Title: what was your is now mine
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: Teen
Length: ~2100
Content notes: mild violence, death of minor characters
Author notes: Secondary character POV, First Person POV
Thanks to ninemoons42 for the quick beta help.
We’ll count this towards the following badges: beta boss, early bird, and governor of gen
Summary: In a moment, Charles leaves behind the Blackbird, his team, his life and enters the world that Sebastian Shaw built.

Erik rises from inside the sub, or what is left of it, and drops Shaw’s mangled body carelessly into the sand. It feels like a slap in the face--one that should not feel as normal as it does--but the man was no better than any others I had known before.

He yells about the humans showing their hands with missiles ready to fire. He looks like he will stop anything in his way. Only before he even raises his hand to fend off any potential attack, Charles moves from besides his broken plane.

Charles, the man who once said that I could keep my clothes on, is walking towards Azazel, Janos and me. He makes no effort to talk Erik down from his tirade. He makes no effort to look at Erik at all.

Coolly, Charles stands in front of us, and extends his hand. He wants to join us, to be a part of our Brotherhood.

As he waits for a response, Erik’s hand extends to stop the looming attack, Raven gasps and Alex, Hank and Sean look dumbfounded.

All in all, this is a better end to the day than I had once imaged.

*

Shaw’s hideout on the outskirts of Las Vegas seems an odd place for Charles, but he settles in quickly. He commandeers Shaw’s old room, nearly lording over all of us with potential. He has said nothing about how, or when, he might use his telepathy on us, and it has us all on edge. Azazel hides more often than not, and Janos seems to spend most of his days outside playing with the wind and the sweeps of sand against the ground. I never warmed to him before, but I still keep my distance, impatiently waiting for him to speak to me mind-to-mind.

Three days pass before he even attempts to come out of his room, not that we noticed too much. Shaw had always stayed silent, planning alone, before presenting the next move. Over dinner that night, Charles walks in, sober expression on his face. He looks at the food on the table--a roast chicken with potatoes and vegetables--and tucks in.

His plate nearly clear, he finally speaks. “So I’m sure you have questions, and I will answer them later, but we have another matter to attend to first. We’ll be going back to Langley. We’ll collect Miss Frost, and take care of both Mr. Stryker and Mr. McCone. Any questions?”

I know better than to say anything when Charles says anything, but I have no clue on how Az or Janos might respond.

They nod, and slowly leave the table.

“We’ll leave for Virginia at 0730 tomorrow,” he says as they walk out of the room.

“What’s your plan?” I ask.

“You’ll see tomorrow. Once we succeed tomorrow, you’ll all know the full scope of my--our--plan.”

He gets up from his seat and leaves.

I only wonder what he means by “take care of” when referring to those two CIA men. I do not see it being a bloodless event.

He seems so unlike the Charles who brought me out of the strip club - and at the same time he is no different from that man.

*

At 0715, we gather in the living room, ready for Azazel to take us wherever we need to go. Charles seems unaffected by the idea of his plan, his face steely and cool. He shakes himself--what I can only assume to be a way to expel energy--and waits.

When the clock clicks over to 0730, he nods and we leave Las Vegas for the chill of Virginia in December. Outside Langley, Charles looks around before he says the following, We’ll need to get to Miss Frost first. She’s in a sub-basement. Then we’ll proceed to Stryker and McCone. After that, we head back to Vegas. Understood?

Quick nods follow his question and in another moment, the sub-basement appears. Az and Janos had only briefly described Emma Frost, but it is clear in this moment that she has had her fill of CIA custody.

She peers through the glass before she turns her hand into diamond and draws a large circle into the pane. “I could use a little help,” she says after we could hear her.

Az goes inside the cell to retrieve her before anything else. Charles says nothing as we add another person to our group. He simply nods before we go upstairs to carry out the other part of his design.

In the room between two CIA offices, Charles raises his hand to his temple and waits. Two men walk out of each office, looking glassy-eyed, but aware.

“You will forget about any discussion of mutants that you two have had over the last year,” he says as though he is forcing out each word. “You will not think to look for anyone who is capable of work outside your human understanding. If you do, you will find yourselves with the mental capacity of toddlers.

“Have I made myself clear?”

They nod, and then Charles nods to Az. We are back in Vegas in a second, and I eye Charles looking for some idea of what he had done.

“Go wrong way?” Az asks.

“Not precisely. I had to force them into forgetting all their work, but I’m not sure how useful it will be. Emma, do you have any idea what to make of them?”

She looks at one of her nails before saying anything. “They’re stubborn sons-of-bitches, but it felt effective enough.”

“Pity,” he says before walking out.

When we're alone, Emma turns back to us, looking mildly shocked. “What happened to him? He seemed quite the pacifist last time I saw him.”

“Honestly, I have no clue. Erik killed Shaw in Cuba and just before the Americans and Russians launched missiles at us, Charles walked to us and we left. This was his first mission, though I don’t know what it’s about.”

