𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐓 (X-Men ~ Peter Maximoff)

The Paris Incident

"I've lost my fair shared." A vast understatement.

"Ha, dry your eyes Erik. It doesn't justify what you've done." And there it was - that piece of utter detest rising to the surface. To Charles, there could only be one victim in his story, and with every cell in his body he believed that to be him.

"You have no idea what I've done." It was true - in fact, the only person that knew what Erik had done was Erik, and even then it could get a bit foggy. He remembered enough of the acts he committed to know that they weren't the actions of a good man though. But being called out on it by someone who hardly knew his origin, who hardly understood his motives? It was outrageous at best.

"I know you took the things that meant the most to me."

It was impossible to not rise to the challenge, not when Charles seemed to think he had it worse. He had let things slip out of his reach, while Erik had had everything forcibly ripped from his clutch. On some level Charles had tried to be civil with Erik, but Erik simply couldn't help himself. He had to rip the band aid off, say something that he hadn't edited a thousand times in his brain to seem nicer. "Well, maybe you should've fought harder for them."

As expected, Erik had struck a nerves, Charles' eyes flared with anger as his hands turned ghostly white from gripping onto the arms of his seat so tightly. "If you want a fight Erik, I'll give you a fight!"

In spite of Logan's pitiful protests from the back of the cabin, Erik rose to his feet. Did he want to fight Charles? Did he really want to completely shatter their relationship? At this point, it seemed like the only option, the only way to move forward. His promise to Jennifer was long forgotten, or more accurately, shoved into the same dark corner of his brain as his common sense.

It took only a few seconds for Charles to close the gap between the two of them, quickly grabbing a fistful of the front of Erik's shirt, his face bright red and unforgiving as he let out some of the rage that he had been suppressing under the surface for too long. "You abandoned me! You took her away and you abandoned me!"

He wasn't finished, but Erik refused to take the blame for Raven choosing to live a life of her own, free from judgemental eyes and dictating brothers. It was his turn, and he had a hell of a point to make. "Angel."

Charles took a mental step back, frowning as he tried to understand what Erik was saying ever so monotoned.

"Azazael."

He briefly remember the name, and within a single moment realisation dawned over him. He knew where this was going. The plane wobbled slightly, making a few unhealthy sounding noises that were definitely off putting.

"Emma. Banshee. Mutant brothers and sisters. All dead!"

Glasses began to fall off of the tables as the plane tilted forwards, shattering as they hit the cabin floor. Within the cockpit, Hank sat struggling with the controls, watching helplessly as the line on the monitor disappeared from sight. The yoke, or as Peter had so intellectually named it when he had snuck onboard, the steering wheel, was just as useless as the rest of all the other controls, none of them responding to Hank's frantic commands as the plane fell into a nose dive.

Erik, unaffected by the threatening trajectory of the plane, stared down at Charles, who had lost his balance and was now sprawled across one of the couches. "Countless others experimented on! Butchered!"

He had experienced the damage first hand, seen the blood that had been spilt carelessly in the name of science and pure unchecked hatred for their kind. He had seen the pools of thick red, had seen the pale lifeless bodies lines up next to each other on dissecting tables, stapled back together after their purpose had been served, after they had been observed in every possible way under a microscope.