X-Men Big Bang fic: The Stuff National Anthems Are Made Of (1/2)
Prologue
"Please don't leave me," Erik begs, fully aware he's sopping wet. Ororo's tiny storm cloud stopped its torrential downpour, thankfully, but it keeps rumbling ominously, and he is not ready to deal with lightning strikes, not without Charles around.
"It's three days," Charles says, completely unbothered by Ororo's tiny wibbling bottom lip or Erik's desperation. "Nothing's going to explode in three days. And plenty of people survive being a single parent."
"Of ten super-powered children? And a country of traumatized ill-tempered mutants?" Erik asks.
Charles sighs, shutting the suitcase. "You'll have Raven with you," he points out.
"Eleven super-powered children, then," Erik says, because she's capable and strong and amazing, but the minute she's near the others she becomes an irresponsible fifteen-year-old bouncing on couches and giving Charles overprotective heart attacks. "And you should know better than to underestimate what can happen in three days. We caused a revolution, took over a country, and outed the existence of mutants to the entire world in under that."
"Ah, but we did that together," Charles says, smiling at him in that fond, completely insane way of his. "I don't think I could manage half that in twice the time on my own."
"What a nice thought," Erik says dryly, and tries to shift Ororo into a more comfortable hold, and how is this his life? "Couldn't you at least take half of the children with you?"
"I'm not taking underage mutants to the United Nations," Charles says, and frowns. "It'll be fine, Erik. They practically take care of themselves, all you have to do is stop them from killing themselves or others."
"Joy," Erik says, and Ororo just keeps clinging to him. She's tiny for a five-year-old, and has a bad habit of clinging to him. "Just promise me you'll stick to the schedule."
"I promise," Charles says, lips twitching, amusement/fondness leaking through. "And I won't let the bad humans hurt me, and if they do I'll be sure to call you. I'll brush my teeth before bed every night, too."
"This is serious, Charles," Erik says.
"I'd probably treat it as such if you didn't look like a long drowned cat with a monkey attached to it," Charles says, but there's nothing but fondness in it. Erik can sympathize. It's hard to not find Ororo adorable, even when there's a potentially life-threatening storm cloud hovering over you. "Really, trust me. Everything will be fine. I'm sure they'll see reason, and then we can finally get things moving beyond infrastructure."
"Your optimism is boundless, isn't it," Erik says. "Do you really think you're going to just waltz in, scold them for five minutes, and then watch as they hurry to get rid of their near-blockade?"
Charles grins at him. "Of course not. It'd be at least ten minutes of scolding," he says, and gives Erik a short, happy kiss, followed by a quick press of lips to Ororo's perfectly dry forehead. "I'll be back."
"Three days," Ororo says very deliberately.
"And if you're not back by then, I reserve the right to do things my way," Erik says.
Charles sighs. "Fine. But please try to not do anything terribly reckless."
Something very big and undoubtedly incredibly expensive shatters in the hallway.
Erik sighs. "Enjoy New York," he states, and turns to deal with the most recent property damage.
---
One year ago, if someone had told Erik Lehnsherr that he would be in charge of a country made almost entirely of mutants, he'd have been thrilled. If someone had told Erik that he'd actually be co-ruler, but the other ruler was his very attractive telepathic male fiancé, he would have been...dubious, but pleased. If someone had told him he'd be practically married and taking care of twelve mutant children, and then also an entire island full of mutants who act like children even when they're in their seventies, Erik would have thrown them out of a window.
As it is, Erik is still tempted to throw someone out of a window. Particularly since the window is now a gaping hole in the wall of an already structurally unsound building.
"Who thought blowing another hole in the wall would be a good idea?" Erik shouts.
"Alex told me to do it!" Scott shouts, pointing straight at his brother because he is terrified of Erik and knows there's no Charles to save him now. "He said I needed to work on precision!"
"Scott. You have no precision capability," Erik states, and tries to extract himself from Ororo's grip. Her trailing thundercloud (which she's slowly taken to calling Puppy, thanks to the Xaviers' endless comparisons) rumbles a bit, but she eventually lets go, so long as she gets to keep holding his hand. "And now you have no dessert. Go run five miles, Summers." When he notices Alex looking particularly smug, he raises an eyebrow. "That's both Summers boys. Scott, stop listening to your brother. He's a bad person."
"You're a horrible parent," Sean says.
"I'm in charge of a country, my parenting skills are irrelevant," Erik says. "And you can join them."
"Lehnsherr!" someone shouts, and it doesn't take long for him to recognize Emma Frost's voice, icy and amazingly welcome. A glare sends the problem children away, and he takes a deep breath, since Emma brings him the actual country-ruling issues. Usually. Either that, or something heavy and metallic they need lifted.
"What's the problem now?" Erik asks when Emma finally walks around the corner, but loses any thought of what else he was going to say when he sees the stunned look on her face. "Frost, what's wrong?"
"You have children," Emma says.
He sighs, because thank god, he thought it was something new. "If it's Nathaniel, just tell him to stop being creepy."
"No, I mean that you have children," Emma says, slow and emphatic. "Biological children. Twins. With your blood."
Erik stares at her. "What."
"Congratulations," Emma says. "You get to be a father some more."
After hearing it, Erik would really prefer to have more heavy things to lift.
---
The sky never seems as far away as it does in New York City, really. All those buildings seem to hold it up so high that it's impossible to reach - or one would need a very impressive elevator to reach it. It's why Charles never really enjoyed New York. The state, certainly, but the city? It's a fascinating place, but he likes to consider himself a quiet soul, and if there's one thing New York never is, it's quiet.
Take now, for example. One little teleporting demonic-looking mutant, and everyone goes screaming. Well, half of them go screaming. The other half just keep on walking and give them nasty looks.
"I am used to it," Azazel says when he notices the looks Charles is giving the bystanders, and drops his hand from Charles' shoulder. "I will stay for you."
"Thank you," Charles says, surprised. "You don't have to, of course. I know you're busy."
"I prefer to not get killed by your husband," Azazel says dryly, and starts his way towards the UN General Assembly building.
Charles doesn't mind trailing along after the mutant. It gives him a chance to say, "About your tail. How large of objects can you hold with it? And how do you think the tip affects your ability to use it?"
Azazel glances back at him for a moment, and then reaches back to grab him by the coat sleeve. "My tail is my tail," he states. "I think you have other things to concentrate on, Voice of Genosha."
"But it's so interesting," Charles says. "I've never met anyone with a tail who is capable of telling me about what it's like to have a prehensile tail. Well, until now. Do you-"
"I have nothing to say about my tail, Xavier," Azazel says, which doesn't stop Charles from noticing the way it twitches. Whether it's twitching from amusement or irritation Charles doesn't know, and doesn't feel like reading Azazel's mind to find out. "Now, what is the plan?"
"I'm scheduled to speak in front of the General Assembly, and then answer questions," Charles says, and shrugs. "It's an enormous international Q & A session, really. That's about all there is for a plan. Shouldn't be that difficult, don't you think?"
Azazel sighs. "I will definitely be staying with you," he says somberly.
"And he's my fiancé, not husband," Charles adds belatedly.
"You are married and the world knows it," Azazel says, and politely holds the door open for him. "And what are you to tell the people?"
"Mostly that they don't need to keep an international navy circling around us constantly," Charles says dryly. "I'm sure we've been good for cold war politics, but really, we're a country of traumatized abductees at the moment, we're as threatening as a rain-soaked puppy."
"Perhaps if the puppy shot lasers out of eyes," Azazel says.
"Why does everyone pick Scott to harp on?" Charles asks.
Azazel looks at him. "He shoots lasers out of his eyes."
Charles looks right back, expectant. "And?"
He shakes his head. "You are a good person," Azazel says, and for some reason Charles thinks it might actually be an insult. "But remember, there is no law written for fools. Where you see a puppy, they will see a stray laser dog."
"They're not really lasers, though, it's more of a plasma burst," Charles adds, and Azazel scowls at him. "But I really do appreciate the input, and I'll try to keep that in mind. Thank you."
"You are welcome," Azazel says.
It doesn't take long for a man in a dark blue suit to find them, looking awkward at Charles and terrified at Azazel as he says, "Pardon me, sir, but you're Voice Xavier?"
"My title sounds terrible that way," Charles says, but takes pity on the man after he starts to visibly sweat. "Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"
"There's a phone call for you, from Genosha," the man says.
"Really?" Charles asks, because honestly, they've been gone for an hour, maybe three at the most. Then again, time zones-
"Imperator Lehnsherr is on the phone," the man says, and really, it's unfair how much better Erik's title sounds like that. "He called the front desk."
"Of course he did," Charles says, and sighs, following the man as he hurries them towards the front desk (and a clearly terrified receptionist, who actually squeaks when she catches sight of Azazel). They hand the receiver over the minute he's behind the desk, and Charles sits himself down in the security guard's chair as he says, "Hello, dear. How's the southeast hemisphere today?"
"We need to talk," Erik says, and that. That isn't good. At all. It's the tone of voice Erik used to have when it came to relationship issues, the one where he's trying very hard to not be scared.
"Do I need to come home?" Charles asks immediately, because he does not like hearing that from Erik. At all.
"What? No, I'm fine, we're all fine, I've just received some. Some news, is all," Erik says. "And I thought you should know."
Charles tries very hard to smile, because even if Erik can't see it he could likely hear it, and this sounds like something he'll have to grit his teeth into a smile for. "What news?"
"I have children," Erik says, all in a rush.
Charles frowns at the wall. "Didn't we have this emotional panic episode a few months ago?"
"No, Charles, not our children, my children," Erik says. "It seems I have some. And they're in the newest group of arrivals. They are twins and seven and I've heard that they're adorable and very powerful."
"Oh," Charles says. He opens his mouth to say something, but ends up closing it again when he realizes he has no idea what to tell Erik. He clears his throat, and settles for, "At least the boys didn't blow anything up."
"Oh, they did," Erik says.
"That'll be lovely to come home to," Charles says, and takes a deep breath. "The mother?"
Erik sighs into the phone, and Charles can picture the slump of his shoulders, the way he sinks into furniture with a hand over his eyes, as if he can stop seeing memories that way. "Magda Maximoff. She's been dead for...a long time, Charles." He sighs. "I didn't know there were children."
"I know you didn't," Charles says quietly. "And I look forward to meeting them when I come home."
"I'm not good at this, Charles," Erik says. "I'm not a good parent, even when they're not-"
"You're fine, Erik," Charles says. "You may have noticed our ragtag gaggle of children aren't exactly average. You're doing amazingly well, all things considered. And the twins will be no different." He puts a smile on again, and tries very hard to ignore how much he misses being inside Erik's mind, how very wrong it feels to be without him. "Only three days. Less than that, now."
"I'll see you then," Erik says.
"And you should be aware that if you call the front desk again for something like this I'll be a bit upset with you," Charles says lightly. "I can understand that you're distraught at the moment, but there's a perfectly good Visiting Speaker line that they could have easily transferred you to and wouldn't have me sitting here talking about sensitive issues with my near-monarch fiancé in the visitor's center lobby."
