Chapter Text
“In every man’s memories there are such things as he will reveal not to everyone, but perhaps only to friends. There are also such as he will reveal not even to friends, but only to himself, and that in secret. Then, finally, there are such as a man is afraid to reveal even to himself, and every decent man will have accumulated quite a few things of this sort.”
- Notes From Underground
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2001
Erik opened the door to his apartment with his powers; the only key had been given to his mom since he didn’t need it.
He took off his shoes absent-mindedly, following his usual routine and setting up the coffee maker as he started unwrapping the plastic around the newspaper that had been delivered to his mailbox.
He woke from his distracted state as soon as he landed eyes on the first page’s headline.
DR. CHARLES XAVIER DISCOVERS ANTIDOTE TO MUTANT CURE
Under the headline, a photo of a very young man, sat at a laboratory work bench with decorative microscopes around him. A flood of emotions took over Erik. Doctor, huh? He couldn’t help but smile a bit. Charles had changed, surely, but he still looked beautiful. He wore a proud smile and Erik had to look up, blinking away the forming tears in his eyes.
He put the newspaper down. He was interested on the story; he knew that a few scientists had been trying to figure out a way to help regretful mutants (and mutants who had been “cured” against their will), but he didn’t expect anyone to succeed so soon. This must have been a secret project.
The reading would come later, though. As he sipped his coffee, he relived memories of another time Dr. Xavier exhibited his skills in a science lab.
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1991
Erik didn’t even do a double take at his school locker before opening it up to grab his books. Today’s illustration was two pigs with XX’s for eyes. The artists that scribbled on his locker weekly liked to alternate between antisemitism and anti-mutant sentiment.
Erik just ignored it. He didn’t know who it was, but he preferred it that way. If he knew, he would be tempted to beat the shit out of them, and that would get him expelled again. It wasn’t fair to his mom.
Sometimes you just need to learn to endure things.
In the science lab, he took his usual seat on the last work bench all the way in the back. He’d been lucky enough that the class had an odd number of students, and he could do the work by himself. The teacher didn’t mind it either, the school’s policies on mutants being “do your best to pretend they’re not there”. Better times than the 60s, he supposed.
He was so concentrated on the patterns of the table’s cheap granite that he hadn’t realized Mr. Bailey was already speaking. He looked up quickly once he heard “so you can take the seat next to Lehnsherr”, and to his dismay, Xavier was looking at him. He did not seem happy at all.
Erik’s jaw clenched as the preppy boy walked his way over. He was wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants, and Erik thought with intensity goddamn loser. Xavier looked at him and grimaced.
Once he reached the bench, he just stood there, staring at Erik, and Erik stared back. If he was waiting for a warm welcome, he’d wait forever, Erik thought.
Xavier cleared his throat before speaking.
“My lab partner is absent today, so we’ll be working together”, he said matter-of-factly, in that snobbish tone that drove Erik insane. It was the same tone he used when correcting classmates who tried answering questions in class.
“I know,” Erik said between clenched teeth “I heard the teacher.”
Lie. He had not heard the teacher at all, but he didn’t need Charles fucking Xavier to put two and two together for him.
“Of course.” The brat gave him a fake tight-lipped smile and took his seat. Erik remained impassive.
He mentally prepared himself for the longest, most torturous class he’d ever have in his life. Thankfully, though, he didn’t need to do anything, Xaiver taking over the microscope and quickly writing down the answers on their report.
“Are you not going to let me help?” Erik had asked at some point.
Xavier raised an eyebrow at him.
“Do you want to help?” There it was again, the condescension.
Erik looked at him for a few seconds. His eyes were so blue, it was stupid. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out the bastard was secretly wearing contacts the whole time. Eventually, he just shook his head.
“That’s what I thought.” Xavier chuckled and Erik felt the metal stool underneath him shake, reacting to his indignation.
They didn’t exchange any other words for the following 45 minutes. Once the teacher collected all reports on their cellulose observation, Xavier said, without looking at him: “Have a nice day, Lehnsherr.”
The bell rang before Erik could tell him to go fuck himself.
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2001
Before leaving the car, Charles said goodbye to Hank with a wet kiss on his cheek, and the furred man paid no mind to his breath which smelled of at least four different types of liquor, being pretty drunk himself.
“No working for the rest of the weekend Hank!” Charles yelled, now on the sidewalk, “We deserve a rest! Great fucking work, partner!”
He grabbed the wheels of his chair and did a spin on the pavement. Hank laughed at him from the driver’s seat.
“Go to bed, Professor, before you pass out on the street”, he said with affection.
Charles blew him one more kiss before turning around and rolling across the front yard to the door of his house. Once he had made it to the porch, Hank drove away with two quick honks.
What a brilliant, brilliant day. No, what a brilliant week! What a brilliant life! He did it. He and Hank found one of the most important discoveries in mutant history, at the ages of 26 and 24.
At the front door, key in hand, his vision was so blurry he struggled getting the key into the hole. He cursed out loud as he tried over and over, and suddenly he wished his old friend were there to open it for him. He straightened up as soon as he thought it. Why the hell did he randomly remember Erik Lehnsherr after all these years?
His lip tugged in a bittersweet smile. Would Erik be proud of him if he knew it? He was sure to see it on the news. Charles shook his head, finally getting the key in and deciding to think of something else. It was too late for that.
But as he walked in and started getting ready for bed, he couldn’t stop the thoughts. Memories he didn’t even know he still had.
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1991
Charles walked home slowly. He always walked home slowly. There wasn’t much to look forward to. There wasn’t a coziness to arrive to, no loving arms.
So he would take deep breaths, he’d look at the trees and at the way the sun shone through them, in bright green. He’d think of the books he was reading, and try to guess what would happen next, if they were fiction. For the science books, he’d daydream of the days he’d be the one writing them.
But there was only so much stalling you could do, and soon enough he got to the Xavier property. It wasn’t the mansion they had back in New York, just a large house, but it was unmistakably much more expensive than any of the others around it. His friends were clearly jealous the first time they passed by it. Charles didn’t invite them over, though.
Charles never invited anyone over.
When he walked into the living room, it was empty. The dark-wooden grandfather clock pointed to three-thirty PM. His mom was probably in her room watching television with a glass of wine on the bedside table. He didn’t bother using his powers to check. He knew her habits well.
After stealing a bag of chips from the cupboard (a gift from their maid, since Sharon never wrote down snacks on the shopping list), he went upstairs to his bedroom. He did his homework quickly and grabbed his copy of Notes from Underground. He tried to concentrate on his reading, but it was difficult. His mind kept going back to Erik. That jackass. As Dostoevsky’s protagonist shred Liza’s character to pieces, Charles imagined it was him giving Erik a piece of his mind. Sometimes the image would change, and Charles would imagine Erik saying all those horrid things to him.
A while later, he finished the novel with a sigh and realized he was hungry. Downstairs, his mother was finishing her plate by herself at the table.
“Yours is in the oven”, she said before sipping her wine, without looking up.
Charles grabbed his food, and they ate in silence. His mother’s gaze was lost.
He remembered the thought that his classmate had unknowingly projected. Fucking loser. Charles shouldn’t care, after all, he was the popular one. But as he pictured a different mother, one that would listen to him and talk to him and see him, he couldn’t help but agree with Erik.