Summary: Former student Samantha Kane returns to the X-Mansion after a rough patch in life. Upon arrival she encounters some unsettling changes including a very youthful Charles Xavier. Meanwhile, trouble stirs as the government reconvenes in the wake of the disaster on Alcatraz Island. Plans for mutant hunting machines emerge and the Cure soon begins to wane with alarming side effects.

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men. I wish I did then I'd be rich and content. I own Samantha Kane's character. At least I think I do.

Rating: T

X-Men: Divided We Fall

Samantha shook out a Donna Karan blouse and skirt to hang in the closet. One of the numerous designer clothes she owned. After a couple days rest, she finally got motivated enough to do some serious unpacking. Unfortunately, she was having difficulty putting away the immense amount of clothes and shoes in her possession. Just then she was alerted to a knock on her bedroom door. Crossing the floor, she turned the knob and encountered the same mean spirited guy she'd traded words with in the kitchen. In his grasp were two more bags of luggage.

"You forgot these outside. They were hiding in the bushes," he grunted, marching into her bedroom like a minimum wage bellboy.

She remain planted where she was, an arm cocked up on a doorframe, while she leaned casually in the entryway. "Thanks, I thought for a moment the cab driver had ripped me off." She tipped her head up quizzically. "I didn't get your name by the way."

"The name's Logan," he barked.

Arching a brow, a mock grin on her face, she said, "Just Logan?"

His eyes grew bleak, "Yeah, just Logan, what?"

"Nothing…sorry," she shook her head, her smile broadening. "I'm Samantha Kane."

"I know, the Professor mentioned you." Logan took in the numerous bags on the floor. The clothes piled high on the bed like a bargain basement warehouse. This woman had clearly come stacked and packed with enough garments to open her own department store. "There's a lot of shit here."

Samantha started to laugh. "This is just a fraction of what I got. The rest is tucked away in storage. I'm thinking about asking the Professor for a room with a walk-in closet."

His eyebrows came together. "This is a school, not the Plaza Hotel."

"So, I've gathered, but it wouldn't hurt to try." She shrugged nonchalantly. "Besides, I need to discuss the terms of this contract. I didn't go to law school for nothing. Do you know where I can find him?"

Wolverine looked at her as though she'd asked a stupid question. "Lower levels. He's probably working on Cerebro." She twirled in her leather Prada boots, taking a few steps down the hall when she heard Logan say, "It won't do you any good. Only authorized faculty members can get down there."

Samantha double-back, careening her neck to peek through the open door, "And I'm guessing you're authorized."

"Yep," he replied swaggering towards her. He studied her carefully, a scowl on his face, leaving her to wonder if the guy ever smiled. "What's your angle?"

She frowned, head tipping in confusion. "Angle?"

"Storm and I found out what happened? How he used you and your powers and all that?"

"And you think I'm here with an agenda?"

"Don't know," his voice deepened, "You tell me?"

Immediately, she went ram rod straight, her face tightening with rage. "I don't have to tell you damn thing, except that I was victim. You should remember that the next time you start having speculations, making accusations." Samantha let out an aggravated huff and said, "Don't worry I'll find a way down there somehow."

She heard him swore. Hurried footsteps took chase next. "Come on, I'll take you down there."

"It's nice to know you can be a gentleman when you try," she said, mildly pleased.

"Don't push your fuckin' luck."

() () () ()

Charles was fully aware the dangerous risk he was about to undertake. His psychic range was not where it once was. Not at the moment. Nevertheless, he could not waver from an overwhelming desire to see how far he'd come since his days on Muir Island. Even more, he wanted to locate Erik. How was his old friend fairing. Had he eluded the military? Logan told him what he and Hank had done. What lengths they'd gone to put end his mad quest for mutant domination. It grieved him to watch what he had become. To watch their friendship fall apart because of differences in ideals and opinions.

The memory of that day on the beach in Cuba still haunted him. Disturbingly, now in the last few months than they ever did before. It was on those shores he'd lost his ability to walk and a good friend.

He stood in the midst of Cerebro. The massive spherical device filled the basement of the mansion. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Charles walked to the end of the platform, standing before the computer mainframe. He ran his hand on the cold surface. He inspected it closely and made a mental note to have a chair constructed and bolted to the platform since he no longer used a wheelchair.

Charles chuckled, somewhat amused by the thought. "Well, my dear," he smoothed his fingers over the computer keys. "I'm home." Without reservation he picked up the helmet.

"Are you sure that's wise," he heard Samantha ask and paused; the helmet hovering above his head. "After all, it's been a long time since you've used Cerebro."

His eyes slid close. "Logan let you down here?"

"Yes, he did," she flicked her head, tossing her hair of her shoulder. "I never did ask how you were able to assume your role as Charles Xavier. I mean, you don't look the least bit over seventy."