"They're all too scared of us to eavesdrop," Erik says dismissively, and Charles can tell it was the right thing to say. He sounds a lot more like himself, thank god. "Three days, then."
The rumbling clack of Erik hanging up is so him that Charles ends up actually smiling. It's probably the smitten smile of the hopelessly in love, but that suits him fine. Besides, Erik does have a point - most of the people in the building are far too scared of him and Azazel to really try anything.
They have more than one teleporter on Genosha, but they chose Azazel for two reasons. The first being that's he's most likely to be voted Minister of Transportation (slightly tongue-in-cheek, yes, but true, considering the man's helped save thousands of lives with trips to protect endangered mutants around the world), and that it's very, very difficult - impossible, really - to no notice he's a mutant. Charles' mutation is an invisible one, where he can't do anything flashy without potentially causing severe brain damage (unlikely, but not something to chance at the UN). Azazel walks in a room, and the room knows who, and what, they're looking at.
Charles thinks it's rather obvious which was Charles' reason, and which was Erik's.
"Should we not prepare for your speech?" Azazel says, and Charles nods, moving away from the front desk and trying to decide whether he should be grateful or offended by the way people move out of their way.
"There's not much to prepare," Charles admits. His speech is mostly a synopsis of why Genosha's called an 'Independent Sanctuary' and why they really don't need to bother wasting tax money on a navy blockade of their mostly harmless little island. "Why? Is my hair terrible?"
"It looks like usual," Azazel says, and Charles ignores the way that his answer means nothing. Or many things. The man's devilish in far more ways than appearance, after all.
But it seems he does have things to prepare, since when he steps into what they're calling a guest room and Charles is thinking of as a visiting professor office, there's three men in suits waiting for them. Charles skims their minds briefly - just to make sure they're not going to shoot them, and to make sure they speak English - and smiles at them, casually shrugging off the hand Azazel has placed on his shoulder. "Hello, gentlemen. How can I help you?"
"We'd like to speak to you about your...ability," Jacob Harrison, head of security, says. He holds out his hand, saying, "I'm Jacob Harrison, head of security here. The men behind me are Peter Davenport and Harry Wick."
"Professor Charles Xavier," Charles says as he shakes Harrison's hand, because he likes the way it makes them twitch, having to think of him as a geneticist who has taught college courses instead of as the scary co-leader of a superpowered country. It's a guilty pleasure, yes, but a pleasure nonetheless. "What exactly would you like to know about my mutation, Mr. Harrison?"
"We'd like some sort of guarantee that you'll not be reading any of the delegates' minds," Harrison says, and it's. Well. Rather blunt.
Charles laughs. "Goodness, you really think I'm that powerful? Reading thoughts when you're not in physical contact with someone is very difficult for most of us, I'm not going to exert myself while giving a speech."
Davenport and Wick look relieved, but Harrison only nods. "I've heard the story of why you're Voice of Genosha, Professor."
"Projecting and reading thoughts are extremely different, Mr. Harrison," Charles says. "That's my true talent. Reading thoughts is, for me, usually touch-based." He smiles. "Really, is speaking without opening my mouth all that threatening?"
"It's unsettling, but not threatening," Harrison says, and doesn't notice in the least that Charles is making sure he remembers that. "Would you be willing to wear gloves?"
Charles frowns. "I'm sorry?"
"If someone should choose to shake your hand, it would be best if you couldn't read their thoughts," Harrison says.
"I think they should stop wasting our time," Azazel says, tail twitching.
"And I like to think that if someone chooses to shake my hand, they'll trust me to not invade their thoughts in a completely immoral and reprehensive act," Charles says, firm, trying very hard to not glare at the man. He's just doing his job, and really, Charles had expected ignorance and fear from these people. It's why Charles is here instead of Erik - Charles will glare and project his disappointment/displeasure at people, instead of wrap them in metal and kick them in the ribs.
Harrison actually bows after that, and says, "I'll inform the delegates of that. Thank you for your time, Professor."
"Thank you for your hard work," Charles states, and knows he should be smiling. Instead he watches the security detail trail out of the room and close the door behind them.
Azazel snorts. "You lie very well, Xavier," he says.
"I didn't lie at all," Charles says. "Most telepaths do have touch-based mind-reading abilities. And it's not my fault if they haven't thought of more creative uses of telepathy to ask me about." He sighs. "But a little misdirection is expected in politics, I think."
"Just keep it to politics," Azazel says, and there's more truth in that sentiment than Charles would really like to admit. He grins, though, the mischief crinkling the scar around his eye. "Would you like to make an entrance?"
Charles laughs. "Goodness, I don't know, they're already-"
"That means yes," Azazel says, and puts a hand on Charles' shoulder, and-
-there's screaming, everywhere, and this is why mischievous teleporters are a horrible thing to bring to the UN, it really is. Charles sighs, watching the assembly erupt into chaos as the smoke dissipates from them and Azazel.
Well.
Azazel's laughing so hard he's hunched over.
"You are not coming to anything political ever again," Charles tells him, and tries to be firm, he really does, but laughter is particularly infectious when you're a telepath, for god's sake. Then again, so is the hysteria, and really, these are a bad, bad combination, because now Charles is holding on to the podium and, well, laughing…well, hysterically.
"I'm so sorry about that," Charles wheezes into the microphone, trying to hold a placating hand up. It takes him much longer than he likes to get himself back in order, moments he takes to apologize to everyone he can think of except for Azazel, who has teleported himself away to the back of the room.
"Pranks aren't welcome here," the president says, but there's a bit of humor there. "Neither are you, for another six minutes, but we can move up the schedule since you seem to need the podium to keep standing."
"I really am sorry," Charles says, chagrined. "Thank you for not kicking me out."
"All nations have a voice here, even the immature ones," the president says, scratching at something on his desk, and Charles decides he likes this man. "You've already been introduced, so whenever you're ready."
"Thank you," Charles says, and takes a deep breath.
---
Wanda and Pietro Maximoff are seven years old and adorable, just like the report said.
What the report didn't mention was that Wanda looks so much like her mother, or that Pietro looks so much like Erik's father, with Magda's eyes. Wanda does have the Lehnsherr chin, though, and also seems to have the genetic predisposition for stubbornness.
Pietro takes one look at Erik with big green eyes and says, "Wow, you're tall!"
And Wanda just stares.
And as Erik stares back, he thinks he really, really should've asked Charles to come home. He's the one who gives the 'welcome to your new home' speech, the one who helps the children get settled in and tries to convince them the scary men with the collars aren't coming back. Thank god they weren't on Genosha before the collars came off.
And these are his children, he's biologically linked to them and responsible for their tiny, tiny lives. He feels like there's something missing, that he's supposed to look into their eyes and feel something more than nerves and responsibility and an endless regret that they've been alone for so long.
Pietro's comment sticks in his head, though, and he sits down on the floor in front of them. He takes a deep breath, and says, "Do you know who I am?"
"You're the Imperator! And you're the strongest mutant ever and you're one of the saviors of Genosha and you and the Voice take in the children so we won't be some big word I can't remember, it's nice to meet you," Pietro says, and Erik can't help but wonder how he's not even out of breath, and wonders if it might be an early-onset mutation, because he continues, saying, "I heard you knew our mom but she didn't say anything more than that, it was the pretty white lady who said it, she wears a lot of white, is she getting married?"
"She was wearing pants, stupid," Wanda says, sullen. "You don't get married in pants."
"You do if you're a boy," Pietro counters, smug. "Who's the stupid one now?"
"I'm not stupid, you're stupid!" Wanda shouts.
"Her name is Emma Frost, and she isn't getting married as far as I know," Erik says. "She wears white because she likes it. And I need you to pay attention, please."
"I can do that," Pietro says, eager. He's so obviously an endless ball of energy that even looking at him is tiring. Pietro's idea of paying attention seems to be vibrating in place, staring at Erik.
Erik thinks for a moment about how to address their relationship, and then he remembers they're seven years old and Pietro will probably explode if Erik keeps him still for much longer, so he says, "I'm your father."
"Like you're going to take care of us?" Pietro asks. "We've had those before, I hope you're good at it."
"No, I'm actually your father," he says.
"Really?" Wanda asks, and Erik can tell he'll be dealing with a tiny skeptic for quite a while.
"Really," Erik says. He wants to add something about how if he'd known they were out there he'd have raised hell to get to them, or say something about how lovely their mother was and that he'd thought she was dead, but can't think of how to say it. "I'm going to take care of you now. I promise."
"Wow. Am I a prince now?" Pietro asks.
Erik frowns. "Do you want to be?"
"Of course I do! I get to fight dragons and be charming!" Pietro says.
"You can do that without being a prince," Erik says.
"Where have you been?" Wanda asks, hands clenched.
Erik sighs. "I've been trying to help our people for a very long time," he says, because it's as good as he can do. "I didn't know you two were out there until about four hours ago, and now I'm here."
"That's pretty fast," Pietro says.
"Why didn't you know before that?" Wanda asks.
Erik frowns. "I've been busy," he says, and suddenly Wanda's going into breakdown mode - he can recognize it from the times Ororo's Puppy starts raining on him. "Wanda-"
"I don't want to talk to you!" Wanda shouts, and runs out of the room. Pietro doesn't take too long to follow his sister, giving Erik a nonthreatening glare that looks more like scrunching his nose up than anything as he heads out the door, shouting his sister's name.
Erik sighs. "That went about as well as I'd expected," he mutters, and Raven trots in not long after, looking concerned. "What? Did they break something?"
"Why is that always your first question?" Raven asks, and then shakes her head. "No, we had Charles' speech on the radio. It was." She sighs, skin flickering for a moment. "It was very Charles, but they’ve stopped coverage. And we should be expecting company."
"Refugees?" Erik asks, and when he notices the grim tilt to her mouth, he grimaces. "Human refugees?"
"Worse," Raven says. "Ambassadors."
---
Genosha is not a dictatorship, or an empire, or even a republic. It is a sanctuary, made by and for those who need salvation. We're focused solely on recovery, of both the island and the people tortured and enslaved there. Our island is wounded, but building itself back up, becoming something far stronger and brighter than it was before. Our people are hurt and scared, but slowly starting to heal and hope. All we want is peace, dignity, and the right to exercise free will when it comes to our people's futures.
Many of the powered individuals that Old Genosha ripped from their homes want to return. Some of them are even ready to do so, as soon as the navy blockade is lifted and it's safe for them to go back to their families and friends. Some are native Genoshans who have been quietly, violently oppressed since birth, and whose families had to flee the country. We would like to welcome them home - which, again, we cannot do until the navy blockade is lifted.
I understand that there's a level of mutual uncertainty and fear in our hearts and minds. This is natural, when it comes to a new idea that one can't fully understand. The powered individuals that inevitable human genetic mutation has brought to the world is a very difficult concept to understand, and easy to fear. But the core of powered individuals, no matter what they can do or look like, is that they are human. They're your fellow man, prone to the same fears and the everyday bravery it takes to face them.
Genosha's requests are simple - end the blockade around a nation that has rightfully overthrown cruel oppressors who were guilty of well-documented crimes against humanity, and recognize that every powered individual has the same rights and privileges as their non-powered brethren.
