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"Stand Still, Time", PG, 1/1

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  • Molly
    Stand Still, Time by Molly January 2001 A brief foray into Xavier and Magneto. Post-movie. Characters do not belong to me, and I mean no infringement. Rated
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 8, 2001
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      Stand Still, Time
      by Molly
      January 2001

      A brief foray into Xavier and Magneto. Post-movie.

      Characters do not belong to me, and I mean no
      infringement. Rated PG. List archive and those with
      permission.

      Thanks to Elizabeth and all others who saw this and
      gave it a go.

      ***
      Erik played chess with a quiet mental vengeance;
      Charles always beat him and yet...

      ... yet they couldn't stop. Erik *wouldn't* stop. And
      Charles felt doomed to win until he someday honestly
      lost, because Erik would know, with his unreaching
      mind, if he gave up the goose in favor of the gander.

      He hated his nostalgic relief at sitting, calmly
      staring, from a plastic wheelchair. Moving parts-- not
      metal, his most brazen thoughts gloated-- that set him
      firmly across from Erik. Erik frozen in life and
      space, Erik with the papery skin and the blue eyes
      that got duller with every visit. And in the prison of
      plastic walls (so akin to glass, the plastic was) if
      either of them moved the guards would know it.

      So many stones over the chessboard, thrown and hurled,
      and yet the castles held. And Charles, numb with the
      guilty relief at being safe-- as safe as anyone could
      be, here-- gazed upon the deteriorating form of his
      friend

      (yes, an old friend, the oldest)

      and held back a sigh. Impertinent repetition, he
      admonished himself. It did no good to go back.

      *There*. At last. At long last, and never again.

      And the wheelchair: plastic, thank God.

      ***

      Too vivid in memory was Erik's despondant pallor at
      first seeing him, crippled and broken and bent to the
      will of fate. Most (not all, never all, because how
      could you forgive, forgive *this*) of his own despair
      ebbed away and he could only gaze at Erik and wish he
      weren't capable of feeling the desolate emptiness
      there.

      Erik: Erik, sad and true, and Charles once-- only
      once, and the thought was too much-- yearned to
      control that. Drive it away and let his friend cherish
      some of the happiness others knew.

      Ei Rikr; the words came in his sleep, sometimes. Ei
      rikr, and thus he was ruled, in his way.

      Erik and his empathy, and how he could draw the
      wheelchair forward with a flick of his fingers, have
      Charles at his side, beck and call, was autonomic
      theft at best. And Charles said nothing because Erik
      was, after all, so good at achieving new things.

      Ei rikr, indeed. Complete ruler; ruler in completion.
      Charles sometimes felt very helpless to Erik's whim.

      Especially after the chair. Another reason to never
      forgive.

      ***

      "As I recall," Erik was saying, and he took a pawn,
      eased it off the board and out of play. Distraction,
      Charles thought, the nature of the game. Always out
      for the kind, and why wasn't Erik better at it, who
      was so good at deception and aiming high. "As I
      recall... you once made light of it. As if perhaps I
      were wrong, entirely."

      "I did indeed," Charles agreed. Caustic light, the
      sort that seemed sterile, as if light could carry
      germs, blazed through air and plastic; a reflection on
      the board sparkled before his eyes. "I did, and in
      that you were right."

      "In that? And only in that, you're willing to concede?
      How ungracious of you, Charles."

      Eric looked tired, and Charles wondered why he came.
      "There is no grace in speaking as one does not feel,"
      he replied, and he took a bishop, the second. The
      last. "You expect me to say things I don't believe,
      Erik. There is no good in that."

      "None at all?" and Erik's voice was dull and lonely.
      "We all speak our minds, and if their minds are
      against us, so be it, is that it? I tell you, Charles,
      perhaps all the unrestrained speaking is not the
      saving grace of eternity, after all."

      "Perhaps," Charles said, and he watched Erik take a
      rook. "But without it, where will you ever find your
      land of freedom?" He sighed and reached to play.
      "Checkmate, old friend."

      ***

      He found it no surprise that Rogue had trouble looking
      at him during the remainder of her days at the school.
      No surprise at all; she knew.

      And he had hesitated to press, to poke around and find
      out how she felt about all of it, any of it. He could
      have handled her feelings, whatever they may have
      been, but somehow those were hers, only hers, as Erik
      was supposed to have been only his.

      Or maybe the other way around, because he knew, knew
      even after everything, how Erik had

      (had)

      cherished, desperately protected, held him dear. He
      knew Erik would have regretted having all that passed
      to the girl, even for his perceived greater good.

      And when the day came-- and he could feel it coming,
      no doubt-- when she left, he knew it didn't really
      matter, because there wasn't so much cherishing there,
      anymore. He also knew it was probably for good; he
      asked her why and she shrugged and wouldn't look at
      him. She said she just had to go and then left

      (she left, she left, did he hate you so much she could
      only leave)

      and the next day he went to see Erik, because it was
      that day of the month again.

      ***

      Erik's sleeves were pushed up and his fists were on
      the table, and Charles wondered at how the blue ink
      was so much deeper, so much firmer

      (so much more forever)

      than the sheen of ice blue eyes. And he stared--
      behind Erik hw could see the guard approaching: time
      up, game over, though it had been over for some time--
      and hw was overwhelmed with despair at knowing that
      next time (always a next time) Erik's eyes would be
      even duller. Paler. Colder, and so much more angrily
      resigned.

      But never chagrin, and never remorse. Charles wondered
      at that, too.

      Erik let the matter go, for then, with a quiet laugh.
      "We'll never agree, Charles. We never did."

      "Oh, we did once," Charles countered. "Over tea, and
      eggs, if I'm not mistaken. It was a splendid day."

      "Yes, yes, I suppose it was," and Erik looked almost
      amused as the guard entered. "Until next time then,
      Charles? As always?"

      "As always," he echoed softly, and he was pushed away,
      hoping that promise would end up a lie.

      **end**



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