said with a wry, pained smile. He put his forehead to Erik's. "And we'll never know if you don't try."
The black was coming back in and out again, and Charles couldn't remember if he ever got that confession in, but damned if that wasn't close to it.