Excerpt from the First Genoshan Address to the United Nations,
Charles F. Xavier, Voice of Genosha,
April 19, 1963.
---
Charles almost feels like he's managed to get through to them, considering the talk of sending ambassadors and the UK delegate already saying he's sure they'll pull out of the blockade initiative, 'all things considered'. Nobody but the president of the assembly seems willing to shake his hand, but that's expected. The security council is determined to send ambassadors as soon as possible, with the US and Soviet Union already having assembled theirs (which is...not all that surprising to Charles), and it leaves Charles standing at the podium, waiting for all the motions and resolutions to be proposed and for the delegates to vote on whether to vote on things and really, this is why he and Erik play Horrible Chess, it's a much more enjoyable way to make difficult decisions. That, or make Raven decide.
And when it is done and Charles is leaning on the podium watching the room of politicians talk amongst themselves while thinking about how, statistically, one of them must be a mutant, the first question he gets is, "What does the Imperator think of this?"
"Of what, precisely?" Charles asks, because really, how vague can a question be?
"The statements you have put before the assembly, has your...lover agreed with them?"
"My fiancé, actually, or co-ruler if you’d prefer to not think about me marrying a man and you not being able to object, and for the most part he does," Charles says honestly. "You have to remember that he has a different perspective than I do when it comes to oppression. We both believe that the first order of business in a situation like Genosha's is recovery, since we're able to help with that, but Erik is." He pauses. "Well, he hunts down Nazis in his spare time. That should tell you something about his political beliefs."
"And you do not believe that he will hunt down humans after this?" A different delegate says. All Charles can tell is that the country's name starts with an R, which doesn't tell him much.
"I think he'll continue hunting down Nazis," Charles offers. "But I think he'll leave the Genoshans to their specific victims." He sighs. "Is there anything else you'd like to know about Erik? Eye color, maybe? Shoe size?"
That earns a rumble from the assembly, and the president actually leans down and motions Charles over. "I know they are irritating, but try not to start a war by patronizing them," the president says.
"I'm here to get a blockade lifted, not humor their homophobia," he protests.
"I think they are afraid of your Nazi-hunting co-ruler more than homosexuality," the president says, coolly, but then motions Charles back to the podium. He does, however, address the assembly, saying, "Please keep your questions in the same vein of discussion and diplomacy for which this body was founded."
The muttering that causes reminds Charles of the times he scolded his classes for not doing the reading. "Really, the issue here is that Genosha has been forced into an isolationist nation, as if we've been quarantined or segregated from the rest of the world," Charles says. "So here is the crux of the matter: while we're fully capable of getting around your little ships, it's rather irritating and makes our traumatized mutant population twitchy. And really, we can all get along just fine, so there's no point to the Genoshan blockade no matter how you look at it."
"Please don't start a war," the president says.
"Are you claiming military supremacy?" a delegate demands.
Charles frowns at the man "What? No, of course not, we don't even have a military, where did you come up with that? Genosha is practically a hospital at this point, I just meant that." He sighs. "You don't need to blockade us, is all."
"A hospital run by a Nazi-hunting murderer," yet another delegate says.
"And a genetics professor, and a waitress," Charles adds. "Really, he's so much more than that. Are you going to claim that there's someone more qualified to help the Genoshan citizens than a man who survived the holocaust?"
That, thankfully, shuts them up. He feels a bit guilty for bringing it up, but Erik's never been ashamed of himself.
"I would like to ask a question regarding many statements you've made," another delegate says, and Charles turns to look the woman in the eye. "Throughout your speech, you referred to mutants as if you are not one of them. Why?"
"A habit from my days as a professor, I'm afraid," Charles says, and really, he hadn't even noticed he was doing it. "I find that teaching from personal experience gets messy, and taking a step back helps one think about events much more objectively."
"What is your objective opinion of The Genoshan Party?" another delegate asks, and this is getting ridiculous, how many of these men are there? He'll need glasses at this rate.
"And by that I assume you mean the anniversary-slash-engagement party," Charles says, and when he receives a nod, Charles continues, saying, "Also known as the beach party that most of the guests came to horribly overdressed where we were all there to have fun and not talk politics and that's exactly what happened." He pauses. "My objective opinion is that the party set the tone for Genosha as a rather harmless place, since we really did do nothing but drink on the beach." Well, Charles and Erik didn't, at least; they drank slowly worsening wine and talked to famous people and made out on the beach like giggling teenagers. And got engaged after a drunken conversation with someone who had very fluffy hair who was telling Charles about how Marilyn Monroe was Jewish, which seemed so important at the time. "It was a rather confusing night."
"So I've heard," the delegate says testily.
Charles grins. "I'm sorry you missed out on it; I'll be sure to invite you next time, if it makes you feel better."
The room laughs. Well, most of the room laughs. The rest of the room hisses in the ever-scandalized tones of those who have had their sense of humor run off somewhere down the road.
"How many languages do you speak, Voice Xavier?" yet another delegate asks, sounding genuinely curious.
Charles frowns. "English and Latin. Why?"
That's when the muttering starts.
And that's when Charles realizes he's been listening to everything out of the delegates' minds, listening to the meaning they've projected with their words instead of listening to the language they're speaking and waiting for someone to translate into English. He's gotten so used to doing it on Genosha, with all its transplanted populations from a hundred countries that speak a thousand different languages, that it hadn't even occurred to him.
Azazel probably doesn't help anything by puffing into existence by his shoulder. "I took the ambassadors to Genosha," he says, ignoring their enormous audience. "Are you done yet?"
Charles looks at the anger on the previously amused and slowly moving to friendly faces that stare towards them, feels the fear and apprehension and what else is he doing to us right now he lied to the security people we aren't safe that swarms around the room.
Most of Charles thinks it'd be a good idea to hold onto Azazel's elbow and go home, meet his stepchildren, and wait for this to blow over before trying again. They can survive the blockade easily. But at the same time, if he runs now, if he leaves now, when they're just starting to make their opinions about mutants.
"No," Charles says, and looks up to see the previously friendly president watching him with wary eyes. Charles meets his gaze evenly as he says, "I'm afraid I've only just begun."
---
Erik is hunting down his children when the ambassadors arrive in big acrid puffs of smoke. There's only four of them, and just looking at them makes Erik cringe - they have Cold War Politics written all over them. Two Russians, two Americans, all four of them glaring at each other.
"I have shit to do, so here are the ground rules," Erik says from the doorway, and it makes them jump. "Genosha has five laws: don't kill, don't rape, don't steal, don't oppress, and pay your taxes. Failure to uphold them will get you tossed back to your respected navies, understood?"
"On behalf of the Soviet Union-" one of them begins.
"I really don't care what you have to say, just stay out of the way and don't do anything stupid," Erik says, and walks out. It's probably a lot to ask of politicians, but-
"Wait!" one of them shouts. Erik doesn't bother turning around to see who it is, just keeps on walking and trying to find where Wanda and Pietro ran off to. The man - kid, really, Erik notices when he manages to catch up - is persistent. "Wait, Mr. Imperator, my name is Hank McCoy, I was. Well. I was hoping to talk to you about the scientific side of mutation."
"You want Charles for that," Erik says, and tries to ignore the flood of relief he feels when he hears small, young voices on the other side of a door. It draws him up short when he realizes it's not just two voices, it's three.
Ororo, it seems, is talking in full sentences. They're the fractured sentences of the young, but it's still more than Erik has heard from her since they found the girl in the most well-protected storage container in The Pit, along with Nathaniel, Jean, and Kitty, and guarded by a man named Logan. He was the only one who could still fight, because while they could take away his ability to heal, they couldn't take away his ability to be in excruciating pain but still fighting with razor-sharp adamantium claws.
If Genosha awarded medals, Erik would have given the man one in a heartbeat. Instead, Logan had been on the first mutant-laden ship off the island.
"It's just, I have a, um. Personal interest, Mr. Imperator," the kid says, shifting from foot to foot. "It's the reason I volunteered so fast. See, I-"
Erik turns to look at the awkward young man, in his glasses and ill-fitting suit, and says, "In case you missed the fact I'm busy and you don't rank that high on my priorities right now, let me tell you this. There are plenty of mutants here for you to pester." He sees brief flashes of yellow and brown and red out of the corner of his eye, and smirks, grabbing onto the young man's shoulder before pointing to a suspiciously quiet corridor. "Like them."
The pained groans and shouts of objection the boys give him are like music to his ears, they really are.
"Oh, I don't want to bother anybody," the kid says.
Erik looks at him, long and hard. "Then why are you still talking to me right now?"
He turns red at a speed to rival stoplights, stammering out, "Right, I'll. I'll go talk to. Them."
"Alex," Erik shouts, and with a sigh the blond sulks his way out from the shadows. "Show the kid around the public areas."
"We wanted to meet your twins," Scott says, head popping out from behind a corner.
"Tough," Erik says, and pushes the not-quite-ambassador towards the children. "Enjoy your tour, kid."
"Doctor Hank McCoy, actually," the kid says, looking from Erik to Alex and then back.
"It's nice to meet you, Hank," Erik says, attention still focused on the children inside. "Now leave me alone."
Alex drags Hank away, and Erik steels himself, letting the voices of the older children fade to little more than distant whispers before he lets his hand rest on the door handle. It's ridiculous, that he can face down an entire multinational navy every single day without flinching but is intimidated by the thought of the children on the other side of the door. Preposterous. Charles would laugh himself silly. Charles would also be far better qualified for this, maybe Erik should wait until he comes home.
Stop being a fool. After all, they're just children, Erik thinks to himself, and opens the door.
---
"You understand, I'm sure," the president says.
It's only the fact that Charles can read the man's honest disappointment (and far less fear than the rest) that keeps him from snapping. "I do understand," he says. "But I think you can also understand why I'm not exactly thrilled that you want to keep me holed up in a little room while you talk behind my back."
"The situation is unorthodox, you must admit," he says. "And I understand your frustration but please, indulge us. I ask you to do this as a show of good faith."
"And you also understand that I think it's disgusting that I'm the one who needs to show good faith when I've done nothing wrong," Charles says. "I haven't lied to anyone, I haven't threatened anyone, and I haven't read anyone's minds beyond the naturally projected thought that comes with deliberate speech."
The president nods, and Charles is honestly surprised that he's actually listening, thoughts bubbling with sincerity. Almost everyone else is focused on fighting or reveling in their fear/anger. "You yourself said that new ideas are frightening and take adjusting. Allow us to take that time."
He can see Azazel's tail swishing dangerously through the air, can hear the projected we should leave xavier, but Charles ignores him. He nods, and says, "I hope you use it wisely."
The head of security and his underlings are waiting for him at the door, eyeing Azazel with such obvious fear that Charles doesn't even have to skim their minds to see what they're thinking. They don't bother with pleasantries this time, simply escort him from the room and into the wings of the building. Charles doesn't know the floor plan, but he does know they're moving far from the conference hall, and they always go down stairs, never up.
