Born For Adversity

Doubt is the brother of shame.
-Erik Erikson

Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.
-Khalil Gibran

(Earth-CSK14051981)*

Erik wondered, not for the first time, why he had come here. Why put himself through this? Why put Charles through this? Charles who sat before him in that wheelchair, his hands folded placidly in his lap, his face tilted up to meet Erik's gaze, his eyes filled with such kindness and vulnerability. Erik sighed, momentarily moving to run his fingers though his hair before remembering he wore the helmet that kept his and Charles' minds safely separate.

"Please," Charles said, his gentle voice filled with sincerity, "come home, brother." The invitation almost broke his resolve. How could Charles welcome him back after everything that had happened, after everything he had done to hurt Charles?

"Brother," Erik began, his voice tinged with regret. "I-I wish we had been born brothers, you and I; maybe then you could have saved me, truly saved me"—he saw the hurt, the argument stirring in Charles eyes but continued—"but by the time you found me I was broken—broken far beyond repair. You must know by now I can't be fixed. For your sake, I wish it were possible, but it's not, and I'm…so sorry." He felt tears welling in his eyes as he looked at his friend, but willed them away, intent on saying all he felt he needed to say. "You see these things in me—hope, love, friendship—but these things have been buried so long, they are dead. I can't allow myself to care for anyone; I loved my mother more than anything in the world, and that love got her killed!" He was speaking faster now, emotion roughening his voice. "And you!" He pointed a finger at Charles, as if in accusation. "You were the first good thing that came into my life since my mother was taken from me—and look what I did to you!" He realized he was shouting, nearly screaming, and took a breath to calm himself, continuing once he could speak at a more reasonable volume. "I hurt you, nearly killed you in my careless rage. If-if I could do anything to fix that," his voice broke and he swallowed a sob, desperately blinking back tears, "anything to make things right, to make it up to you…" His hands shook. He pulled the helmet from his head and slowly lowered himself to one knee in front of the man whose life he'd destroyed. He looked into Charles' eyes, pleading with every fibre of his being for—for what? Forgiveness? Understanding? Who was he to ask for such things? His guilt felt like a cold knife stabbing through his chest. Charles said nothing, but looked at him with such infinite sorrow on his face he realized Charles must be feeling everything he felt, and that was wrong—Charles had done nothing to deserve any of this. Decisively slamming the helmet back on his head, he stood to his feet again. When he spoke, his voice was cold and flat, sounding dead to his ears. "But I just left you there, injured and bleeding—this is the kind of man I am, Charles!" He was screaming again, he realized, but he couldn't find the will to calm himself again. "Don't you see? Can't you see now that I can't be saved? I don't deserve to be saved! I don't deserve your forgiveness! I don't deserve your friendship!"

He turned quickly on his heel, unwilling to see the effect his words had on Charles, unwilling to accept the pain he would inevitably see in his friend's face, knowing that once again he was the cause of so much suffering for a man who deserved only the kindness, patience, and acceptance he gave so willingly to everyone.

He stormed out of the room intent on leaving the mansion as quickly as possible and never returning, but he found his way blocked by the female CIA agent, Moira. She stood in the middle of the corridor, hands on hips. The only way to get past her would be to push her aside, which he did seriously consider doing, but he knew Charles considered this woman a friend and decided against it, at least for now. "What do you want?" he snapped.

Moira's eyes were saddened as she considered the man she was facing. "He misses you, you know." Erik made an exasperated noise and glared at her, but she seemed completely unintimidated, her gaze hardening as she met his eyes. "When you left him on that beach, you left him with me, but I can't stay here forever; I have a job that I need to get back to." She took a steadying breath. "And as much as it pains me to say it, I'm not the one he really wants here with him." She swallowed and raised her chin slightly. "I'm afraid I'm a poor substitute for you; I'm terrible at chess."

Erik almost laughed at that, visibly relaxing and shaking his head. "He needs someone to play chess with?"

She nodded, a barely suppressed smile playing at her lips.

Erik looked at her appraisingly. "You really care about him."

She nodded again, a somewhat wistful smile on her face. "I've never met anyone like him before. He-he is probably the most fascinating man I've ever met. And he…inspires trust." She gave a small rueful laugh. "I'd almost think he'd used his power to…but I know he wouldn't do that."

"No, he wouldn't." Erik paused. "He really is…"

"Yes, he is." She looked Erik in the eyes. "Please. For him, give yourself another chance."

"I c-" He ran a hand over his face and looked at the floor between their feet. "I'll—I'd hurt him again."

"Yes," she said gently, "you probably will. But you're already hurting him."

"He asks the impossible!" Erik shouted feeling his body tremble with rage. Some part of his mind registered surprise that she didn't even flinch.

"No. He only asks that you try again."

*See my profile for an explanation of numbered universes.

A/N: I do plan to continue this story. I can't promise frequent updates, but I can truthfully say I have more that I'm writing and more in my head that I plan to write down. So if what you've seen here as piqued your interest, please add an alert for yourself. :)