X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 18

Chapter 18…

At its center, Charles tugged at the fence. His telepathy was focused, stretched out in hopes of locating someone in the real world who might hear him. It was the same routine he'd followed since he was brought to the base—finding a means to escape.

Throughout his veins, however, nothing but warmth fueled him. The night before, Charles had seen something he hadn't since arriving there—his friend. Not a shadow of him lost underneath the stabbing eyes of Magneto. No. It had been Erik. The man who would talk with him—listen to him. Help him. There had been compassion on Erik's face.

Perhaps no escape was necessary. Erik might simply be ready to take him home.

From the door behind Cerebro, there came a small thump. Recognizing the noise—the knob unlocking—Charles scooted his wheelchair away from the fence. Erik made his way inside, Cerebro's round room hiding him in darkness. As his friend parted the fencing and lumbered up to the base's main living area, however, Charles spotted something different about him. His walk was heavy; his hands were clenched together.

As Erik faced him, any comfort Charles possessed seconds before faded away. The man's expression was as rigid as the marble walls surrounding them. His eyes were sharp, his body as straight and tall as a great oak.

Absorbing the image, Charles grabbed onto his chair's armrests. "Erik?"

"We have a problem," the other man spoke.

Without another word, Erik headed for the dining room table. Before Charles had a chance to follow, his wheelchair rattled, and then on its own, it propelled forward. As he kept his hands away from the wheels, Charles was brought to the edge of the table. Erik turned to him. His hands were clamped to his waist like the weight of the world was battering him. Less than a foot away from the other man, Charles' wheelchair halted.

Towering over Charles, Erik immediately stared him down. Intimidation. The contrast from the friend Charles had seen just a few hours before almost took his breath away.

"The games are finished now, Charles," Erik said. "We've had our discussions. We've had our arguments. We both understand each other quite well, I believe. But now, it's time for the conversations to end. And it's time for you to do what I've asked of you."

Charles tried to maintain a steady gaze. He knew, just as Erik did, what angle his old friend was working. But the intensity in the other man's eyes didn't ease. They had finally reached this impasse, what Charles had been fearing since he woke up in the base.

Nonetheless, Charles met Erik's sharp eyes with his own—neither man backing down. "And what do you intend to do if I refuse, Erik?"

"I'll force you. But that's not what I want."

"Is there really another option here?" Charles said, the gravity of his own words causing his heart to race. "I already explained myself to you. I've explained myself ad nauseum, in fact, and still you refuse to do the right thing."

"And what is that, Charles? Take you home?"

"Yes."

Under his helmet, a hint of amusement curved Erik's mouth. "It's too late for that, my friend. You need to remove such wishful thoughts from your mind."

Charles frowned.

Unmoved, Erik continued, "You might not realize this, but things are not as simple as you seem to think. Whether or not you believe me, my main concern hasn't been Cerebro. It's been protecting you."

"Protecting me?"

"Yes. There are almost half a dozen mutants sitting on a yacht as we speak, and all of them are waiting. Waiting for you to get over your own ego and do what has been asked of you. And I assure you, when it comes to this 'brotherhood'…I'm the friendly one, Charles."

Charles tightened his jaw. "I thought you were the leader here, Erik."

"Again, things are not so simple. I wish they were. These are powerful beings, however, and they don't enjoy someone refusing their requests. So we are left with this final option. Work the machine, Charles."

Inhaling, Charles considered the other man's words. He was right, of course; his band of mutants were powerful. And deadly. But the other man wasn't right about everything. As Erik waited for a response, Charles was ready with one. "Tell them it didn't work."

For the first time since the conversation started, the conviction on Erik's face cracked a little.

"Tell them we tried to use Cerebro," Charles continued. "Tell them the machine is faulty. Tell them it short-circuited or caught my hair on fire. Tell them it exploded and took me along with it—I don't care. Just make certain they believe it."

"You honestly think it's that easy?"

"Yes. I do, Erik. If that's what is really occurring here—if your main concern is my safety—then take that machine out of the equation and be done with it. And, for God's sake, take me home!"

With that, Erik paused; a hint of realization seeped through. But Charles knew Erik—knew him better than the other man knew himself at times. And when Erik's face refused to soften, Charles just shook his head.

"Of course not," Charles said. "You're right, my friend—things are not so easy. Because, in this scenario, you don't get what you want. And that is your main concern…whether or not you believe it."

Charles kept his chin high, but inside, his body felt like it was ready to give out on him. He was sweating, his heart hammering into his ribcage. His hands clasped to his armrest in fear that if he lifted them, Erik would see how badly they were shaking.

Charles knew what would happen next. He could see it in Erik's continuous glare. The other man had already made his decision, and he intended to carry it out no matter the cost. Extending his hands, Erik closed them on top of Charles' wrists, pinning them to the armrests. The other man's eyes remained unblinking—unstoppable. As unmoving as a mountain and just as overwhelming.

Nonetheless, when Erik finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "This is the last time I'll ask you this, and for your sake, I want a different answer than the one you've been offering me. Will you work Cerebro?"

Charles hesitated. Not because he didn't know his answer; he knew it well. But he also realized what that answer would entail. He'd have to live with the consequences; Erik or his mutants would guarantee that. But there was no other option—not for him.

"No," he finally told his old friend. "For the last time, Erik, that is—and will remain—my answer. I'm sorry."

Charles braced himself. But Erik didn't budge. No anger plagued his features. Instead, there was only a mild look of defeat, like the last bit of hope he was clinging to had just been washed away.

With that, Erik straightened up. He released Charles' wrists.

"I'm sorry, too," he said softly, "but you're doing this to yourself."

On those words, the other man strode towards the metal fencing again. Stopping at the top of the stairs, he called out, "I'll be back in a few days. When I return, I expect another answer from you." Then, he threw a glance over his shoulder. "Unless you'd prefer to spend your life on this island. Alone."

Charles opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, Erik had already descended the stairs, the fencing had already merged itself back together, and the door was already opening. The other man stepped through, and then the door slammed into the marble surrounding it and locked.

End of Chapter