The room they stuff him into looks like it used to be a storage closet, hurriedly cleared out and given enough good furniture to not be disrespectful. The heavy metal door isn't lost on him, either - not that heavy metal doors matter when you're Charles, considering he can just tell them to open it, and if that fails he can ask Erik to do so. Still, it's just rude, and it makes something sour squirm through his stomach. "You'll fetch me as soon as they're done conferring amongst themselves, of course," Charles says, because it's not a question.
"Of course. The moment they ask for you," the security guard says, and there's not much else Charles can do but nod, and sit back in the dim little room. He situates himself on the couch, watching them warily step out of the room.
Azazel hasn't stopped frowning at Charles since...well. For a while now. "We should leave," he says.
"I'm here to help my country. Leaving won't do that," Charles says, because this is how they want it. If he has to deal with fools, so be it. Being stuffed in a broom cupboard and being told to stay put while mommy and daddy talk is most certainly not his preferred negotiation strategy, but it is at least familiar.
Azazel sighs, and slips into the armchair to Charles' right. "And you will not have me tell your husband."
"I'd prefer to not start a war, thank you," Charles says, and sighs. "Besides, he could do without the added stress, don't you think? We'll give him some pleasant time with the children, and he can find out about this when it's all blown over."
The other man is thinking about optimism being near-suicidal very, very clearly.
Charles decides to innocently project puppies and butterflies at him in retaliation.
---
Erik is going to open the door, he is, until Emma's voice is in his head, loud and irritated, saying, Stop whatever you're doing and get over here. One of the ambassadors is dead.
He's an old hand at this by now, frowning and stepping away from the door as he follows the gentle tug every telepath seems to leave when they're in someone's head. Which one? Because if the kids somehow killed the child doctor ambassador, they are going to have words.
One of the Russians, Emma projects back. Raven's doing her best to keep the other American and Russian from finding out, but it's not pretty. And it's a bit suspicious, wouldn't you agree?
That he died within an hour of his arrival? Erik projects. Why Emma, you make it sound like there's a conspiracy here.
It's cold war politics in my favorite drawing room, Emma replies, and the irritation intensifies at the image she sends with it - her personal pristine white-and-beige parlor, with a big ugly red stain and a big ugly dead man in it. Get rid of it, Erik.
He considers telling her that there's really an awful lot of other things he has to do, like dealing with having biological children and also having non-biological children that like to blow things up and also having an entire country to run, but he can tell Emma will just play irritating music in his head if he doesn't show up in the near future. Erik still has nightmares about when Emma had decided to get ragtime stuck in his head for two days (and it had only stopped because Charles finally stopped finding it funny and did something about it).
Emma's parlor is fairly close to the one he and Charles use as a study-slash-audience room, directly next to Raven's study-slash-whatever she wants, and he can hear Emma's anger five hallways away, streaming through the air. "Who ever told him he could die in here? And who ever told Azazel that my room was the one for teleportation?"
"We all did, Emma," Erik says, looking down at the very dead man on the floor. "I'll buy you a new carpet. When did he die?"
"I don't want a new carpet, I want this one to have never had a dead man on it," Emma says. "And recently, since the ambassadors have been in Genosha for a little over an hour." She glares at him, arms crossed over her chest scathingly. "You're the expert on dead bodies, Imperator. I'm leaving this to you."
"Fine," Erik says. "Check on the other ambassadors while you're at it, though - they're my primary suspects."
"And if we had a police force, this wouldn't be your problem," Raven says from the doorway.
"We're getting there," Erik replies, looking down at the very dead man.
"You should get there faster," Emma states. "And you also might want to inform your boyfriend that one of his olive branches bled to death all over my carpet."
"Your metaphors need work," Erik says absently.
"Your face needs work," Emma says, and stalks out, Raven slipping in as she leaves.
She sighs. "Do you want me to call him?"
"I can do it," Erik mutters, looking at the body. It's strange, because he can't see any reason for him to have bled to death so fast and violently. He knows how long it takes for someone to die like this, and it usually helps to have sliced someone somewhere. "And I know neither of you like giving the other bad news."
"You don't have to be mediator," Raven says.
"But I want to be," he says simply, keeping the disgustingly soppy because I like my Xaviers to be happy to himself, and sighs. "Will you do me a favor and keep a watch on the body?"
"Of course," Raven says, and after a moment of assessment, shifts her form into the dead man. When she notices Erik's frown, she winks. "Just in case someone comes looking and we're not ready to give answers we don't have."
Erik gives her a tight-lipped smile. "What would I do without you."
"Die a horribly painful death, completely alone," Raven says, which sounds a bit strange coming from the booming Russian's vocal cords. She saunters over to one of Emma's still-pristine chaises and lounges there - again, strange in the body, but Erik is used to it. "Get going. I have this covered."
Raven is absolutely his favorite.
---
It doesn't take long for Charles to get bored in their tiny room, because Azazel gets bored even faster than he does and has teleported off to somewhere that is undoubtedly far more fun than the dingy little room that is made of joyless cinderblocks and has an uneven throwaway Persian rug on the floor to halfheartedly disguise the fact the floor is poured cement.
He's fully aware they've done their best to turn him into a temporary political prisoner, and it's…well, it's not a surprising turn of events. Telepaths are rarely surprised, though often disappointed, and Charles is fairly certain that's what he's feeling now. Disappointment and boredom and yes, fine, a little bit lonely. He doesn't fault Azazel for wanting to do something other than loiter around in a boring room that reminds him a bit too much of storage containers.
Charles listens in, of course. It's quaint, how they think he can only read their minds when he's in the room when they all know he's capable of projecting over the entirety of Genosha. They're not very exciting, though. Mostly they're trying to figure out the 'mutant threat' and whether or not Charles is a horribly threatening creature they need to throw out of the UN and bomb his tiny traumatized island. He knows they're saying this because they're scared and new to the idea of mutants, but really?
He's starting to think Erik would have been a better choice for addressing the United Nations. A take no prisoners mindset might have gotten things done much smoother and simpler than Charles' attempts at political consideration and attempts at making them see the homo sapiens in homo sapiens superior. Really, he's a geneticist, he's not cut out for this.
The man who knocks on the tiny room's door is nervous and uncertain, but Charles isn't in the mood to try and calm him down. The man doesn't seem to expect it either, simply opening the door and peeking in to see nothing incriminating whatsoever. It's not even an illusion - Charles has been doing nothing but sitting on the couch since they stuck him in the godforsaken broom closet.
"Sir, you have a phone call," the man says, and that certainly can't be a good thing. At all. "I'm to escort you to the reception desk."
God, Charles really needs to give Erik a lecture on how he should call something other than the main line to the United Nations. That's for tourists needing directions, not people running tiny countries. He sighs, stands, and says, "Of course. Please lead the way." Because clearly, an armed guard will make such a difference when it comes to Charles' behavior.
The people they pass in the halls all recognize him immediately, and are either uncertain or afraid. It's not exactly improving his mood, so Charles tries to ignore the stares and thoughts and tries to figure out what exactly has gone wrong on Genosha this time. He just hopes it isn't the children again.
The receptionist actually recognizes him, in a way that is surprisingly pleasant - she recalls him on the phone, and not as a terrifying telepathic mutant threat to society and all humanity. It's refreshing, and a bit depressing that it's refreshing. Still, he musters a smile for her before stealing her hastily-vacated chair and sitting down.
"What did I tell you about calling the main line?" Charles asks.
"Charles," Erik breathes out, and the tense relief in his voice immediately sets Charles on edge. "We have a problem."
Charles clears his throat. "I hope nothing important has exploded."
"A little worse than that. One of the Russian ambassadors was murdered and is bleeding all over Emma's carpet, and I don't even know what to do with the other three - one's barely out of his teens and running around with Alex, one's been prowling around and taking pictures of everything, and one's missing and presumed murderer at large."
"Well, that isn't very good news at all," Charles says, mind working furiously as he tries to add in yet another diplomatic travesty to this entire train wreck of a political expedition.
Erik breathes out into the receiver, long and frustrated. "You need to come home."
"I suppose I do, don't I," Charles says, and runs a hand over his face, because really, how awful can a day be? "The children are safe, I assume."
There's a long pause on the line. A very long, very worrying pause. "I'll check," he says, and Charles doesn't even have an opportunity to shout at him for not checking on the children when there's a murderer prowling around the building before Erik hangs up without a moment of goodbye. Which is usually endearing, but right now it just leaves Charles strangling the phone and breathing far more harshly than is reasonable.
He can't tell the countries that one of their ambassadors is dead by another's hand. He probably doesn't even have time to tell them he's leaving, not that they'd appreciate it. Charles will be labeled a coward, or dissentious, or as some other terrible thing he really isn't, but there's no point in postponing the inevitable. Not when there's a killer loose on his island with the people he cares most about in the world.
Azazel, he calls out brusquely, standing back up and giving the receptionist her chair back. His escort is obviously waiting to take Charles back to the broom closet, but Charles would prefer to teleport out with an audience. When he receives no reply, he frowns and extends his range outwards, actively seeking his mind.
He finds Azazel's mind in a guest office on the fourth floor, tranquilized deeply enough that if Charles tried to wake him it could be damaging, and if there's one thing that is a very bad idea, it's damaging the mind of a teleporter.
"Sir, I'm to take you back to the waiting area," the escort says, and Charles wonders how they caught Azazel. Perhaps it was simply luck, and they shot him right after he appeared, possibly directly in front of a guard just to toy with the man.
"I need to call him back," Charles says instead of following the escort's lead like a good little boy.
"I'm afraid I can't let you. I'm to take you back to the waiting area immediately after your call ends," the escort says.
Charles can't help it. He smiles at the man, slow and wry, because of course this is happening. There's a reason he suppressed his powers for years and years, a reason that Raven's boyfriend tried to beat her to death with a cricket bat when she trusted him enough to drop her disguise. Likewise, there's a reason the ex-boyfriend thinks he's a five year old girl when he's not a drooling vegetable.
He hadn't ever thought of it as being wrong to be a mutant. A telepath, yes - sometimes he's still terrified of what he can do and how easy it would be - but a mutant? No. It's a genetic inevitability, one that these people don't seem to truly comprehend. It breeds hatred and violence and humans kidnapping his people for slave labor, and at the moment, Charles is absolutely sick of humoring them.
"You do understand who and what I am," Charles says.
It makes the man tense, his hand and mind twitching towards the pistol beneath his suit jacket, but he nods. "You're the Voice of Genosha, and a telepath," he says.
"And you're trying to keep me from calling my angry metal-controlling Nazi-hunting co-ruler fiancé regarding state business," Charles says. "Do you really think that's a wise course of action?"
"I don't," the escort says, and Charles can feel the iron resolve that straightens his spine in that moment. "But it's what I've been told to do, sir, and I follow my orders."
Charles can respect that. He's impressed by the man's willingness to stand up to him, but that doesn't mean the obstruction is welcome. "If you think you can stop me, you're welcome to try," Charles says, and pulls the phone closer to dial the number again. He doesn't have to stop the man from doing anything. He just stands there, watching and trying very hard to not be afraid of Charles Xavier.
How times have changed, Charles thinks as the call goes through, ringing.
And ringing.
And ringing.
