Fear the Rest
Chapter 2: Limits
Erik pulled into the mansion's garage and got out of his car, leaning against it for a minute as he removed his gloves slowly. A new car, a Thunderbird, was parked against the far wall, its hood up. Pieces of the engine were laid out neatly on a workbench. Erik gave in to the temptation to investigate. The paint was bleached with age but not rusted, the sweep of the fenders still smooth and dramatic. Good bones.
Someone was rebuilding the engine, with some care. Erik picked up a valve from the workbench and turned it over in his fingers. Not Charles. Charles had a weakness for antiques, but he wasn't this fond of getting his hands dirty. Scott, then. He was doing a creditable job. Erik would have told him so, if it were any longer any of his business.
He was a bit surprised Charles hadn't yet asked him if he planned to spend all afternoon brooding in the garage.
You can if you want, Charles said. My garage is your garage.
You must be mistake, Erik said mentally in reply, setting down the small piece of metal and giving the car a final appreciative glance. My garage doesn't have anything this pretty in it.
Would you like it when Scott's done with it? Charles asked lightly as Erik made his way inside.
I think that really defines "inappropriate present," Charles.
"Well, if we're friends . . ." Charles said as he came inside.
"No. But thank you for the thought."
They stood a bit awkwardly, just out of arm's reach. Erik moved forward, meaning to kiss him on the cheek. Charles turned away, with a flash of irritation Erik could feel.
Not here.
You didn't mind in the kitchen.
"That was a lapse of judgement," Charles said.
"Is that what you think it was?"
"Let's go down to Cerebro. I'd like to know what you think about something."
"Is that where you're keeping the etchings?"
Not in front of the students, Erik.
Irritation and nerves under it, and the sense that he was concealing some hidden cause of anger he didn't want Erik to see and thought he wouldn't notice. Erik forbore pointing out that there were no visible students around.
"Fine," Erik said. "Lead the way."
Charles did so in uncharacteristic silence. Erik knew there was no point in asking what was wrong until they were behind Cerebro's locked door. Charles always thought the children weren't old enough to be troubled by the real world.
"That's not quite fair, Erik."
"Then get out of my head," Erik said.
"Well, if you put it that way," Charles said.
He stepped forward, his face bathed in the blue light of Cerebro's security system.
Welcome, Professor, Moira's computerized voice said.
Erik wondered, free to do so since he could count on Charles keeping his resolution not to eavesdrop for at least a few minutes, if the door would still open to his own retinal prints.
Of course, he could tear the door apart, if he wanted to. He supposed that meant it didn't matter.
The door slid shut behind them. The chamber was quiet, as familiar a place to talk as the kitchen table. Or the bedroom, but that was no longer neutral territory. Erik flicked the locking mechanism on and leaned back against the closed door.
"So? What's wrong?"
Charles turned away from him without answering and strode down the walkway to the center platform. He stopped with his hand on Cerebro's headpiece. Erik followed him, resting his hands on the back of the platform's chair.
"Do you remember William Stryker?" Charles asked.
Erik smiled without warmth. "Vividly. What has he done now?"
"He's withdrawing Jason from school. He says I'm obviously not helping him."
"Not making him normal, you mean." Erik's lips tightened.
He felt rather guilty sometimes about leaving Charles with the trials of running the school alone. Taking on Stryker in a rage must have meant hours of argument and a migrane from whatever pushing he'd had to do telepathically. He wondered if a headache was to blame for some of Charles's mood. "Stryker is an idiot. He doesn't have the faintest idea how to raise a human child, let alone one of us. What does Jason say?"
"I don't know anymore," Charles said. "He's already gone. His father came yesterday and took him home."
There was what seemed like a very long pause before Erik found his voice. "You let him go?"
"With a great many misgivings, yes."
"We could go and bring him back. If we left at once, you wouldn't even miss classes in the morning," Erik said, and then, at the lack of response from Charles, "I could go and bring him back."
Charles turned up his hands. "How do you intend to do that, Erik? His parents will call the police if he simply goes missing. There would be an investigation we couldn't possibly survive. They'd shut down the school."
"Only if you let them," Erik said.