The edge of Charles' mouth curled as he returned the helmet to the cradle, he turned to stare at her. "One my students is a skilled hacker. Katherine Pryde, you'll be meeting her and rest of X-Men when summer comes to an end. Together, she and Storm were able to forge documents."

"A driver license, birth certificate…" she strolled further inside.

"Everything I need to reside in the United States."

"The way things are going these days," she said. "With all that's happening in Arizona, they'll be asking for a blood sample."

"Let's hope it doesn't come down to that."

They stood in silence for a moment. Charles watched while Samantha slowly turned around, looking at the massive chamber at every angle. "I've never been in here before."

"What do you think?"

"Impressive," she said in amazement and gazed at the Professor. "It might be too early for you to do what I think you're about to do."

He frowned, "Why do you say that?"

Steadily, she came to stop in front of him, azure eyes sharp and expressive. "The photo." Unable to see where she was going, his brows crinkled, perplexed. "When you took the photo of you from Oxford, your fingers brushed my hand." She paused a second to catch her breath. "I saw your conversation with Ororo. You're not ready for Cerebro, Professor."

Charles noted her use of his title as an extraordinary breakthrough; yet he maintained a virtually calm state. "Being ready is a matter of opinion," he rotated sharply, taking the helmet by the hands. "Cerebro has the capability to expand a telepath's faculties not suppress."

"So, what this, a little kick to your powers?"

"You might say that," he looked at her sharply, before sighing. "I have questions that need answering."

"Fine. Don't steal another person's boy if you die," and she moved to leave.

"If you're so concerned you can stay, ensure I don't suffer brain damage," he offered.

"I'm not Jean," she said. "I'm not a doctor."

Charles felt a pang of grief at the mention of her name. His mind locked with an empty vessel lying in the medical wing. Weeks of trying break through the barrier in her mind had been futile. Lowering the helmet, he began to program the machine to specific functions. "I never said you were," he replied.

She took a few steps to him, hugging her chest. A chill tickled down her spine at the sound of Cerebro humming to life. She cleared her throat. "Are you sure you don't want me to leave?"

"No," he answered. "Just don't move."

Darkness consumed the chamber before blasting into streams of flashing light. Samantha roped her arms tighter to her chest. She felt she might fall off the edge as images came and went. The whole room seemed to rise and fall and sweep in endless directions before settling, tranquil, silent. A multitude of tiny bright lights shaped the continents of the world, twinkling like billions of stars in the heaven.

Charles was willing to address her curiosity, "These lights represent every living being on the planet, Samantha. White represents human." The blinking dots altered in color. "The red are mutants. We're not alone in this world."

"Like I didn't already know that?" she replied.

His lip curled. "I'm surprised you did. You tend to act as if the whole world is falling down around you. And that you're the only one with problems."

She let out a snort, annoyed he belittled her like she was a child. "You might feel that way when you're parents abandon you to mental asylum and the person you come to trust uses you."

"I think feeling sorry for yourself is getting old. I think it's time you moved on." He said while operating Cerebro, though his focus soon became a challenge.

She stiffened. "Why don't stop and let me out of here? Then you can get back to whatever you're doing."

"So, you can browbeat me on my life, but I can't say anything about yours. Anyways, I cannot stop now, I've come too far." He set his mind on one person in particular, combing each district in New York with great speed. Samantha saw his shoulders buckle a bit under the strain. She wanted to go to him but was unsure of the dire results if she moved.

"Where are you Erik," Charles whispered slowly. His eyes glazed over, his mind expanding. The entire state of New York, millions of minds flooded. With some effort, he pushed through the first psychic onslaught that hit him hard. "Where are you?"

At first he thought his attempt futile. Erik could be anywhere. What possessed him to believe he was here in the city…in the state even. After a few moments he grew weary, the intensity of Cerebro taking its toll. Perhaps Samantha was right. He wasn't ready. Just when he was going to call it quits he saw the faint blimp of Erik's aura. His old friend was alive and he was in trouble.

Retreating, he staggered backwards. Unknowingly, Samantha ran to his side and eased him onto the floor of the platform. "You pushed too far," she admonished and gasped when she saw blood run from his nose. Using the sleeve of her shirt, she wiped it away. "Jesus, we need to get you to the medical wing."

"No," Charles gagged. "I'm fine."

"Like hell you are," she snapped. "You're fuckin' bleeding. You could be suffering from a brain hemorrhage. We need to get you to the medical wing." She tried to get him to stand only have her frantic movements halted by Charles taking hold of her hands. Her breath caught as his essence poured into her. Images of the past, present, and an uncertain future. She wrenched free.

"Listen to me, listen to me," he said. "We have to get to Wyckoff Heights Medical Center."

"Good. A hospital," she said, "now you're talking sense."