Charles sighs on the twelfth ring, and says, "This can't be good."
Part 2
"Please don't leave me," Erik begs, fully aware he's sopping wet. Ororo's tiny storm cloud stopped its torrential downpour, thankfully, but it keeps rumbling ominously, and he is not ready to deal with lightning strikes, not without Charles around.
"It's three days," Charles says, completely unbothered by Ororo's tiny wibbling bottom lip or Erik's desperation. "Nothing's going to explode in three days. And plenty of people survive being a single parent."
"Of ten super-powered children? And a country of traumatized ill-tempered mutants?" Erik asks.
Charles sighs, shutting the suitcase. "You'll have Raven with you," he points out.
"Eleven super-powered children, then," Erik says, because she's capable and strong and amazing, but the minute she's near the others she becomes an irresponsible fifteen-year-old bouncing on couches and giving Charles overprotective heart attacks. "And you should know better than to underestimate what can happen in three days. We caused a revolution, took over a country, and outed the existence of mutants to the entire world in under that."
"Ah, but we did that together," Charles says, smiling at him in that fond, completely insane way of his. "I don't think I could manage half that in twice the time on my own."
"What a nice thought," Erik says dryly, and tries to shift Ororo into a more comfortable hold, and how is this his life? "Couldn't you at least take half of the children with you?"
"I'm not taking underage mutants to the United Nations," Charles says, and frowns. "It'll be fine, Erik. They practically take care of themselves, all you have to do is stop them from killing themselves or others."
"Joy," Erik says, and Ororo just keeps clinging to him. She's tiny for a five-year-old, and has a bad habit of clinging to him. "Just promise me you'll stick to the schedule."
"I promise," Charles says, lips twitching, amusement/fondness leaking through. "And I won't let the bad humans hurt me, and if they do I'll be sure to call you. I'll brush my teeth before bed every night, too."
"This is serious, Charles," Erik says.
"I'd probably treat it as such if you didn't look like a long drowned cat with a monkey attached to it," Charles says, but there's nothing but fondness in it. Erik can sympathize. It's hard to not find Ororo adorable, even when there's a potentially life-threatening storm cloud hovering over you. "Really, trust me. Everything will be fine. I'm sure they'll see reason, and then we can finally get things moving beyond infrastructure."
"Your optimism is boundless, isn't it," Erik says. "Do you really think you're going to just waltz in, scold them for five minutes, and then watch as they hurry to get rid of their near-blockade?"
Charles grins at him. "Of course not. It'd be at least ten minutes of scolding," he says, and gives Erik a short, happy kiss, followed by a quick press of lips to Ororo's perfectly dry forehead. "I'll be back."
"Three days," Ororo says very deliberately.
"And if you're not back by then, I reserve the right to do things my way," Erik says.
Charles sighs. "Fine. But please try to not do anything terribly reckless."
Something very big and undoubtedly incredibly expensive shatters in the hallway.
Erik sighs. "Enjoy New York," he states, and turns to deal with the most recent property damage.
---
One year ago, if someone had told Erik Lehnsherr that he would be in charge of a country made almost entirely of mutants, he'd have been thrilled. If someone had told Erik that he'd actually be co-ruler, but the other ruler was his very attractive telepathic male fiancé, he would have been...dubious, but pleased. If someone had told him he'd be practically married and taking care of twelve mutant children, and then also an entire island full of mutants who act like children even when they're in their seventies, Erik would have thrown them out of a window.
As it is, Erik is still tempted to throw someone out of a window. Particularly since the window is now a gaping hole in the wall of an already structurally unsound building.
"Who thought blowing another hole in the wall would be a good idea?" Erik shouts.
"Alex told me to do it!" Scott shouts, pointing straight at his brother because he is terrified of Erik and knows there's no Charles to save him now. "He said I needed to work on precision!"
"Scott. You have no precision capability," Erik states, and tries to extract himself from Ororo's grip. Her trailing thundercloud (which she's slowly taken to calling Puppy, thanks to the Xaviers' endless comparisons) rumbles a bit, but she eventually lets go, so long as she gets to keep holding his hand. "And now you have no dessert. Go run five miles, Summers." When he notices Alex looking particularly smug, he raises an eyebrow. "That's both Summers boys. Scott, stop listening to your brother. He's a bad person."
"You're a horrible parent," Sean says.
"I'm in charge of a country, my parenting skills are irrelevant," Erik says. "And you can join them."
"Lehnsherr!" someone shouts, and it doesn't take long for him to recognize Emma Frost's voice, icy and amazingly welcome. A glare sends the problem children away, and he takes a deep breath, since Emma brings him the actual country-ruling issues. Usually. Either that, or something heavy and metallic they need lifted.
"What's the problem now?" Erik asks when Emma finally walks around the corner, but loses any thought of what else he was going to say when he sees the stunned look on her face. "Frost, what's wrong?"
"You have children," Emma says.
He sighs, because thank god, he thought it was something new. "If it's Nathaniel, just tell him to stop being creepy."
"No, I mean that you have children," Emma says, slow and emphatic. "Biological children. Twins. With your blood."
Erik stares at her. "What."
"Congratulations," Emma says. "You get to be a father some more."
After hearing it, Erik would really prefer to have more heavy things to lift.
---
The sky never seems as far away as it does in New York City, really. All those buildings seem to hold it up so high that it's impossible to reach - or one would need a very impressive elevator to reach it. It's why Charles never really enjoyed New York. The state, certainly, but the city? It's a fascinating place, but he likes to consider himself a quiet soul, and if there's one thing New York never is, it's quiet.
Take now, for example. One little teleporting demonic-looking mutant, and everyone goes screaming. Well, half of them go screaming. The other half just keep on walking and give them nasty looks.
"I am used to it," Azazel says when he notices the looks Charles is giving the bystanders, and drops his hand from Charles' shoulder. "I will stay for you."
"Thank you," Charles says, surprised. "You don't have to, of course. I know you're busy."
"I prefer to not get killed by your husband," Azazel says dryly, and starts his way towards the UN General Assembly building.
Charles doesn't mind trailing along after the mutant. It gives him a chance to say, "About your tail. How large of objects can you hold with it? And how do you think the tip affects your ability to use it?"
Azazel glances back at him for a moment, and then reaches back to grab him by the coat sleeve. "My tail is my tail," he states. "I think you have other things to concentrate on, Voice of Genosha."
"But it's so interesting," Charles says. "I've never met anyone with a tail who is capable of telling me about what it's like to have a prehensile tail. Well, until now. Do you-"
"I have nothing to say about my tail, Xavier," Azazel says, which doesn't stop Charles from noticing the way it twitches. Whether it's twitching from amusement or irritation Charles doesn't know, and doesn't feel like reading Azazel's mind to find out. "Now, what is the plan?"
"I'm scheduled to speak in front of the General Assembly, and then answer questions," Charles says, and shrugs. "It's an enormous international Q & A session, really. That's about all there is for a plan. Shouldn't be that difficult, don't you think?"
Azazel sighs. "I will definitely be staying with you," he says somberly.
"And he's my fiancé, not husband," Charles adds belatedly.
"You are married and the world knows it," Azazel says, and politely holds the door open for him. "And what are you to tell the people?"
"Mostly that they don't need to keep an international navy circling around us constantly," Charles says dryly. "I'm sure we've been good for cold war politics, but really, we're a country of traumatized abductees at the moment, we're as threatening as a rain-soaked puppy."
"Perhaps if the puppy shot lasers out of eyes," Azazel says.
"Why does everyone pick Scott to harp on?" Charles asks.
Azazel looks at him. "He shoots lasers out of his eyes."
Charles looks right back, expectant. "And?"
He shakes his head. "You are a good person," Azazel says, and for some reason Charles thinks it might actually be an insult. "But remember, there is no law written for fools. Where you see a puppy, they will see a stray laser dog."
"They're not really lasers, though, it's more of a plasma burst," Charles adds, and Azazel scowls at him. "But I really do appreciate the input, and I'll try to keep that in mind. Thank you."
"You are welcome," Azazel says.
It doesn't take long for a man in a dark blue suit to find them, looking awkward at Charles and terrified at Azazel as he says, "Pardon me, sir, but you're Voice Xavier?"
"My title sounds terrible that way," Charles says, but takes pity on the man after he starts to visibly sweat. "Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"
"There's a phone call for you, from Genosha," the man says.
"Really?" Charles asks, because honestly, they've been gone for an hour, maybe three at the most. Then again, time zones-
"Imperator Lehnsherr is on the phone," the man says, and really, it's unfair how much better Erik's title sounds like that. "He called the front desk."
"Of course he did," Charles says, and sighs, following the man as he hurries them towards the front desk (and a clearly terrified receptionist, who actually squeaks when she catches sight of Azazel). They hand the receiver over the minute he's behind the desk, and Charles sits himself down in the security guard's chair as he says, "Hello, dear. How's the southeast hemisphere today?"
"We need to talk," Erik says, and that. That isn't good. At all. It's the tone of voice Erik used to have when it came to relationship issues, the one where he's trying very hard to not be scared.
"Do I need to come home?" Charles asks immediately, because he does not like hearing that from Erik. At all.
"What? No, I'm fine, we're all fine, I've just received some. Some news, is all," Erik says. "And I thought you should know."
Charles tries very hard to smile, because even if Erik can't see it he could likely hear it, and this sounds like something he'll have to grit his teeth into a smile for. "What news?"
"I have children," Erik says, all in a rush.
Charles frowns at the wall. "Didn't we have this emotional panic episode a few months ago?"
"No, Charles, not our children, my children," Erik says. "It seems I have some. And they're in the newest group of arrivals. They are twins and seven and I've heard that they're adorable and very powerful."
"Oh," Charles says. He opens his mouth to say something, but ends up closing it again when he realizes he has no idea what to tell Erik. He clears his throat, and settles for, "At least the boys didn't blow anything up."
"Oh, they did," Erik says.
"That'll be lovely to come home to," Charles says, and takes a deep breath. "The mother?"
Erik sighs into the phone, and Charles can picture the slump of his shoulders, the way he sinks into furniture with a hand over his eyes, as if he can stop seeing memories that way. "Magda Maximoff. She's been dead for...a long time, Charles." He sighs. "I didn't know there were children."
"I know you didn't," Charles says quietly. "And I look forward to meeting them when I come home."
"I'm not good at this, Charles," Erik says. "I'm not a good parent, even when they're not-"
"You're fine, Erik," Charles says. "You may have noticed our ragtag gaggle of children aren't exactly average. You're doing amazingly well, all things considered. And the twins will be no different." He puts a smile on again, and tries very hard to ignore how much he misses being inside Erik's mind, how very wrong it feels to be without him. "Only three days. Less than that, now."
"I'll see you then," Erik says.
"And you should be aware that if you call the front desk again for something like this I'll be a bit upset with you," Charles says lightly. "I can understand that you're distraught at the moment, but there's a perfectly good Visiting Speaker line that they could have easily transferred you to and wouldn't have me sitting here talking about sensitive issues with my near-monarch fiancé in the visitor's center lobby."