"I can't change the minds of every authority Stryker might report his son's kidnapping to," Charles said.
"It's hardly kidnapping."
"He's underage," Charles said. "In the eyes of the law, he doesn't have the right to come back with us without his parents' permission."
"That's ridiculous," Erik said. "He's sixteen, not eight."
"It's the law whether we like it or not," Charles said wearily.
"I don't like it," Erik said. "And I don't see why we should feel obliged to obey laws we both agree are wrong, any more than--"
"I didn't agree that it was wrong," Charles said. "He's a child."
"A little boy at sixteen? You were seventeen when I met you, and it seemed to me you knew your own mind well enough."
"Yes, so I gathered at the time," Charles said.
"I thought we were talking about laws," Erik said.
"I thought we talking about Jason," Charles said.
"We're bringing him back," Erik said. "You're coming to ensure that his parents are happy about it."
"It wouldn't be like making a social worker forget she'd ever heard of us," Charles said. "Their feelings about Jason--their memories of Jason being a student here, and their hopes, and their resentment of me for not being able to 'cure' him--are central to their lives. I can't just wave my hand and erase their concern about their son."
"Of course you can," Erik said. "You did it once before."
"Never again," Charles said.
"We're talking about a child's safety," Erik said.
"And his parents' sanity."
"William Stryker hits his son for using his powers," Erik said. "His wife won't speak to her son alone because she's terrified of Jason. Get him out of there, Charles."
"I can't, Erik."
"What if it were Jean?" Erik asked. "If Jean's parents decided tomorrow that they wanted her to come home because you're such a bad influence, would you tell her to pack her bags?"
"Of course I would if I had to," Charles said.
"What an awful lie," Erik said. "You should wash your mouth out with soap."
"It's just all more complicated than you want to--"
"You love Jean," Erik said. "You don't love Jason. Simple enough, Charles."
"Jason is my student and I care a great deal about his well-being--"
"Do you?"
"Yes, actually, I do," Charles said. "Erik, don't you think I've tried to think of alternatives?"
"There's one more," Erik said.
"What's that?"
It was very quiet in the room, with only the hiss of the ventilation system that was Cerebro breathing.
"Jason's parents are the problem," Erik said. "I could make the problem go away."
"You're talking about murder," Charles said flatly.
Erik shrugged.
"It's an option I've considered before," he said.
"God, Erik." Charles laughed, a sound entirely without humor. "Are you actually telling me that when my father found out about us--"
"I should have let him lock you up in a nice, quiet hospital with bars on the windows and no telephones, where you couldn't embarrass the family?"
"Admittedly he wasn't a very nice person," Charles said, rather distantly, "but are you actually implying that you would have killed my father? I think we've left the realm of the reasonable."
"I don't see what's unreasonable about that," Erik said. "Although your solution was more elegant."
"He was never the same after that," Charles said. "Never."
"My way might have been kinder," Erik said. "And you wouldn't have had to live off your trust fund."
"I managed."
"I paid your bills," Erik said.
"If we're counting up who's paid whose bills--"
"Are we, now?"
"No," Charles said. "We're not." He looked at Erik, his expression softening. "Erik, you're impossible. But I know you wouldn't really have done it," he said.
"Believe what you want," Erik said. "You always do."
"You'd never really hurt anyone I loved," Charles said.
"Only if I had no other choice," Erik said.
"It won't ever come to that, I hope," Charles said. He reached to touch Erik's arm, but Erik brushed his hand aside.
"I'm getting very tired of the word 'hope.' No--" He held up a hand when Charles started to speak. "No more about how the world is better than I imagine it to be."
"If you're not interested in hearing what I have to say, why do you still come to Westchester when I ask?" Charles said.
"I haven't any idea," Erik said. He turned toward the walkway. "May I assume Jason is still welcome in your home, or must I make my own arrangements?"
"Erik, what are you planning?"
Erik looked over his shoulder.
"Leave it all in my hands," he said.
"Erik . . ." Charles said.
"I'm not going to kill anyone, if that's what you're afraid of," Erik said.
"Should I really be worried that you will?"
"Your faith in me is touching."