() () () ()

The double swinging doors of the Wyckoff Heights emergency room burst open with three paramedics charging inside. A gurney weaved and bobbled as they worked on a man going in and out of consciousness. A portly, black woman with short hair and wearing light blue scrubs ran over.

"What do you have for me gentlemen?" she asked, plugging her ears with her stethoscope.

"Adult male, late forties to early fifties possibly suffered a myocardial infarction. Neighbors heard screaming through the walls and dialed 911."

"Alright, get him into exam room one." Together with the paramedics she moved him onto a stable bed. "Lena, I want an EKG and Alex start him on a nitroglycerin drip." She leaned close to pass a tiny flashlight over the eyes of man who was clearing panicking. "Did you fellows get a name on this guy?"

One of the paramedics replied, "I didn't get a name. He kept muttering over and over in another language. It sounded German almost but I couldn't be too sure. It's all I could get out of him."

"Hmm, well, we'll worry about the name later," she said, continuing to perform her task.

Alex returned with a nitro drip and proceeded to insert an IV into the man's wrist. "Alex wait! Dr. Johnson," Lena handed over the EKG sheet. "This guy is not having a heart attack."

Dr. Johnson's eyes streamed across the reading. "Jesus," she cried. "We could've killed this man. Good call Lena." Machines started to scream as readings on the heart monitor spiked. "He's having a seizure!" She rushed to his side and tried to hold him down with other personnel.

The bed started to shake, levitating suddenly off the floor. Dr. Johnson watched in horror as her stethoscope took flight along with other medical paraphernalia and began circling the room. Cupboards banged open and close and canisters bearing metal covers crashed to the floor.

"Oh my god, he's a mutant!" Lena cried, hands coming to her mouth.

Jaw set, frustration and anxiety mounting, Dr. Johnson struggled to maintain a level of calm and authority. "Alex," her tone set, hard and even. "I want you to give him 2cc of Estazolam." He'd already inserted a peripheral cannula; all he had to do was give a dose of the sedative to calm the patient. To her astonishment, the needle snapped like a twig as he loaded the syringe, and Alex was sent flying back into the curtains and crashed into the wall.

"Lena! Call security," she screamed as she thrown aside. Unfortunately, the nurse stood frightened and watched the mutant bolt out the doors, startling other patients and medical personnel.

Heart pounding madly in his chest, his eyes wild, Erik headed for the exit. He yanked out the peripheral cannula IV still lodge in the vein in his wrist, sucking blood that pooled. He ripped off leads still stuck to his chest. He screeched to a halt as security officers rushed inside, removing their side arms.

"Sir, calm down." One of them stated. "There is no need to panic. We're here to help you."

Lena came scampering out the exam room, shaking to the core. Eyes filled with tears she cried out, "He's one of those mutants! He tried to kill us!"

A mutant. It was just grounds for action. One of the guards—a racist, bigot—did not hesitate to show his disdain for the mutant race. And with the events on Alcatraz still fresh in the media he opened fire. Instinct fueled Erik; although confused by his present situation and what was happening to him physically, he stretched his hand. The bullets bounced in a multitude of directions, one striking an innocent bystander.

His partner reared to life. "You stupid fuckin' idiot!" He slapped his friend's gun hand down. He glimpsed over at the woman weeping violently, a nurse and doctor was attending her. It was a shoulder wound. She was lucky. "Are you trying to kill someone?"

"He's a mutant. He must be put down. All of them!"

"You saw what he just did," he sneered in response. "Do you really expect to frighten him with your little pee shooter. Go contact the police before someone else get hurt or worse!"

His friend glared before turning sharply and stomping angrily away.

() () () ()

"Looks like someone's got the party started," Logan smirked, gazing out the window while the X-Jet circled above the hospital. Below, he saw scores of police cars, fire engine trucks, and a huge blockage cordoning off both ends of the street. "Whoever this guy is he's got everyone down there rattled."

"Storm, activate the stealth mode," Charles instructed. He pressed two fingers to the side of his temple. Closing his eyes, he searched the hospital for Erik's whereabouts. He failed to enlighten the others on the reason why they were making this impromptu trip to the heart of Brooklyn. He knew of their disdain for Magneto and thought it best to keep silent till later.

"Already done," she replied and guided the ship over the rooftop.

"Set her down gently," said Charles. "We don't want to draw too much attention."

Her lips pressed upward. "You act like this is the first time I've ever flown." She carefully set the X-Jet down and lowered gangplank.

Charles unbuckled his seat belt and got out the chair. Erik's thoughts were erratic. He was having trouble reaching him. "Samantha, come with me."

She blinked, stunned. "Me?"

He nodded. "Yes, I could use your help. Storm, Logan wait here. If anything happens I want you to take off. No sense in all of us getting into trouble."

"Professor," Samantha objected. "They have more experience in the field than I do. I don't have defensive powers like them."

