The X-Men (The O5)

Christmas officially began nearly two hours ago. But it was the last thing anyone would care about, let alone notice.

The underground headquarters beneath the mansion remained brightly lit while the rest of the estate above had long since gone quiet.

Scott was already in uniform, his visor secured over his eyes as he stood beside the central console. Warren had changed as well, his wings partially spread behind him. Bobby sat on the edge of another station in navy and gold, unusually still.

Jean stood nearest the elevator. "I still can't reach {{obj}}."

Scott's jaw tightened. "Try again."

"I have."

"Then we use Cerebro."

"We already used Cerebro," Hank said from across the laboratory. He had abandoned any attempt at changing into uniform, his blue-furred hands moving quickly through several open screens. "Professor Xavier obtained nothing. Neither did Jean. Whatever obscured {{user}} from us was considerably more deliberate than interference."

"Then we call him back down and try again."

"Scott—"

"Doing nothing isn't a plan, Jean." The answer came sharper than he intended.

Warren folded his arms. "Then we stop waiting. Bobby and I can cover Queens from above and street level. You and Jean take the original location."

"And search what?" Hank turned from the monitors. "The shelter contact was false. The number routed through three separate exchanges, the address history was manufactured, and the woman who supposedly filed the request does not appear to exist."

Bobby looked up. "So somebody sent {{obj}} there."

Nobody answered.

Scott's hands slowly curled against the console. "Get Professor Xavier."

Then—

Ding.

Every head turned as the elevator doors opened. Before them was Charles Xavier, seated inside—and not alone. Beside him was you.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Bobby stood first. Warren's wings lowered. Hank's attention immediately moved across you for visible injuries, while Jean simply stared as though confirming with her own eyes what her mind had failed to find.

Scott did not move at all.

Charles looked between them. "I believe," He said quietly, "we should all go upstairs."

---

By the time everyone gathered inside the mansion's main sitting room, the first explanations had already been made.

Magneto. The Brotherhood. The Foundry. Erik Lehnsherr. Max Eisenhardt. The past.

They knew he had shown you the organization behind the headlines, revealed the history behind his beliefs, somehow learned about every progression regarding the X-Men—and ultimately offered you a place beside him before letting you leave unharmed.

For several moments afterward, the only sound came from the dying fireplace.

"How long?" Scott's voice finally broke it as Charles looked toward him. "How long have you known Magneto?"

"Scott—"

"No." His jaw tightened. "Not Max. Not the Holocaust. That was his to tell." A pause. "How long have you known the man leading the Brotherhood of Mutants?"

Charles remained quiet for several seconds. "Since long before there was a Brotherhood."

Jean's expression shifted.

"Or an X-Man," Charles added.

That landed differently.

"More than thirty years ago, Erik and I fought beside one another against people experimenting upon Mutants—people who believed our existence could be catalogued, controlled, and exploited." His hands settled together. "We saw many of the same dangers. We feared many of the same things."

"And came away believing opposite things," Warren said.

"Eventually."

Scott stared at him. "So the X-Men exist partly because of him."

Charles hesitated. "In part."

Bobby's eyes widened faintly. "And you never thought that mattered?"

"What happened to Erik was never mine to—"

"That's not what he's asking." Jean's voice was quieter than Scott's. Charles turned toward her.

"Erik's suffering belonged to him. His name. His past. Whatever else he trusted you with." Her green eyes held his. "But knowing that you and Magneto once stood on the same side? That was your history too."

Charles lowered his gaze. "I believed that introducing Magneto to you first as someone I once loved as a friend would compromise your judgment of the man he became."

"So you decided what information we were allowed to use to make that judgment." Jean's expression tightened.

Silence.

"Yes." The admission came without defense.

Scott looked away sharply.

"Meanwhile, he's been learning about us." Hank, who had remained unusually quiet, finally straightened. "That may be the more immediate problem."

Everyone looked toward him.

"Evolutionary Energy was my terminology." His blue features hardened. "It has never appeared in a public report. Nor has the precise nature of Jean's amplification or what happened with Mr. Mercer."

Jean folded her arms. "So he didn't just know about {{user}}."

"No." Hank's eyes moved toward Charles. "He knew what we have been discovering."

Scott gave a humorless exhale. "He knew what we've been doing for months. And we're only now learning what you've known about him for decades."

"Scott," Bobby said quietly.

"No, he's right," Warren replied.

Bobby looked toward him.

"I'm not saying Magneto was right." Warren's wings shifted behind him. "I'm saying Professor Xavier deciding what we should know because he thought it would protect our judgment sounds uncomfortably close to what Magneto accused him of doing."

That finally drew Charles's eyes toward him. And for once, no immediate answer came.

"Can everybody remember he still kidnapped {{obj}}?" Bobby muttered.

"Nobody forgot," Jean said.

The fire cracked softly in the background as Charles looked around the room—at students he had trained, protected, and guided for years, and at you, after only hours with the man who had once stood beside him.

"There were things I could have told all of you without betraying Erik's confidence," He said at last. "I chose not to."

Scott's expression remained hard. "Why?"

Charles considered the question longer than anyone seemed to expect.

"Because I wanted you to meet Magneto as yourselves." His voice lowered. "Not through my grief. Not through my affection for who he once was. Not through an argument that began before any of you were born."

Jean's eyes softened only slightly.

"And instead?" Charles looked toward you. "Instead, Erik brought that argument to you himself."

Another silence settled over the room.

"Perhaps," Charles said quietly, "I should have trusted all of you enough to hear both sides of it sooner."