Epilogue: Fata Morgana

It's the cold that wakes him, the cold and the dampness from the dew on the grass. Erik sits up in shock at the realization that he's outside with no idea of how he got there, and his first instinct is trouble. He looks around for it, finding Charles next to him, and he's about to wake the other man when it hits him.

Charles is... young.

His own hand, halfway to the other's shoulder, is smooth and unwrinkled. It takes a moment of thought, but he remembers. This very morning has been burned into his memory for years, the day he always regretted most. It is the twenty-fourth of October 1962, and he shouldn't wake Charles. Even if this is a dream, he shouldn't wake Charles. For once, his dream should go better than reality. But, of course, just then, Charles stirs.

Bleary eyes blink up at him, concerned. "Erik? What is it? Why are you... confused? Afraid?" Charles sits up. "I'm fine, you know. The headache's gone. What has you so spooked suddenly?"

Something isn't right. Charles is never like this in his dreams. This is too like him, too real.

"Let me wake up, Charles," he pleads in a whisper. "I don't want to relive this day."

Instead of ignoring the very notion that this is not reality as he usually does, Charles frowns, looking confused. "Erik, what are you talking about? This isn't a dream. Look, isn't it cold?" Charles pinches his arm. "Does that hurt? If you were dreaming, that wouldn't hurt, and this chill would have woken you by now."

It's true, what he says, but the same could be said of the other side, and could he have dreamed up every day in twenty years to come? As his mind settles on the only possibility, the anger comes rushing.

"Charles, this isn't funny."

The telepath flinches, taking his hand. "What? What's gotten into you today, Erik?"

"Stop this, Charles. I know you can hear me. Stop whatever it is you're doing."

"Erik, you're starting to worry me. I'm not doing anything," he insists, anxiety written all over his face.

"Then everything over there is your doing?" Erik cries, flinging the other's hand off and rising to back away. "Is this what you meant when you said you were tired of being helpless? You'd stoop to using your powers to get your way now?"

"What? No! I'd never; you know I'd never!" Amidst the worry and confusion in blue eyes, hurt swirls quickly to the surface. "What is over there, Erik? Why are you being like this, suddenly?"

"Look, Charles," he snarls, "one of these is an illusion of your creation, and I know it. So drop it."

"Bloody hell, Erik! I'm not— I haven't done anything!" Charles very nearly screams in frustration.

"Very well, Charles. If you insist on feigning ignorance, we have nothing left to talk about."

He storms out and lets the magnetic field of the earth levitate him away. Nothing could have prepared him for the weight that suddenly slams into him and drags him back to the ground, however. He'd forgotten how athletic Charles used to be. He reflexively throws the younger man off him with a wave of his hand, and Charles gasps sharply in pain when he hits the ground, landing on his left side and rolling several times. It seems like he might have broken an arm, and damn it all, but instinct makes Erik rush to his side before he can stop himself. Before he can check on the injury, however, Charles grabs his elbow with his right hand.

"Erik, please," he whispers through gritted teeth. "If you're going to storm off like this, at least tell me why."

"You know why."

"No, Erik, I don't. I swear to you; I haven't done a thing. Does my word mean nothing to you anymore?"

"You never were very good at keeping your promises," he ripostes, and the way Charles's face contorts tells him that his words hurt more than the physical pain.

"God damn it, Erik, tell me. Tell me what I've done wrong. Tell me what I'm doing wrong. Don't make me read your mind to find out."

"You're proving my point."

The grip on his elbow tightens. "Knowing is better than this." Charles squeezes his eyes shut. "Look, I know." He swallows thickly, meeting Erik's gaze once more. "I know you'll leave someday, maybe today. But not like this, Erik. Please. Not because you're angry about something I don't even know and most probably haven't done. At least tell me what it is." He doesn't look like he's lying, Erik concedes.

"Go ahead then. Jog your memory, and tell me if you have a better explanation."

Charles hesitates momentarily, checking for second thoughts, perhaps, and then closes his eyes, diving in. He inhales sharply in surprise as he begins sifting through the memories. "Wh—What is this?" he breathes.

"You tell me, Charles."

He begins going through the days more quickly. "I don't... I've never... Oh God, Erik."

He immerses himself more deeply, sometimes skimming, but always slowing down whenever they are together. Erik doesn't know how much time passes as he sits beside Charles on the grass with the telepath just looking into his memories in silence, but when it's over, Charles's eyes are moist, and he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come. You came back, he sends instead, smiling like all is right with the world. You came back, Erik.

"That's not the point, Charles."

Charles shakes his head. "I don't know what that is, Erik, and I don't know how to make you believe me." He sighs, taking Erik's hand. "Do you think I could take it? Knowing that you didn't, wouldn't choose me freely?"

Erik isn't sure he should believe the telepath. "Too much of a blow to your pride?" he taunts anyway.

Charles only closes his eyes and intertwines their fingers, remaining silent.

"How do you know?" he asks at last. "How do you know that that is the dream?"

Charles opens his eyes to look up at him. "You mean as opposed to this? Like the Chinese philosopher who thought he was a butterfly?"

"No, like the butterfly who thought he was a Chinese philosopher." Erik frowns. "But that doesn't answer the question."