"They're all too scared of us to eavesdrop," Erik says dismissively, and Charles can tell it was the right thing to say. He sounds a lot more like himself, thank god. "Three days, then."
The rumbling clack of Erik hanging up is so him that Charles ends up actually smiling. It's probably the smitten smile of the hopelessly in love, but that suits him fine. Besides, Erik does have a point - most of the people in the building are far too scared of him and Azazel to really try anything.
They have more than one teleporter on Genosha, but they chose Azazel for two reasons. The first being that's he's most likely to be voted Minister of Transportation (slightly tongue-in-cheek, yes, but true, considering the man's helped save thousands of lives with trips to protect endangered mutants around the world), and that it's very, very difficult - impossible, really - to no notice he's a mutant. Charles' mutation is an invisible one, where he can't do anything flashy without potentially causing severe brain damage (unlikely, but not something to chance at the UN). Azazel walks in a room, and the room knows who, and what, they're looking at.
Charles thinks it's rather obvious which was Charles' reason, and which was Erik's.
"Should we not prepare for your speech?" Azazel says, and Charles nods, moving away from the front desk and trying to decide whether he should be grateful or offended by the way people move out of their way.
"There's not much to prepare," Charles admits. His speech is mostly a synopsis of why Genosha's called an 'Independent Sanctuary' and why they really don't need to bother wasting tax money on a navy blockade of their mostly harmless little island. "Why? Is my hair terrible?"
"It looks like usual," Azazel says, and Charles ignores the way that his answer means nothing. Or many things. The man's devilish in far more ways than appearance, after all.
But it seems he does have things to prepare, since when he steps into what they're calling a guest room and Charles is thinking of as a visiting professor office, there's three men in suits waiting for them. Charles skims their minds briefly - just to make sure they're not going to shoot them, and to make sure they speak English - and smiles at them, casually shrugging off the hand Azazel has placed on his shoulder. "Hello, gentlemen. How can I help you?"
"We'd like to speak to you about your...ability," Jacob Harrison, head of security, says. He holds out his hand, saying, "I'm Jacob Harrison, head of security here. The men behind me are Peter Davenport and Harry Wick."
"Professor Charles Xavier," Charles says as he shakes Harrison's hand, because he likes the way it makes them twitch, having to think of him as a geneticist who has taught college courses instead of as the scary co-leader of a superpowered country. It's a guilty pleasure, yes, but a pleasure nonetheless. "What exactly would you like to know about my mutation, Mr. Harrison?"
"We'd like some sort of guarantee that you'll not be reading any of the delegates' minds," Harrison says, and it's. Well. Rather blunt.
Charles laughs. "Goodness, you really think I'm that powerful? Reading thoughts when you're not in physical contact with someone is very difficult for most of us, I'm not going to exert myself while giving a speech."
Davenport and Wick look relieved, but Harrison only nods. "I've heard the story of why you're Voice of Genosha, Professor."
"Projecting and reading thoughts are extremely different, Mr. Harrison," Charles says. "That's my true talent. Reading thoughts is, for me, usually touch-based." He smiles. "Really, is speaking without opening my mouth all that threatening?"
"It's unsettling, but not threatening," Harrison says, and doesn't notice in the least that Charles is making sure he remembers that. "Would you be willing to wear gloves?"
Charles frowns. "I'm sorry?"
"If someone should choose to shake your hand, it would be best if you couldn't read their thoughts," Harrison says.
"I think they should stop wasting our time," Azazel says, tail twitching.
"And I like to think that if someone chooses to shake my hand, they'll trust me to not invade their thoughts in a completely immoral and reprehensive act," Charles says, firm, trying very hard to not glare at the man. He's just doing his job, and really, Charles had expected ignorance and fear from these people. It's why Charles is here instead of Erik - Charles will glare and project his disappointment/displeasure at people, instead of wrap them in metal and kick them in the ribs.
Harrison actually bows after that, and says, "I'll inform the delegates of that. Thank you for your time, Professor."
"Thank you for your hard work," Charles states, and knows he should be smiling. Instead he watches the security detail trail out of the room and close the door behind them.
Azazel snorts. "You lie very well, Xavier," he says.
"I didn't lie at all," Charles says. "Most telepaths do have touch-based mind-reading abilities. And it's not my fault if they haven't thought of more creative uses of telepathy to ask me about." He sighs. "But a little misdirection is expected in politics, I think."
"Just keep it to politics," Azazel says, and there's more truth in that sentiment than Charles would really like to admit. He grins, though, the mischief crinkling the scar around his eye. "Would you like to make an entrance?"
Charles laughs. "Goodness, I don't know, they're already-"
"That means yes," Azazel says, and puts a hand on Charles' shoulder, and-
-there's screaming, everywhere, and this is why mischievous teleporters are a horrible thing to bring to the UN, it really is. Charles sighs, watching the assembly erupt into chaos as the smoke dissipates from them and Azazel.
Well.
Azazel's laughing so hard he's hunched over.
"You are not coming to anything political ever again," Charles tells him, and tries to be firm, he really does, but laughter is particularly infectious when you're a telepath, for god's sake. Then again, so is the hysteria, and really, these are a bad, bad combination, because now Charles is holding on to the podium and, well, laughing…well, hysterically.
"I'm so sorry about that," Charles wheezes into the microphone, trying to hold a placating hand up. It takes him much longer than he likes to get himself back in order, moments he takes to apologize to everyone he can think of except for Azazel, who has teleported himself away to the back of the room.
"Pranks aren't welcome here," the president says, but there's a bit of humor there. "Neither are you, for another six minutes, but we can move up the schedule since you seem to need the podium to keep standing."
"I really am sorry," Charles says, chagrined. "Thank you for not kicking me out."
"All nations have a voice here, even the immature ones," the president says, scratching at something on his desk, and Charles decides he likes this man. "You've already been introduced, so whenever you're ready."
"Thank you," Charles says, and takes a deep breath.
---
Wanda and Pietro Maximoff are seven years old and adorable, just like the report said.
What the report didn't mention was that Wanda looks so much like her mother, or that Pietro looks so much like Erik's father, with Magda's eyes. Wanda does have the Lehnsherr chin, though, and also seems to have the genetic predisposition for stubbornness.
Pietro takes one look at Erik with big green eyes and says, "Wow, you're tall!"
And Wanda just stares.
And as Erik stares back, he thinks he really, really should've asked Charles to come home. He's the one who gives the 'welcome to your new home' speech, the one who helps the children get settled in and tries to convince them the scary men with the collars aren't coming back. Thank god they weren't on Genosha before the collars came off.
And these are his children, he's biologically linked to them and responsible for their tiny, tiny lives. He feels like there's something missing, that he's supposed to look into their eyes and feel something more than nerves and responsibility and an endless regret that they've been alone for so long.
Pietro's comment sticks in his head, though, and he sits down on the floor in front of them. He takes a deep breath, and says, "Do you know who I am?"
"You're the Imperator! And you're the strongest mutant ever and you're one of the saviors of Genosha and you and the Voice take in the children so we won't be some big word I can't remember, it's nice to meet you," Pietro says, and Erik can't help but wonder how he's not even out of breath, and wonders if it might be an early-onset mutation, because he continues, saying, "I heard you knew our mom but she didn't say anything more than that, it was the pretty white lady who said it, she wears a lot of white, is she getting married?"
"She was wearing pants, stupid," Wanda says, sullen. "You don't get married in pants."
"You do if you're a boy," Pietro counters, smug. "Who's the stupid one now?"
"I'm not stupid, you're stupid!" Wanda shouts.
"Her name is Emma Frost, and she isn't getting married as far as I know," Erik says. "She wears white because she likes it. And I need you to pay attention, please."
"I can do that," Pietro says, eager. He's so obviously an endless ball of energy that even looking at him is tiring. Pietro's idea of paying attention seems to be vibrating in place, staring at Erik.
Erik thinks for a moment about how to address their relationship, and then he remembers they're seven years old and Pietro will probably explode if Erik keeps him still for much longer, so he says, "I'm your father."
"Like you're going to take care of us?" Pietro asks. "We've had those before, I hope you're good at it."
"No, I'm actually your father," he says.
"Really?" Wanda asks, and Erik can tell he'll be dealing with a tiny skeptic for quite a while.
"Really," Erik says. He wants to add something about how if he'd known they were out there he'd have raised hell to get to them, or say something about how lovely their mother was and that he'd thought she was dead, but can't think of how to say it. "I'm going to take care of you now. I promise."
"Wow. Am I a prince now?" Pietro asks.
Erik frowns. "Do you want to be?"
"Of course I do! I get to fight dragons and be charming!" Pietro says.
"You can do that without being a prince," Erik says.
"Where have you been?" Wanda asks, hands clenched.
Erik sighs. "I've been trying to help our people for a very long time," he says, because it's as good as he can do. "I didn't know you two were out there until about four hours ago, and now I'm here."
"That's pretty fast," Pietro says.
"Why didn't you know before that?" Wanda asks.
Erik frowns. "I've been busy," he says, and suddenly Wanda's going into breakdown mode - he can recognize it from the times Ororo's Puppy starts raining on him. "Wanda-"
"I don't want to talk to you!" Wanda shouts, and runs out of the room. Pietro doesn't take too long to follow his sister, giving Erik a nonthreatening glare that looks more like scrunching his nose up than anything as he heads out the door, shouting his sister's name.
Erik sighs. "That went about as well as I'd expected," he mutters, and Raven trots in not long after, looking concerned. "What? Did they break something?"
"Why is that always your first question?" Raven asks, and then shakes her head. "No, we had Charles' speech on the radio. It was." She sighs, skin flickering for a moment. "It was very Charles, but they’ve stopped coverage. And we should be expecting company."
"Refugees?" Erik asks, and when he notices the grim tilt to her mouth, he grimaces. "Human refugees?"
"Worse," Raven says. "Ambassadors."
---
Genosha is not a dictatorship, or an empire, or even a republic. It is a sanctuary, made by and for those who need salvation. We're focused solely on recovery, of both the island and the people tortured and enslaved there. Our island is wounded, but building itself back up, becoming something far stronger and brighter than it was before. Our people are hurt and scared, but slowly starting to heal and hope. All we want is peace, dignity, and the right to exercise free will when it comes to our people's futures.
Many of the powered individuals that Old Genosha ripped from their homes want to return. Some of them are even ready to do so, as soon as the navy blockade is lifted and it's safe for them to go back to their families and friends. Some are native Genoshans who have been quietly, violently oppressed since birth, and whose families had to flee the country. We would like to welcome them home - which, again, we cannot do until the navy blockade is lifted.
I understand that there's a level of mutual uncertainty and fear in our hearts and minds. This is natural, when it comes to a new idea that one can't fully understand. The powered individuals that inevitable human genetic mutation has brought to the world is a very difficult concept to understand, and easy to fear. But the core of powered individuals, no matter what they can do or look like, is that they are human. They're your fellow man, prone to the same fears and the everyday bravery it takes to face them.
Genosha's requests are simple - end the blockade around a nation that has rightfully overthrown cruel oppressors who were guilty of well-documented crimes against humanity, and recognize that every powered individual has the same rights and privileges as their non-powered brethren.
