Title: Mirror, Mirror
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: G
Length: ~530 words
Notes: Character study inspired by but very far from this picture. Invaluable betas by the_rev and stewardess, who both pushed me and kept me from bailing.
Summary: Charles hasn't looked at himself in some time.

Charles did not at once notice the faint gleam of a mirror through the too-narrow doorway. He had been poking his chair where he could down the hall between servants’ quarters and box rooms, with no larger purpose than a bit of novelty, when his attention was caught.

It would be entirely fair to say that Charles no longer expected to see mirrors. When he directed the boys in arranging his ground floor suite he had not included that particular decorative touch, and mirrors that graced corridors or mantels were too high to reflect the low space that he now occupied. His private bathroom was certainly fully equipped, but his routines there were fixed, known, his glances at himself brief and dismissive. It was easy to see only a blur or a mouth and ignore the rest as lost vanity.

So it was shocking, in this remote hallway, to find his gaze unceremoniously caught by movement in what must be his own true reflection, something he had ignored so thoroughly of late that the image startled him. The face was unexpectedly pale, and were the strain and exhaustion clearly visible there habitual? Today had been a good one, as he accounted his days now, and yet no one would think it to look at the unhappiness about the eyes looking back at him. And here he had thought he was coping well, cultivating, and very possibly projecting, an air of serenity and acceptance in the best interests of all. Suddenly the confusion Charles had sensed edging Hank's usual calm determination, confusion that had niggled at Charles but been always pushed aside for another time, snapped into focus. Poor Hank. Charles thought guiltily that he should have realized how much Hank had changed and been changed, that Hank had become, too late, far too observant. Unlike, apparently, Charles.

The face in the mirror became his own as sight overwrote memory and his perception realigned. But who was that wary, withdrawn man, so obviously not what Charles wanted to be, and not at all what he had deluded himself that he had managed to remain? His mind produced a companion image, of the mirror's rigid frame surrounding, enclosing, restricting him, enforcing the many limits set upon him, as many by himself as by circumstance. Overwhelmed, he made to turn away but the movement of his reflection drew him back. He’d never been so much the coward, had he? How had he fallen down this deep well of unseeing? He had always looked fully at everything, naming it, accepting or changing it as he could. He would have to do that very thing now if he was ever to know himself again. It had never been so hard.

***

At length Charles recovered himself and the mirror was again just a mirror, albeit a very beautiful one. Full-length, carven, it was far too elegant for the tiny, featureless room to which it had been consigned. It would look very well in the foyer, Charles mused, and when they put in the elevator there would be the perfect nook for it. He gave it a final glance and wheeled away to find Hank.

~*~