"You brought it up."
"You could still handle this the easy way," Erik said.
"It wouldn't be easy," Charles said. "And I won't do it. Even if I could without hurting them, I can't just make everyone around me do what I want."
"Yes, you can," Erik said. "You just won't."
"Suppose I had made you stay?" Charles asked. "Made you stop arguing with me about politics and tell me I was right?"
"You wouldn't do that to me," Erik said.
"Why are you so sure?" Charles said. "You know it's a temptation."
"Because you still care too much."
"That's why it's a temptation."
"This is about Jason. Is he welcome here or not?" The pause that followed was long enough to make Erik ill. "Or is it not worth the risk?" he said, turning away and striding down the walkway. "After all, if you take him in, someone might find out about you." He flicked the door controls without touching them and stalked down the hall, hearing the door close behind him.
Erik, it's not as simple as--
"Get out of my head, Charles," Erik said to the empty hallway. "Isn't that what you have all those ethics for?"
*****
Jean was making cocoa in the kitchen, because it seemed like the most productive thing to do at this point. Scott was keeping his feelings at bay with video games, and Hank and Ororo were holed up in the library being mutually antisocial. Warren was furious, and kept saying that there had to be something they could do. Jean had a sinking feeling that there wasn't, so she thought it was cocoa time. It wouldn't really make her feel better, but it would give her something to do with her hands.
Is there enough for me?
"I made extra, just in case," Jean said. She got down another mug for Professor Xavier, and poured carefully from the steaming saucepan on the stove. She had, in fact, made enough for three, which she was sure he noticed. He didn't say anything about it, though, taking his mug with a nod of thanks and sitting down broodily at the table.
"You know there's nothing I can do," he said after a minute, quietly. She came to sit with him, curling her hands around her own mug to warm them.
"I know that," she said. "Warren keeps talking about calling social services."
Professor Xavier shook his head.
"No. I've thought about it, at some length, but all I would be able to tell them is that I know Jason's father hit him years ago. And I would have to admit that Jason's never said as much in words. It wouldn't be enough, and it would mean open war between me and Jason's father. That won't be good for anyone, least of all Jason."
"You don't think a social worker would believe him?"
"I don't think Jason would tell a social worker anything he believed would make them take him away from his family. He loves his father very much."
"I just can't understand that," Jean said. "How can you love someone who hurts you?"
"A lot of children can," Professor Xavier said. "And do."
Jean did not miss the fact that his mental shields solidified into a wall between them as he said it. She filed that away as something to wonder about sometime when Professor Xavier was in town and couldn't possibly overhear her.
"And Jason may be right to be afraid," he went on. "I doubt a court would return him to me, and the foster care options for a rebellious mutant teenager are . . . not likely to be attractive. He could well end up in an institution, drugged out of his mind to keep him from using his powers on the staff."
"I hate being under eighteen," Jean said.
"You won't be for long," Professor Xavier said. "And neither will Jason. It won't be an easy year and a half, I know. But it's not forever."
"He could come back when he's eighteen," Jean said.
"I hope he will. But I don't think it'll encourage him to come back to us for me to drag his father through the courts."
"I'm not arguing," Jean said.
Professor Xavier sighed.
"I know, Jean. It's just that I had a rather disturbing conversation with Erik." He smiled a little over the rim of his mug. "Or should I say Dr. Lehnsherr?"
"I do know he has a first name," Jean said. "You do, too, Charles."
That threw him so much that it was funny.
"Well, yes . . ."
"You were saying."
"I was." He turned his mug around in his hands. "I told him about Jason. I expected him to be concerned. Perhaps sympathetic. Instead he was . . . irrationally angry. I haven't seen him like that in years. He . . . made threats. Said he would kill Jason's parents."
"Lots of people say things they don't mean when they're angry," Jean said.
"I wish I could be sure that's all it is," Professor Xavier said.
"You don't really think . . ." Jean couldn't finish the sentence, as if not saying it meant it wasn't true. He'd told her so many times that she wasn't crazy, when she'd hurt people without meaning to, when she'd heard a cacophony of voices, when she'd cried for hours without being able to stop because the maelstrom of emotions pressing in was so painful.