Excerpt from the First Genoshan Address to the United Nations,
Charles F. Xavier, Voice of Genosha,
April 19, 1963.
---
Charles almost feels like he's managed to get through to them, considering the talk of sending ambassadors and the UK delegate already saying he's sure they'll pull out of the blockade initiative, 'all things considered'. Nobody but the president of the assembly seems willing to shake his hand, but that's expected. The security council is determined to send ambassadors as soon as possible, with the US and Soviet Union already having assembled theirs (which is...not all that surprising to Charles), and it leaves Charles standing at the podium, waiting for all the motions and resolutions to be proposed and for the delegates to vote on whether to vote on things and really, this is why he and Erik play Horrible Chess, it's a much more enjoyable way to make difficult decisions. That, or make Raven decide.
And when it is done and Charles is leaning on the podium watching the room of politicians talk amongst themselves while thinking about how, statistically, one of them must be a mutant, the first question he gets is, "What does the Imperator think of this?"
"Of what, precisely?" Charles asks, because really, how vague can a question be?
"The statements you have put before the assembly, has your...lover agreed with them?"
"My fiancé, actually, or co-ruler if you’d prefer to not think about me marrying a man and you not being able to object, and for the most part he does," Charles says honestly. "You have to remember that he has a different perspective than I do when it comes to oppression. We both believe that the first order of business in a situation like Genosha's is recovery, since we're able to help with that, but Erik is." He pauses. "Well, he hunts down Nazis in his spare time. That should tell you something about his political beliefs."
"And you do not believe that he will hunt down humans after this?" A different delegate says. All Charles can tell is that the country's name starts with an R, which doesn't tell him much.
"I think he'll continue hunting down Nazis," Charles offers. "But I think he'll leave the Genoshans to their specific victims." He sighs. "Is there anything else you'd like to know about Erik? Eye color, maybe? Shoe size?"
That earns a rumble from the assembly, and the president actually leans down and motions Charles over. "I know they are irritating, but try not to start a war by patronizing them," the president says.
"I'm here to get a blockade lifted, not humor their homophobia," he protests.
"I think they are afraid of your Nazi-hunting co-ruler more than homosexuality," the president says, coolly, but then motions Charles back to the podium. He does, however, address the assembly, saying, "Please keep your questions in the same vein of discussion and diplomacy for which this body was founded."
The muttering that causes reminds Charles of the times he scolded his classes for not doing the reading. "Really, the issue here is that Genosha has been forced into an isolationist nation, as if we've been quarantined or segregated from the rest of the world," Charles says. "So here is the crux of the matter: while we're fully capable of getting around your little ships, it's rather irritating and makes our traumatized mutant population twitchy. And really, we can all get along just fine, so there's no point to the Genoshan blockade no matter how you look at it."
"Please don't start a war," the president says.
"Are you claiming military supremacy?" a delegate demands.
Charles frowns at the man "What? No, of course not, we don't even have a military, where did you come up with that? Genosha is practically a hospital at this point, I just meant that." He sighs. "You don't need to blockade us, is all."
"A hospital run by a Nazi-hunting murderer," yet another delegate says.
"And a genetics professor, and a waitress," Charles adds. "Really, he's so much more than that. Are you going to claim that there's someone more qualified to help the Genoshan citizens than a man who survived the holocaust?"
That, thankfully, shuts them up. He feels a bit guilty for bringing it up, but Erik's never been ashamed of himself.
"I would like to ask a question regarding many statements you've made," another delegate says, and Charles turns to look the woman in the eye. "Throughout your speech, you referred to mutants as if you are not one of them. Why?"
"A habit from my days as a professor, I'm afraid," Charles says, and really, he hadn't even noticed he was doing it. "I find that teaching from personal experience gets messy, and taking a step back helps one think about events much more objectively."
"What is your objective opinion of The Genoshan Party?" another delegate asks, and this is getting ridiculous, how many of these men are there? He'll need glasses at this rate.
"And by that I assume you mean the anniversary-slash-engagement party," Charles says, and when he receives a nod, Charles continues, saying, "Also known as the beach party that most of the guests came to horribly overdressed where we were all there to have fun and not talk politics and that's exactly what happened." He pauses. "My objective opinion is that the party set the tone for Genosha as a rather harmless place, since we really did do nothing but drink on the beach." Well, Charles and Erik didn't, at least; they drank slowly worsening wine and talked to famous people and made out on the beach like giggling teenagers. And got engaged after a drunken conversation with someone who had very fluffy hair who was telling Charles about how Marilyn Monroe was Jewish, which seemed so important at the time. "It was a rather confusing night."
"So I've heard," the delegate says testily.
Charles grins. "I'm sorry you missed out on it; I'll be sure to invite you next time, if it makes you feel better."
The room laughs. Well, most of the room laughs. The rest of the room hisses in the ever-scandalized tones of those who have had their sense of humor run off somewhere down the road.
"How many languages do you speak, Voice Xavier?" yet another delegate asks, sounding genuinely curious.
Charles frowns. "English and Latin. Why?"
That's when the muttering starts.
And that's when Charles realizes he's been listening to everything out of the delegates' minds, listening to the meaning they've projected with their words instead of listening to the language they're speaking and waiting for someone to translate into English. He's gotten so used to doing it on Genosha, with all its transplanted populations from a hundred countries that speak a thousand different languages, that it hadn't even occurred to him.
Azazel probably doesn't help anything by puffing into existence by his shoulder. "I took the ambassadors to Genosha," he says, ignoring their enormous audience. "Are you done yet?"
Charles looks at the anger on the previously amused and slowly moving to friendly faces that stare towards them, feels the fear and apprehension and what else is he doing to us right now he lied to the security people we aren't safe that swarms around the room.
Most of Charles thinks it'd be a good idea to hold onto Azazel's elbow and go home, meet his stepchildren, and wait for this to blow over before trying again. They can survive the blockade easily. But at the same time, if he runs now, if he leaves now, when they're just starting to make their opinions about mutants.
"No," Charles says, and looks up to see the previously friendly president watching him with wary eyes. Charles meets his gaze evenly as he says, "I'm afraid I've only just begun."
---
Erik is hunting down his children when the ambassadors arrive in big acrid puffs of smoke. There's only four of them, and just looking at them makes Erik cringe - they have Cold War Politics written all over them. Two Russians, two Americans, all four of them glaring at each other.
"I have shit to do, so here are the ground rules," Erik says from the doorway, and it makes them jump. "Genosha has five laws: don't kill, don't rape, don't steal, don't oppress, and pay your taxes. Failure to uphold them will get you tossed back to your respected navies, understood?"
"On behalf of the Soviet Union-" one of them begins.
"I really don't care what you have to say, just stay out of the way and don't do anything stupid," Erik says, and walks out. It's probably a lot to ask of politicians, but-
"Wait!" one of them shouts. Erik doesn't bother turning around to see who it is, just keeps on walking and trying to find where Wanda and Pietro ran off to. The man - kid, really, Erik notices when he manages to catch up - is persistent. "Wait, Mr. Imperator, my name is Hank McCoy, I was. Well. I was hoping to talk to you about the scientific side of mutation."
"You want Charles for that," Erik says, and tries to ignore the flood of relief he feels when he hears small, young voices on the other side of a door. It draws him up short when he realizes it's not just two voices, it's three.
Ororo, it seems, is talking in full sentences. They're the fractured sentences of the young, but it's still more than Erik has heard from her since they found the girl in the most well-protected storage container in The Pit, along with Nathaniel, Jean, and Kitty, and guarded by a man named Logan. He was the only one who could still fight, because while they could take away his ability to heal, they couldn't take away his ability to be in excruciating pain but still fighting with razor-sharp adamantium claws.
If Genosha awarded medals, Erik would have given the man one in a heartbeat. Instead, Logan had been on the first mutant-laden ship off the island.
"It's just, I have a, um. Personal interest, Mr. Imperator," the kid says, shifting from foot to foot. "It's the reason I volunteered so fast. See, I-"
Erik turns to look at the awkward young man, in his glasses and ill-fitting suit, and says, "In case you missed the fact I'm busy and you don't rank that high on my priorities right now, let me tell you this. There are plenty of mutants here for you to pester." He sees brief flashes of yellow and brown and red out of the corner of his eye, and smirks, grabbing onto the young man's shoulder before pointing to a suspiciously quiet corridor. "Like them."
The pained groans and shouts of objection the boys give him are like music to his ears, they really are.
"Oh, I don't want to bother anybody," the kid says.
Erik looks at him, long and hard. "Then why are you still talking to me right now?"
He turns red at a speed to rival stoplights, stammering out, "Right, I'll. I'll go talk to. Them."
"Alex," Erik shouts, and with a sigh the blond sulks his way out from the shadows. "Show the kid around the public areas."
"We wanted to meet your twins," Scott says, head popping out from behind a corner.
"Tough," Erik says, and pushes the not-quite-ambassador towards the children. "Enjoy your tour, kid."
"Doctor Hank McCoy, actually," the kid says, looking from Erik to Alex and then back.
"It's nice to meet you, Hank," Erik says, attention still focused on the children inside. "Now leave me alone."
Alex drags Hank away, and Erik steels himself, letting the voices of the older children fade to little more than distant whispers before he lets his hand rest on the door handle. It's ridiculous, that he can face down an entire multinational navy every single day without flinching but is intimidated by the thought of the children on the other side of the door. Preposterous. Charles would laugh himself silly. Charles would also be far better qualified for this, maybe Erik should wait until he comes home.
Stop being a fool. After all, they're just children, Erik thinks to himself, and opens the door.
---
"You understand, I'm sure," the president says.
It's only the fact that Charles can read the man's honest disappointment (and far less fear than the rest) that keeps him from snapping. "I do understand," he says. "But I think you can also understand why I'm not exactly thrilled that you want to keep me holed up in a little room while you talk behind my back."
"The situation is unorthodox, you must admit," he says. "And I understand your frustration but please, indulge us. I ask you to do this as a show of good faith."
"And you also understand that I think it's disgusting that I'm the one who needs to show good faith when I've done nothing wrong," Charles says. "I haven't lied to anyone, I haven't threatened anyone, and I haven't read anyone's minds beyond the naturally projected thought that comes with deliberate speech."
The president nods, and Charles is honestly surprised that he's actually listening, thoughts bubbling with sincerity. Almost everyone else is focused on fighting or reveling in their fear/anger. "You yourself said that new ideas are frightening and take adjusting. Allow us to take that time."
He can see Azazel's tail swishing dangerously through the air, can hear the projected we should leave xavier, but Charles ignores him. He nods, and says, "I hope you use it wisely."
The head of security and his underlings are waiting for him at the door, eyeing Azazel with such obvious fear that Charles doesn't even have to skim their minds to see what they're thinking. They don't bother with pleasantries this time, simply escort him from the room and into the wings of the building. Charles doesn't know the floor plan, but he does know they're moving far from the conference hall, and they always go down stairs, never up.
