4856Fic: Do Bleeding Angels Sing? Magneto POV (R) 1/1
- May 2, 2003Title: Do Bleeding Angels Sing?
Rating: R for theme
Archive: List archives, Padders Messy Room
http://www.ravenswing.com/~boots/warn.htm and my site
(when I finish!). Everyone else please notify me
beforehand. My name & e-mail address must remain
Warnings: I've always held that Charles & Eric were
lovers at some point so this may have slipped in
somewhere. This fic was inspired by the first X-Men
Summary: Magneto reflects on his past relationship
with Charles as he prepares to confront the world.
Feedback: Oooh, yes! alyx68@...
Disclaimer: No money made, these characters are not
mine. The X-Men are the property of Marvel.
Dedicated to Isos Arei & Nightsister
Do Bleeding Angels Sing?
May 2, 2003
Alyx Alexandre alyx68@...
If I don't leave now I know I will do something
drastic. I briefly entertained the perverse fantasy of
lifting the gun from the holster of the guard,
dropping it to the floor, discharging it
"accidentally" - the bullet cruising with sure purpose
- striking the distinguished Senator neatly between
the eyes. I could see the bullet pierce the fragile
skull, taking bone fragments through the lumpy brain
tissue then explode from the back of the neatly
coiffured head. The blood splattering the mindless
flatscans waiting eagerly for the next predictable
sound bite so that they could clap like the insane
monkeys that they were. Banal arguments but quite
effective for the Senator had already demolished the
careful presentation by one of Charles� protegees. The
crowd was enjoying her humiliation and eagerly awaited
Senator Kelly's arguments, on the surface, made a lot
of sense and that�s what made him dangerous. The
Senator was not some raving lunatic but a slick
opportunist who knew a vote-grabbing platform when he
saw it. It was not enough to know which way the
political wind blew. Senator Kelly was the wind itself
and he was stirring things up even more with these
My thoughts rested for a moment on the memory of my
dear, sweet mother. Closing my eyes, I could see her
seated at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes and
softly humming a tune, stopping only to say, [[Erich,
verlassen nicht das haus heute]]...*
The Senator�s rant broke me out of my reverie, ��..
And above all what they can do!� The crowd eagerly
leapt to its feet, almost orgiastic in their delight.
Kelly was no different from any other rabble-rouser
with the exception that he was cloaked in authority
and respectability. Warm. Friendly. Rational. A
conduit for the masses yearning to release their
fears, tensions and prejudices. They could do this and
more through this man. Sensible, sane and
straightforward everyone could support this man and
they all did - Black, White, Hispanic, Asian and every
cross-section of America supported their champion,
I hated the Senator with a ferocity that made me
tremble at times. Not nearly as much as I hated the
murderer of my parents but close. Government sponsored
fear and retaliation - hatred of one by the other. Few
challenged the Mutant Registration Act - it wasn�t
politically feasible. There was a lot of double talk
by those who tried to have it both ways while a few
stood by their convictions but it was not sufficient.
It was time to leave. I had seen and heard enough.
I stopped in my tracks as I felt a familiar tickle.
Interesting. I hadn�t seen him among the crowd.
Sneaky. Charles really should know better. �Whatever
are you looking for?�
I turn to look at him and I manage to keep my emotions
in check. Even after all these years, he never fails
to move me. He is my oldest friend and now we are...
what? Enemies? No. What we are is much more
complicated. We are both sides of the same coin even
if he willfully refuses to see things my way.
He wants to "co-exist", as he calls it, with the
flatscans. I adamantly refuse to cooperate in my own
destruction. He would like to pretend that we are no
different from humans. This is not true. The flatscans
are afraid of us and with good reason. We are Homo
Superior. We are the end of their species and they
know it. We are the gatekeepers of an exclusive club
that the flatscans cannot join - ever. Neither by
force, nor money, nor connections will admittance be
granted. Membership in this club is determined at
birth. And they hate us for it.
How many times did Charles & I have all-night sessions
doing nothing but discussing the unique problems of
mutantkind in the world? He believes in humanity. I
argued that homo sapiens are the only species dead-set
on annihilating itself using religion, race,
nationality, and sexuality as rational reasons for
bloodshed. History supports me on this, of course.
For a short, precious time, Charles was the most
important thing to me. I would have laid my life down
before I let anyone hurt him. I allowed myself to
trust and receive love. That was something that I had
not done - was afraid to do - from the moment I was so
cruelly ripped away from my parents until I met him.