He'd always sounded so sure. There'd never been that awful carefulness she'd seen sometimes lately in the way he spoke to Dr. Lehnsherr.
"I don't know." He put the cup down and looked at his hand resting on it. "I'm worried about Erik. I don't know what happened to him in Berlin, but I don't think the year he spent there was good for him. There must have been so much that reminded him of the past."
He'd also spent the year living with a woman, which Jean forbore to point out. People say things they don't mean when they're angry, she thought, and felt somewhat comforted.
Professor Xavier didn't really think Dr. Lehnsherr was--what? Out of control? Dangerous? There wasn't a word Jean could stand to apply to Dr. Lehnsherr's quiet voice and his careful hands tracing physics diagrams for her on a napkin at the dinner table.
"You think I'm worrying too much," Professor Xavier said.
Jean smiled. "I always think you worry too much."
"It's my job," Professor Xavier said, with an answering smile that faded quickly. "It's hard to stand just waiting, not knowing where he is or what he's doing."
If you'd gone with him, you'd know what he was doing, Jean thought, not making an effort to keep the thought private.
If he heard her, he gave no sign of it, draining the last of the cocoa without speaking.
Jean concentrated and brought the saucepan over to the table from the stove, wobbling a bit in midair. She wasn't as practiced as Dr. Lehnsherr was, but she managed to land it on the table without spilling.
"Very nicely done," Professor Xavier said, and she smiled.
*****
The house was white and might have come out of a 1950s advertisement for suburbia, although the minivan in the driveway was new. A fringe of green bulbs was sprouting in neatly trimmed flowerbeds. The mailbox was black, its red flag raised. Looking at the house, Erik wasn't surprised at the boy's talent for illusions.
Erik had been waiting in the car for most of the afternoon, listening to the radio. He was beginning to consider his alternatives when Jason's mother finally emerged from the house, looking harried, and scrambled quickly into the van. She pulled out of the driveway, and Erik waited until she'd gone the length of the street before he got out.
He knocked, first crisply, then hard. If Jason wouldn't answer, he'd have to break in, if only to make sure that it wasn't because Jason couldn't answer. There was the sound of footsteps at last, though, and Jason opened the door a crack. "What do you want?" he asked, flatly, without the surprise Erik would have expected.
"Well, first, to see if you're all right," Erik said. "I was worried about you."
Jason came out onto the porch and closed the door behind him.
"You can't come in the house," he said.
"Are you all right?" Erik reached for Jason's chin to tilt it up, to look at his face. Jason took a step back.
"Don't touch me."
"Have they hurt you?" Erik said, letting the anger he felt color his voice just a little. "It's all right to tell me."
Jason frowned.
"I don't let them, much. I make them see what they want to see. And then for a while they're happy. But I can't--I lose concentration. I lose control. I can't keep them happy."
His voice was tight. He was looking at his feet, at the concrete of the steps, his mismatched eyes unfocused.
"No," Erik said. "You need to come back to Westchester. Before someone gets hurt."
Jason looked up sharply. "Did Professor Xavier send you?"
"Not exactly," Erik said. "You know I don't teach at Charles's school anymore."
"But you want to take me back there," Jason said. "My father won't let you."
"It's not up to your father. Charles can protect you from him. I'll make sure that he does. Or--" He hesitated, but decided he'd better make it clear that it wasn't all up to Charles, either. He wasn't about to put Charles in a position to gamble with this child's life for the sake of his own reputation. "Or you could come with me."
"You have a school?"
"No, but I can look after you."
Jason's face darkened.
"I'll bet you can," he said. "Dirty old fag."
Erik was momentarily horrified into silence.
"You can't imagine I meant . . ." he began slowly.
"I know what you and Professor Xavier did," Jason said. "I always thought we were lucky you didn't want to do it to us."
"Charles thinks of you as a son--"
"He's not my father!" The air seemed to shimmer on the porch, and Erik grasped the iron railing as if that would prevent him from falling into the illusion that was gathering in the air. "My father's not a freak and he's not a queer and if you hurt him I'll tell everyone about you."