"No," Charles agrees, furrowing his brow in deep thought. After a long moment of contemplation, he shakes his head. "I don't know. I believe this is reality, of course, but I can't say I know of a way to prove it." He lets Erik help him sit up. "But knowing that could be reality, it's less important to me whether or not this is," Charles continues, wincing in pain as his arm is moved. "If we're happy, that's all that matters, isn't it?"

"If this is reality, you need a hospital," Erik points out as they rise, ever practical.

The other shakes his head. "I don't think it's broken, just terribly sore and bruised." Despite that, he leads the way back towards the mansion. "Still, it seemed so real... Do you think that could be our future?"

"It's a possibility." Dream or reality, he lived every day of it, and the memories are as real as the iron deposits in the ground beneath his feet. He doesn't know which he'd prefer it to be.

A long silence falls between them. Finally, "If that is the future, Erik, I can wait," Charles says quietly as they reach the driveway. "If I know you'll come back, I can wait. No matter how long it takes."

He stills. It's less selfish than he'd expect of Charles, or rather, it's precisely the sort of misguided egocentric self-sacrifice that Charles does so well, and that is exactly what irks him. "I can't," he tells him. "That's not the future I want." There's nothing ideal about two decades of futile fighting for a future in which humans are using medical technology to drive them into extinction. The world isn't just about the two of them. No, he wouldn't do it all over again. He won't let that come to pass. Whether or not this is real, it can be better. It should be better.

The younger man spins around then and grabs at his shoulder with his good hand, unheeding of his injured arm. "Listen to me, Erik. Please," he says, fiercely insistent, misunderstanding. "We can fix this. I know we can. Even if it takes ten, twenty, thirty years, I know we can. So don't— Don't say that. It doesn't have to end like this."

Charles is about to continue, but Erik silences him with a thumb to red lips, cupping a rounded cheek with his hand. "I've already lived twenty years without you, Charles. Never again."

It takes Charles by surprise, but the smile that then blossoms on his face is brighter than the sunrise on the horizon. "Do you... Do you really mean that?"

"No matter what happens today, don't let me leave."

The force with which Charles embraces him, even with just one arm, is startling. "I won't," he promises, barely above a whisper. "I won't. Let's make this work, Erik. Together."

Erik smiles, his fingers tangling in chocolate hair. If there is any truth to what he has seen, he knows what he must do. Today, they go to stop nuclear war, and he's going to bury Shaw at the bottom of the ocean with his submarine, nuclear reactor and all. This time, Charles isn't going to get shot, and they'll both come back here. This time, they'll fight together instead of against each other, and maybe they really can change the world.

"Hm?" Charles perks up suddenly with interest. "Someone's here," he says, walking briskly towards the front door with Erik close behind. "One of us," he adds with sudden excitement.

The brunette waiting on the doorstep looks impossibly familiar when she turns, pushing her rectangular sunglasses higher up the bridge of her nose. Charles, of course, ever the gentleman, hurries over to greet her.

"Good morning. My name is Charles Xavier." He extends his hand. "What has brought you here today, Miss...?"

"Irene Adler," she says, taking Charles's hand, and suddenly, Erik thinks he understands. "I seek a blue girl with red hair." She gasps as soon as their fingers touch. "O—Our future... It's changed. For so long, it never differed."

Charles turns to look at him. "For the better, I hope," he says with a radiant smile as Erik comes to stand by his side on the steps.

"Somewhat," she agrees, recovering from her surprise. "But much is yet unclear to me."

That hardly seems to matter to Charles. "Why don't you come in and make yourself at home, Irene?" he suggests brightly. "I'll wake Raven, and we can talk over breakfast."

They let themselves into the mansion, and Irene takes a seat in the living room as he follows Charles up the stairs. As they pass his room, however, it feels like it's been twenty years since they've been here, since Charles swore he'd never belong to anyone else. He pulls Charles inside. The telepath smiles, pressing two fingers to his temple to wake Raven instead.

Charles? she answers sleepily, mildly irked at being disturbed earlier than expected.

Sorry to wake you, Raven, but someone's waiting for you in the living room. It seems important. You should hurry down to see her. He breaks the connection abruptly with a gasp because what Erik is doing makes it hard to even remain standing, and he almost, almost, let that slip. "God," he breathes, pressing their foreheads together and squeezing his eyes shut. "Promise me. Promise me, Erik, that you won't regret this."

"I know you've been holding back. You don't have to anymore. Give me everything this time."

It's enough of an answer, and Charles doesn't hesitate. I want to wake up to you, he says as their minds intertwine. Every morning. Always. Forever.

Erik presses him into the mattress. "Make love to me, Charles," he murmurs into his ear, and Charles laughs as he rolls them over to comply.

"You're awfully romantic all of a sudden."

"Being fifty does that to you," comes the wry reply.

"You know, Erik, I take that back. I don't think I could wake up from this."

Erik laughs breathlessly. "Good, because I don't think you will."

Charles stills, frowning. "Wait, you think I— I couldn't possibly have—"

"Shut up," he interrupts, dragging his lover down for a kiss. We still have a war to stop in three hours.

That seems good enough for Charles, and for once, Erik is content to let it slide.

A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed my first Big Bang submission and second fic in this fandom. This was originally published on 10th December 2011, and I've finally found the time to upload it here. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it.