Now I am the one causing him pain. First by rejecting
his Dream then by actively opposing it. We both want a
secure future for Homo Superior but our methods differ
drastically. He may not believe this but I do care
what he thinks about me. Mind you, his opinion of me
is not as important as achieving my goals but I *do*
care. I can�t think of another person besides my
parents who have given so freely of himself solely for
my behalf and well-being. For that, I will always
My current plan will bring his Dream and my goals to
an apex. Sacrifices will be made, yes, but no more
than what will happen if that bill in the Senate is
passed. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good
but it will be but a small price to pay to avert
future bloodshed. Charles, a former soldier, must
understand this. I wonder, when he awakens, will he
say when he realizes what I accomplished? What will he
think when he realizes how absurdly simple my plan was
and why he didn�t think of it himself? My beautiful,
simple, elegant plan. Mutate the X-Gene of the rich
and powerful then of everyone else. We will all be one
people. Brothers. Homo Superior.
I quickly shield myself against his probing. I�m sure
he regrets teaching me that trick but it was the only
way that I could really open up to him - forgive the
contradiction. It was as much for him as it was for
me. [[Eric, you�re broadcasting again,]] he'd say.
True, I�m *always* thinking, I�m *never* idle. It used
to drive him crazy, especially at night when he was
trying to sleep. So he taught me how to shield my
thoughts. Charles is too well-bred to go where he�s
been denied entry and won�t do so now even though he�s
worried in every way about me.
It will take much to wipe that disapproving look off
of his face. He can�t read me at all but knows me well
enough to know I'm up to something and that alarms
him. Not to worry my dear Charles. �I will bring you
hope, old friend.�
As I walk away from him, tossing a farewell over my
shoulder, I know that problems will arise but we will
conquer them together and begin anew. Homo-Superior
can bicker and squabble just like any flat-scan. I
never claimed that we were perfect - but at least we
will not kill each other about our so-called mutation.
Charles, I shall bring you more than hope. I will
bring you your Dream fulfilled.
Once, I asked Charles why was he so eager to live in
harmony with those who would eventually turn on him
out of fear and hate. Charles is so much a part of the
Establishment in every way except one. Lucky for him
that he can pass for a flatscan. He bristled at that
and threw my argument back at me. My dear Charles, I
have never been a part of the status quo and the
numbers tattooed on my arm remind me not to press my
nose against the glass begging to be let in. Begging
for *what* exactly? Protection? Acceptance? I know
better. There is no such thing.
Charles has the �right� everything: he is a White,
Protestant, American male and rich enough not to have
to worry about money. Ever. Charles breathes rarified
air, for flatscans and Mutants alike. If he were in
the Old Country, he would not have smelled the
burning, heard the screams, witnessed what no child
should ever see, be *made* to suffer. He would not
have ended up alone. I do not begrudge him this - no
one deserved the camps, but I am just stating facts:
he and his family would not have been on the "wrong"
However, that does not change the fact that you are
tolerated, Charles. The politicians meet with you in
secret. You�re not on their official appointment
schedules. You�re not greeted publicly. You do not
come through the front door. Yes, I know. Word does
get back to me. You are tolerated because of your
family name and the wealth that comes with it. You
say you�re doing this for all of us and I know that
you believe that but what about those of us who do not
have connections or friends in high places? Let's not
forget about the hideous, monstrous mutants who dare
not show their faces publicly - the ones who cannot
�pass.� Do you think they�ll be accepted as easily as
you are? Do you think your well-mannered approach will
work for them?
I will make sure that Charles is out of the way. I do
not want him to interfere and I do not want him hurt.
A slight modification of Cerebro will not kill him but
stun him a bit so that he is unconscious for a few
days. I did this the last time I left him. I did not
wish to be followed and convinced to come back to
fight for The Dream. Yes, capitalized. I grew weary of
it. It wasn�t a dream that I could accept. Oh, The
Dream was good in theory but the stench of death had
permeated my soul. I saw firsthand the cruelty man
could inflict on the �other�, be it man, woman or
child. The elderly and infirm were shot. People were
murdered en masse just because. It is on the verge of
happening again and I will not let it. Charles said he
understood but he didn�t. How could he? Yes, Charles
had weathered his share of troubles, wealth
notwithstanding, but for a telepath he just couldn�t
*see* and I had grown tired of trying to explain. He
kept on and on about The Dream. There was no room for
deviation, no allowances made for human intolerance,
just a ridiculously idealized belief that everything
would turn out for the best. I couldn�t take it
anymore. I left him.
The earnest-looking man made his way across the
elegant dining room, stopping to shake hands and say a
few words to some of the patrons here and there. He
looked like a young politico on the move and he
probably was. This was Washington, D.C. after all, the
power capitol of the world. All the young turks in
this town were jostling for power, influence and
prestige and this one looked like he was feeding from
the trough very well, thank you. His hair was neatly
styled - styled - no $8 haircut for this young man.
Brooks Brothers navy pinstripe suit, white button down
shirt, red silk tie, black oxfords - the classic
Washington power outfit. The young man's smile
broadened a bit more when he saw the older gentleman
seated in a darkened corner of the dining room. In
this town the definition of a �power lunch� varied.