“Those were the men who underestimated Charles when he was recruited into the CIA. I believe that was a show of his strength and how much he will not see our people hurt.” She pauses before saying anything else. “I think I too underestimated him. We seem to have a new leader, who has definite ideas on how to keep us safe. Even if it’s at the expense of a few callous idiots.”

That idea clashes with everything Charles had said about his plans for the mutants he and Erik had been recruiting.

Maybe Erik’s harder edges have made their way through to Charles after all. Maybe the man who spoke of peace has learned violence can be the answer.

It is worth investigating, though it seems impossible now. Charles’ rooms are off-limits, a sort of mental block he put in place after arriving. No one thinks to talk to Charles there, the space completely given over to him.

No one asks what he does in his room, though we all assume he plots our next move. Whatever that may be.

*

Six weeks after Langley, Charles wakes us all in the middle of the night.

We have to leave, now!

He says nothing else, but pushes into me--and I assume the rest of the team--an urgency to get out of bed, dress for battle and be ready to leave in fifteen minutes.

He is already in the large living room when everyone else arrives. He still says nothing else, only shooting Az a sharp look. With hands all joined, we disappear.

In a puff of red smoke, we are in a room filled with dust and sheets covering the furniture.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“My childhood home. In New York. Raven was awoken by some men with guns. She was so scared that I felt it in our safe-house. We have to find everyone else, and find out who attack them.”

Charles walks away from us, his steps falling hard and fast on the wood floor. There is nothing to do but follow. He, it seems, had us arrive in the other wing of the house, but by the time we arrive on the other side, each room we enter is empty, though there are signs of a struggle everywhere. One room has a burnt ring against a wall, and another has had all of the windows broken.

Emma’s eyes follow Charles’ in each room. If there is a silent conversation between them, they show no sign of it. At the last room, one with white walls, Charles stills. Emma walks in just after him, looking at the room with interest.

“Well, why are we waiting? Why aren’t we following those bastards back to Virginia?” she asks.

There is no way to describe the chill that enters the room and the hallway, but it permeates deep into my bones. Charles’ eyes are steel, nearly all black, and he grips the small bedside table tightly.

“We are not following them to Virginia. First things first.” His hand goes to his temple and he stands ramrod straight, focusing on the room’s turned over desk and chair. “Emma, do you care to help?”

She nods, and she grips his free hand in one of hers before they stare south.

It is no shock to me to imagine what they are doing, but it settles that chill around us again. Deep down, there is no doubt that Charles is following through on his threat from earlier.

Five minutes pass before they speak again. “Now, we go to Virginia.”

Hands clasped again, we arrive back in the office from all those weeks ago. Charles looks around, eyes trailing over the detritus on each desk. “This time, we take action. Discretion is not our goal today. This is about revenge. Make it count.”

We stalk through the floors of the offices, waiting for any sign of potential attack. Nothing happens, though at this point, it seems that the entire CIA building has been cleared to avoid exactly what Charles wants.

It takes us hours to make our way down to the sub-basement that held Emma, but as soon as we push through the last door, all hell breaks loose. Men in riot gear stand at every doorway, but Charles nods to all of us, and he walks towards the next man. He makes no effort to put his hand to his temple. The men start crumpling to the ground.

Az pops in and out, using his knives and tail to kill guard after guard. Janos sends small tornadoes towards the walls, destroying the concrete as they go. Emma walks behind Charles, facing the opposite direction, making men cry before they slump to the floor.

One guard comes towards me, and in an instant, an acid ball flies at him, covering his suit in a small flame that quickly overruns the whole suit. He is one less opponent, and that feels great. Because these men, they want to hurt us. They want to capture us. But Charles will have none of that. He will protect his own. No matter the cost.

The floor is covered with strewn bodies over pieces of concrete before we hear anything other than the labored breathing of CIA agents who will soon be wishing for death. Over their breathing, a choked sob bubbles up, louder and louder with each heave. Raven sits in a corner, shielded from the debris by something that used to be a jumpsuit.

“You came?” she asks between sobs.

“Of course,” Charles says, rushing to her. “I will always come back for you. These men were told to stay away from mutants and they disobeyed. This is the least I would do for you.” He runs his hand through her hair, mattes as it is, before he lifts her out.

He whispers something in her ear and she tries to nod towards another wall. Emma and Az walk toward that, wall, while Janos and I head toward another one on the far side of the hall.

Erik and Alex are huddled together, but rise as soon as Janos and I step into their line of sight. They walk away from the corner and stand in the rubble where the hallway once was.

Emma and Az bring Hank and Sean with them and together in the ruined sub-basement, we wait for Charles to speak.

“I have come to see that peace is not always an option. I hope you feel the same, Erik.”

The unsaid question hangs in the air as we wait for Erik’s response. The others stand behind him, leave him to guide them down a path.

If that path aligns with ours, it will bring us together. For a greater purpose. One that knows violence is sometimes the answer. For the good of us, there is always hope.

Hope and violence for our safety.