"That I'm a mutant? That I'm a homosexual? I'm not ashamed to admit to either."
"I'll tell everyone what you and Professor Xavier did to me and Hank," Jason said. "How you touched us. Maybe you said it was for physical exams at first. Before you started coming into our room at night."
"Henry won't tell lies," Erik said.
Jason shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't remember. Maybe Professor Xavier did something to him to make him not remember. It wouldn't work as well on me. He has a harder time getting into my head."
"You wouldn't dare," Erik said.
"After you came to my house and tried to get me to get in the car with you, I got scared," Jason said. "And then you threatened me."
"You don't have to do this," Erik said. "You don't have to hurt me."
"I didn't want to hurt you," Jason said. He looked suddenly very young. "It's something wrong in my brain."
"There's nothing wrong with your brain," Erik said. "Your father--"
"You don't get to talk about my father," Jason said. "I want you to go now."
"Just--"
"Go!" Jason said shrilly, and then without warning he was in a laboratory, a set he vaguely remembered from an old movie he'd walked out in the middle of, with very white walls and very shiny metal things, and he knew it wasn't real but he couldn't move his wrists and he couldn't move the metal with his mind, only feel it as plastic-gloved hands brought a sharp blade closer and closer to the side of his head.
"There's something wrong with your brain," William Stryker's voice said.
"Please," Erik whispered and then realized he'd been driven to his knees on the cement steps. Jason was watching him from behind the half-open door. He scrambled to his feet in humiliation and fury.
"My father's coming," Jason said. Erik turned, driven to look by unthinking impulse, only to see that there was no one there. Behind him, Jason slammed the door.
He called Charles from a pay phone and told him what had happened. There was a long silence when he finished.
"Thank you so much, Erik," Charles said. "You have a talent for burning bridges."
"Stryker will hurt him," Erik said. "I know it."
"You don't know anything except that now Jason's threatening to accuse both of us of sexual abuse, which would ruin the lives of half a dozen mutant children, not to mention yours and mine."
"Yours particularly," Erik said.
"Damn it, I'm not the one who's being unreasonable."
"He's afraid of vivisection," Erik said. "He's afraid his father will try to operate on his brain to cure him. Doesn't that bother you?"
"Jason is afraid? Erik, you're the one who's still afraid of things that happened forty years ago--"
Erik hung up and turned away, taking a deep breath, hands spread on the glass of the telephone booth. Behind him there was the cracking sound of the metal components of the telephone breaking through the plastic. He left the phone booth without looking back.
*****
Jean stuck her head into Professor Xavier's office, finally, when ten o'clock had come and gone.
"Aren't you going to bed?"
He smiled at her. "I should, shouldn't I? Tomorrow's a school day."
Jean stepped into the office and let the door swing closed behind her.
"Were you going to use Cerebro to check on Jason?"
"I have already tonight," Professor Xavier said. "He's upset, but largely about Erik's visit. I suppose I understand his motivations, but--" He broke off, shaking his head. "I wish he'd left it alone."
"He means well," Jean said.
Professor Xavier shrugged.
"He always has, but it's never ended well." He looked at the stack of papers on his desk as if seeing them for the first time. "I should really start thinking about hiring a second teacher, shouldn't I?"
"I thought you'd been looking."
"I have, but there hasn't been anyone who seemed right. But I wonder if it's just that when Erik came back from Germany I hoped . . ." He breathed a laugh. "I suppose I still do. But it's not much of a hope."
"Call it a night," Jean said. "We can watch a video. I'll make popcorn."
"I thought it was a school night."
"Well, if we had your permission . . ."
"You know, I wasn't born yesterday," Professor Xavier said, but he stood and pushed his chair in, turning out the desk lamp.
"You really think he'll be all right?" Jean asked.
He patted her on the shoulder.
"I'll keep an eye on him with Cerebro," he said. "If anything terrible were happening to him, I'd know, and I'd do something about it."
Jean smiled. "A short video?"
"Watch what you want, but don't blame me if you're nodding off in class tomorrow," Professor Xavier said. "You're old enough to face the consequences of your own actions."
"It's about time you realized that," Jean said.