The room they stuff him into looks like it used to be a storage closet, hurriedly cleared out and given enough good furniture to not be disrespectful. The heavy metal door isn't lost on him, either - not that heavy metal doors matter when you're Charles, considering he can just tell them to open it, and if that fails he can ask Erik to do so. Still, it's just rude, and it makes something sour squirm through his stomach. "You'll fetch me as soon as they're done conferring amongst themselves, of course," Charles says, because it's not a question.
"Of course. The moment they ask for you," the security guard says, and there's not much else Charles can do but nod, and sit back in the dim little room. He situates himself on the couch, watching them warily step out of the room.
Azazel hasn't stopped frowning at Charles since...well. For a while now. "We should leave," he says.
"I'm here to help my country. Leaving won't do that," Charles says, because this is how they want it. If he has to deal with fools, so be it. Being stuffed in a broom cupboard and being told to stay put while mommy and daddy talk is most certainly not his preferred negotiation strategy, but it is at least familiar.
Azazel sighs, and slips into the armchair to Charles' right. "And you will not have me tell your husband."
"I'd prefer to not start a war, thank you," Charles says, and sighs. "Besides, he could do without the added stress, don't you think? We'll give him some pleasant time with the children, and he can find out about this when it's all blown over."
The other man is thinking about optimism being near-suicidal very, very clearly.
Charles decides to innocently project puppies and butterflies at him in retaliation.
---
Erik is going to open the door, he is, until Emma's voice is in his head, loud and irritated, saying, Stop whatever you're doing and get over here. One of the ambassadors is dead.
He's an old hand at this by now, frowning and stepping away from the door as he follows the gentle tug every telepath seems to leave when they're in someone's head. Which one? Because if the kids somehow killed the child doctor ambassador, they are going to have words.
One of the Russians, Emma projects back. Raven's doing her best to keep the other American and Russian from finding out, but it's not pretty. And it's a bit suspicious, wouldn't you agree?
That he died within an hour of his arrival? Erik projects. Why Emma, you make it sound like there's a conspiracy here.
It's cold war politics in my favorite drawing room, Emma replies, and the irritation intensifies at the image she sends with it - her personal pristine white-and-beige parlor, with a big ugly red stain and a big ugly dead man in it. Get rid of it, Erik.
He considers telling her that there's really an awful lot of other things he has to do, like dealing with having biological children and also having non-biological children that like to blow things up and also having an entire country to run, but he can tell Emma will just play irritating music in his head if he doesn't show up in the near future. Erik still has nightmares about when Emma had decided to get ragtime stuck in his head for two days (and it had only stopped because Charles finally stopped finding it funny and did something about it).
Emma's parlor is fairly close to the one he and Charles use as a study-slash-audience room, directly next to Raven's study-slash-whatever she wants, and he can hear Emma's anger five hallways away, streaming through the air. "Who ever told him he could die in here? And who ever told Azazel that my room was the one for teleportation?"
"We all did, Emma," Erik says, looking down at the very dead man on the floor. "I'll buy you a new carpet. When did he die?"
"I don't want a new carpet, I want this one to have never had a dead man on it," Emma says. "And recently, since the ambassadors have been in Genosha for a little over an hour." She glares at him, arms crossed over her chest scathingly. "You're the expert on dead bodies, Imperator. I'm leaving this to you."
"Fine," Erik says. "Check on the other ambassadors while you're at it, though - they're my primary suspects."
"And if we had a police force, this wouldn't be your problem," Raven says from the doorway.
"We're getting there," Erik replies, looking down at the very dead man.
"You should get there faster," Emma states. "And you also might want to inform your boyfriend that one of his olive branches bled to death all over my carpet."
"Your metaphors need work," Erik says absently.
"Your face needs work," Emma says, and stalks out, Raven slipping in as she leaves.
She sighs. "Do you want me to call him?"
"I can do it," Erik mutters, looking at the body. It's strange, because he can't see any reason for him to have bled to death so fast and violently. He knows how long it takes for someone to die like this, and it usually helps to have sliced someone somewhere. "And I know neither of you like giving the other bad news."
"You don't have to be mediator," Raven says.
"But I want to be," he says simply, keeping the disgustingly soppy because I like my Xaviers to be happy to himself, and sighs. "Will you do me a favor and keep a watch on the body?"
"Of course," Raven says, and after a moment of assessment, shifts her form into the dead man. When she notices Erik's frown, she winks. "Just in case someone comes looking and we're not ready to give answers we don't have."
Erik gives her a tight-lipped smile. "What would I do without you."
"Die a horribly painful death, completely alone," Raven says, which sounds a bit strange coming from the booming Russian's vocal cords. She saunters over to one of Emma's still-pristine chaises and lounges there - again, strange in the body, but Erik is used to it. "Get going. I have this covered."
Raven is absolutely his favorite.
---
It doesn't take long for Charles to get bored in their tiny room, because Azazel gets bored even faster than he does and has teleported off to somewhere that is undoubtedly far more fun than the dingy little room that is made of joyless cinderblocks and has an uneven throwaway Persian rug on the floor to halfheartedly disguise the fact the floor is poured cement.
He's fully aware they've done their best to turn him into a temporary political prisoner, and it's…well, it's not a surprising turn of events. Telepaths are rarely surprised, though often disappointed, and Charles is fairly certain that's what he's feeling now. Disappointment and boredom and yes, fine, a little bit lonely. He doesn't fault Azazel for wanting to do something other than loiter around in a boring room that reminds him a bit too much of storage containers.
Charles listens in, of course. It's quaint, how they think he can only read their minds when he's in the room when they all know he's capable of projecting over the entirety of Genosha. They're not very exciting, though. Mostly they're trying to figure out the 'mutant threat' and whether or not Charles is a horribly threatening creature they need to throw out of the UN and bomb his tiny traumatized island. He knows they're saying this because they're scared and new to the idea of mutants, but really?
He's starting to think Erik would have been a better choice for addressing the United Nations. A take no prisoners mindset might have gotten things done much smoother and simpler than Charles' attempts at political consideration and attempts at making them see the homo sapiens in homo sapiens superior. Really, he's a geneticist, he's not cut out for this.
The man who knocks on the tiny room's door is nervous and uncertain, but Charles isn't in the mood to try and calm him down. The man doesn't seem to expect it either, simply opening the door and peeking in to see nothing incriminating whatsoever. It's not even an illusion - Charles has been doing nothing but sitting on the couch since they stuck him in the godforsaken broom closet.
"Sir, you have a phone call," the man says, and that certainly can't be a good thing. At all. "I'm to escort you to the reception desk."
God, Charles really needs to give Erik a lecture on how he should call something other than the main line to the United Nations. That's for tourists needing directions, not people running tiny countries. He sighs, stands, and says, "Of course. Please lead the way." Because clearly, an armed guard will make such a difference when it comes to Charles' behavior.
The people they pass in the halls all recognize him immediately, and are either uncertain or afraid. It's not exactly improving his mood, so Charles tries to ignore the stares and thoughts and tries to figure out what exactly has gone wrong on Genosha this time. He just hopes it isn't the children again.
The receptionist actually recognizes him, in a way that is surprisingly pleasant - she recalls him on the phone, and not as a terrifying telepathic mutant threat to society and all humanity. It's refreshing, and a bit depressing that it's refreshing. Still, he musters a smile for her before stealing her hastily-vacated chair and sitting down.
"What did I tell you about calling the main line?" Charles asks.
"Charles," Erik breathes out, and the tense relief in his voice immediately sets Charles on edge. "We have a problem."
Charles clears his throat. "I hope nothing important has exploded."
"A little worse than that. One of the Russian ambassadors was murdered and is bleeding all over Emma's carpet, and I don't even know what to do with the other three - one's barely out of his teens and running around with Alex, one's been prowling around and taking pictures of everything, and one's missing and presumed murderer at large."
"Well, that isn't very good news at all," Charles says, mind working furiously as he tries to add in yet another diplomatic travesty to this entire train wreck of a political expedition.
Erik breathes out into the receiver, long and frustrated. "You need to come home."
"I suppose I do, don't I," Charles says, and runs a hand over his face, because really, how awful can a day be? "The children are safe, I assume."
There's a long pause on the line. A very long, very worrying pause. "I'll check," he says, and Charles doesn't even have an opportunity to shout at him for not checking on the children when there's a murderer prowling around the building before Erik hangs up without a moment of goodbye. Which is usually endearing, but right now it just leaves Charles strangling the phone and breathing far more harshly than is reasonable.
He can't tell the countries that one of their ambassadors is dead by another's hand. He probably doesn't even have time to tell them he's leaving, not that they'd appreciate it. Charles will be labeled a coward, or dissentious, or as some other terrible thing he really isn't, but there's no point in postponing the inevitable. Not when there's a killer loose on his island with the people he cares most about in the world.
Azazel, he calls out brusquely, standing back up and giving the receptionist her chair back. His escort is obviously waiting to take Charles back to the broom closet, but Charles would prefer to teleport out with an audience. When he receives no reply, he frowns and extends his range outwards, actively seeking his mind.
He finds Azazel's mind in a guest office on the fourth floor, tranquilized deeply enough that if Charles tried to wake him it could be damaging, and if there's one thing that is a very bad idea, it's damaging the mind of a teleporter.
"Sir, I'm to take you back to the waiting area," the escort says, and Charles wonders how they caught Azazel. Perhaps it was simply luck, and they shot him right after he appeared, possibly directly in front of a guard just to toy with the man.
"I need to call him back," Charles says instead of following the escort's lead like a good little boy.
"I'm afraid I can't let you. I'm to take you back to the waiting area immediately after your call ends," the escort says.
Charles can't help it. He smiles at the man, slow and wry, because of course this is happening. There's a reason he suppressed his powers for years and years, a reason that Raven's boyfriend tried to beat her to death with a cricket bat when she trusted him enough to drop her disguise. Likewise, there's a reason the ex-boyfriend thinks he's a five year old girl when he's not a drooling vegetable.
He hadn't ever thought of it as being wrong to be a mutant. A telepath, yes - sometimes he's still terrified of what he can do and how easy it would be - but a mutant? No. It's a genetic inevitability, one that these people don't seem to truly comprehend. It breeds hatred and violence and humans kidnapping his people for slave labor, and at the moment, Charles is absolutely sick of humoring them.
"You do understand who and what I am," Charles says.
It makes the man tense, his hand and mind twitching towards the pistol beneath his suit jacket, but he nods. "You're the Voice of Genosha, and a telepath," he says.
"And you're trying to keep me from calling my angry metal-controlling Nazi-hunting co-ruler fiancé regarding state business," Charles says. "Do you really think that's a wise course of action?"
"I don't," the escort says, and Charles can feel the iron resolve that straightens his spine in that moment. "But it's what I've been told to do, sir, and I follow my orders."
Charles can respect that. He's impressed by the man's willingness to stand up to him, but that doesn't mean the obstruction is welcome. "If you think you can stop me, you're welcome to try," Charles says, and pulls the phone closer to dial the number again. He doesn't have to stop the man from doing anything. He just stands there, watching and trying very hard to not be afraid of Charles Xavier.
How times have changed, Charles thinks as the call goes through, ringing.
And ringing.
And ringing.
Charles sighs on the twelfth ring, and says, "This can't be good."
Part 2