"She's right Professor. Sam is not prepared for anything like this." Storm turned in her seat, a look of concern in her eyes. "Let me go with you."

"I'll take your concerns under advisement but right now we need a more passive approach."

"And Storm isn't passive," Logan barked.

"This subject is closed. Samantha is coming with me and that is final. You've all seem to forget who started the X-Men in the first place. Ergo, I make the decisions." Charles said giving them a sharp look. He turned to Samantha. "Let's go." Without another word he descended the gangplank.

Samantha opened her mouth to protest but was waved to silence by Storm. "Just go. He's difficult if he doesn't get his way."

"So I've noticed," she said and followed Charles to the roof.

The air was stifling. An hour long flight in the cool air conditioning made adjusting unbearable for the moment. They quickly moved across the roof. Samantha heard the roar of traffic and sirens rising from below. She pondered who this mutant was. Why the big scare? Then again, to humanity, any mutant presence was cause for a scare.

Charles turned the knob of the rooftop door. To his fortune, it moved and the door opened. No doubt he'd feel like an idiot if he had to turn back and ask Logan for assistance. He and Samantha went down the dimly stairwell. He mentally scoured the building. "Anything?"

"No. It's too much," he staggered; Cerebro had definitely worked him over. "There're too many people still in the building. We need to wait until it's completely evacuated.

She caught him by the elbow. "You should've stayed and rested while Storm and Logan went to fetch this person."

"If they knew who we were looking for they would object most assuredly."

"Who are looking for?" she asked.

He came clean. "Magneto."

Startled, Samantha gasped. "You're kidding."

"No. He's right here in the hospital."

Her eyes glimmered, "So that's why you wanted me to come along. You knew Storm and Logan would freak."

"Yes. And the last thing we need is a violent confrontation, especially between him and Logan." He closed his eyes again this time gaining a better connection. "I've found him. He's on the third floor. Oh my god, it couldn't possibly."

"What is it?"

He looked at her, alarm rising in the depths of his blue eyes. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. We must hurry. The commanding officer has just dispatched SWAT and given a shoot to kill order." Hurriedly, they took the stairs almost two at a time. Samantha was panting heavily by the time they reached their destination. By then, the hospital had been evacuated and was relatively quiet. She hugged the walls, trailing Charles down a hallway, letting out a breath once they encountered SWAT team outside one of the rooms.

Charles narrowed his eyes. "They have him cornered in that room." He sensed their fear and blind hatred.

"How do you suppose we're going to get in there?" she whispered, counting ten men dressed in black, armed to the teeth with automatic assault weapons.

"We're going to walk right pass them. That's how?"

Samantha thought he'd lost his mind. "What?"

"You forget that I am a telepath," he grinned, watching the men freeze into position, and he walked casually to them. He weaved through the throng of bodies without a hitch and beckoned Samantha to come forward. "It's alright but we must hurry. I can only hold them off for so long."

She rushed to him taking his hand, stunned by the intense heat that pulsed from his palm. Her heart skipped when his fingers closed. With a nod, Charles used his psychic powers to appeal to the man who was clearly on edge on the other side.

Erik.

His head darted in numerous directions, alarmed by the voice resounding in his mind. Who are you?

It's me Erik. It's Charles.

Charles? He darkened, fury building. You expect me to believe that Charles is dead.

No, Erik. I am alive. I survived…somehow. It will be difficult for you to accept but you must believe what I am telling you.

It was then the Professor made a mental note to Samantha to open the door. In front of them stood an agitated man holding a scalpel in his hand. He stood tall and strong, his chestnut hair lightly dusted with silver at the root. His face was proud and hard. A few wrinkles etched his brow and the corner of his eyes. Samantha looked at the Professor then at the man before her. This guy nowhere resembled the Magneto she'd seen on the television and newspapers.

He was young…so to speak.

Erik reacted, his fingers curling tightly around the surgical tool. He felt a tiny hum course through his fingers as his flesh connected with metal. Glaring at the man who dared to call himself Charles Xavier he swore in German.

Charles held up his hands coming to him slowly. Erik, it is me. I know this body is not what you intended to see, but with the old me currently nonexistent. This was all that was available. It is me.

He proceeded to show then images of past, the days at the mansion as they prepared to face Sebastian Shaw. Most importantly, he showed him images of his childhood—things no one else knew—before the trauma of WWII.

Tears sprang to Erik's eyes. Shrinking inward, he lowered the scalpel. "Charles."

"Yes, Erik."

Erik swallowed, relief taking hold. "Something's happening to me…look at my face…"

"I see that," said Charles taking his friend's hand to remove the small blade, setting it aside. "I'm here to help you. We're going to get you out of here." He clapped his hand on his bare shoulder. "We'll find out what is going on. I promise."