*Who* you dined with was much more important than
*where* one sat.
�I was beginning to think that you weren�t coming.�
�I apologize for that. I got stuck in traffic on 7th
Street. I'm glad you could spare some time away from
headquarters. What are you drinking?�
�A bit of brandy. I took the liberty of ordering your
�Thanks. I'm so fried I can hardly think straight. To
think some people do this for a living. So, share your
thoughts. You haven�t said that much about him, only
�He certainly made sure that he got his point across
quite effectively," Eric replied as he rolled the
goblet gently between his palms. "He said what was on
their minds and they loved him for it. What else is
there to be said? He�s a politician.�
�Kelly imagines that he is the voice of the people.
He's planning to make that his campaign slogan next
"Yeah, you're telling me." Mystique/Henry turned to
the waiter, "I'll have a glass of your best Riesling."
"Thank you. Your order will be ready in a few
minutes." The waiter left.
"Lucky for me that Henry is a guy because Kelly thinks
he�s quite the stud with the ladies.�
Eric chuckled, trying not to choke on his drink, �Oh,
does he now?�
�Yup. He likes, �Quote, �young things with fat
This time, Eric did splutter a bit, �God save us all.�
�Yes, the good Senator is a fine role model for
morality and decency. If it weren�t for the State
dinners, the Georgetown home, the Mercedes, private
school for the kids and the weekly shopping trips to
Neiman Marcus his wife would have left him already.
But Sharon is one of those Senator's Wives, you know?
Stand by your man and all that bullshit. Who would she
be if she weren't Mrs. Senator Kelly? You know, she
actually said that to me, that she was the reason he
was Senator. Talk about deluding oneself. That shark
would have made it regardless, he would have just have
another blonde clone on his arm that�s all.
�Tell me, does the Senator�s wife have a �fat
�No. She has a broad bottom. He�s always complaining
that she�s too fat.�
�What�s the difference between a fat bottom and a
broad one? I don�t understand.�
�I dunno. You tell me - you�re a man. Just because I
have the body doesn�t mean that I think like one.�
�I can�t say that I�ve ever had an opinion on the
female bottom one way or the other.�
The waiter arrived with two steaming plates of
portabella mushroom ravioli with alfredo sauce and
steamed asparagus. He set a glass of wine in front of
the younger man and addressed the elder, "May I pour
another glass of brandy for you, sir?"
"No, this is fine for the moment," the genteel man
said with a smile.
The waiter left after being assured they wanted
neither freshly grated cheese, truffles nor
�You don�t want to know how much they charge for
spaghetti and sauce in this town. They call spaghetti
"pasta" and tack on an Italian name to pretend it�s
authentic. And a glass of wine costs almost as much as
the whole bottle. I hope you�re picking up the tab?�
�Nah. Let�s charge this one to the good Senator.�
"I meant to ask you, what is it like to be Henry
Mystique shrugged, "I don't know exactly. I'm just
*him.* Voice. Mannerisms. I just know what to do when
I'm him. No one suspects a thing. I despise him. He's
just like Kelly, only worse. You should see his porn
collection. It's disgusting."
"Please spare me the details."
"Okay, but he has no sex life. Who would go out with
this cretin? He pretends that its because he works
such late hours but most women are repelled by him.
He's been trying to get more face-time on the networks
just so that he can get a date. Pathetic."
"Really? I didn't realize that Guyrich fancied women,
what with his Dupont Circle condo and all."
"I don't think he knows himself. He is one confused
"Do you think it was wise meeting me as him, though?"
Mystique shrugged, "Why not? He swims with the fishes,
as they say. I take it you saw Charles at the
�Not until I left but we talked.�
�Do you think he found out what we're planning?�
�If he did, I don�t think he would have let me leave.�
�Now, why would you want to leave, Eric?�
The young man seated opposite him had vanished,
leaving an older, bald man in his place.
�Must you do that?� Eric turned away, pained.
�Why does he bother you so much?�
�Why do you care?�
Mystique returned to her previous form as Guyrich. �I
don�t, particularly.� I studied the dossier you gave
us. Charles is very powerful and you two have a
history. What happened between you two?�
�It�s a long story. Let me enjoy my meal.�
�He�s going to be trouble, you know. What are you
going to do about him?�
�Not to worry, my dear. I know how to neutralize
Charles. We have other things to set our sights on.�
�Such as obtaining the conductor for the machine.
That�s the final piece that will bring everything
together. It will all fall into place beautifully,
you'll see. I want to propose a toast, to our shared
When Charles woke up, he would greet a brand new
world. Where all of us would be Brothers, Mutants all.
Comments? Critiques? alyx68@...
[[Erich, verlassen nicht das haus heute]]...*
Erich, don�t leave the house today. (Please forgive my
Henry Guyrich is Senator Kelly's assistant.
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