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(no subject)

Who: Charles Xavier + You
Broadcast: Video
Action: SS Heron
When: Right now!

[ The video starts with Charles sitting on his wheelchair, his hands neatly folded on his lap. He rubs faint circles on his legs for a few seconds, the only real sign of tension. ]

Hello. My names is Charles Xavier. I am a geneticist graduated from Oxford. I -- [ ran ] -- run a school in Westchester for the Gifted. Mutants. People with abilities. My focus is the training and control of abilities we do not always fully understand, abilities that are gifts but can often run amok.

[ He pauses, catching his second wind before continuing on, poised. ]

I am also a telepath with a full set of abilities in aiding the mind and extremely . . . proficient. I do not read minds without permission, because honestly, I really don't care.

[ Charles pauses again, wondering if he should say more and dismisses it. People can ask him if they need details - which they will. ]

If anyone would like to make use of my abilities and skills, they are certainly most welcome to. Confidentiality, of course, is key and you need not make anything public if you do not wish to. If you have any questions for me, the floor is open for you.

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[ Then perhaps you'd show me. Though it seems I'll have my hands full right now.

The response he got from his announcement was . . . heartening. Old wounds, from people he had trusted never fully left. ]

[ She laughs aloud, lifting a hand to cover her mouth.

That's what you get for being a kind and generous telepath, Charles. You're going to have dozens of friends and I'll have to sneak in to spend time with you. ]

[ Charles snorts delicately and there's a faint thread of cynicism, but nothing extreme. Dozens of friends sounds like someone else entirely.

I highly doubt that's going to happen. It just seems like a lot of people here need the help. ]

[ Hermione just battles it back with her own optimism, her belief in Charles and her pride, the kind that swallows her up and makes everything else feel forgettable in comparison.

I'm glad they have someone to help them. And then, stepping closer, she softens. And you have people to help you, when you're done listening to their hurts. ]

[ He waves it off, my hurts are fairly inconsequential at this stage. And mostly conquered.

But he realized that was callous and he subsides, I have people. I'm . . . grateful for that. ]

[ That doesn't mean they're not there.

Hermione isn't offended, not in the least. She knows that overcoming pain was a step to getting stronger, and she had had to face it herself - so much death, and suffering, and pain, the kind that was inescapable in a world built on war and heartache. If she hadn't learned to grow from it she would have broken by now and she's still not entire sure that she hasn't forced herself together with fine, fragile stitches.

Reaching out, she touches his hand. People that aren't going anywhere. ]

[ No, and he's a little rueful there. He's gotten better at acknowledging them but it's always been a process he's fought with. Charles has always been unsure of his own feelings, unsure of their power, unsure of what they could do.

( unsure because all the love in the world can't make people stay. )

He pats her hand comfortingly. Sometimes people have to go. That doesn't mean they can't come back.

He has patience. He can wait. ]

[ There is some echoing hypocrisy in how Hermione handles herself, constantly urging others to have faith in their friends and speak their minds, to not hold anything back and ask for support. She never took those rules upon herself, never asked for anyone to stand at her side and listen to her worries - because she never felt as though they were important enough to bother. She's working on it, of course, but it's still hard.

Lifting her head, Hermione smiles, her hand squeezing his.

As long as there's a path for them.

She remembers Ron, saying her name is the thing that brought him back, remembers Nico and John and her family, remembers Charles seeking her out when her mind was shattered and she was completely and utterly broken from nightmares - and she knows he's right. There's always a chance they'll come back. ]

[ We leave our doors open for such a moment, and though his heart may waver, it weathers the storms.

He lets the memories flit by, like an old newsreel.

Tell me more. About yourself. ]

[ Exactly. And no one can take that from us.

The question makes her stop and she pauses for a moment, trying to think about what to say about herself before she shakes her head. Might as well start at the beginning - it was as good a place as any.

I was born in England, and I studied magic at a boarding school in Scotland. I helped fight against one of the darkest wizards every to exist starting at eleven, and when I was nineteen I was brought to the Drabwurld where I lived for three years fighting another war. My parents don't know who I am, but I have an adoptive father, and a brother, too. I was supposed to be a leader, but sometimes I feel like I don't really know what I'm doing.

There's more she could say, she's sure, about the deaths she'd seen, the ones she'd caused, the pain and hurt and even the happier things, joyful memories of Samhain and being around her friends, of loving them even when they were gone, but she's not sure how much Charles wanted to know. ]

[ That tells me where you came from. Your family. But it doesn't tell me much about yourself.

He knows that she had given him permission. That he could look without censure and fear. But he finds he would prefer if she let it unfold, out of her own volition. ]

[ Oh. Right.

There's a moment's pause, then, before Hermione shifts back and focusses. The best way to get to know someone is share their experiences and, so, that's what she does. She offers Charles all that she can offer at a time like this; herself.

She offers the memories to Charles slowly, so he has time to look at them if he wants, to decide for himself which ones might be best for him to know her as well as she knew him. There were the happier times, such as her first patronus, her rather violent vengeance on Malfoy, her first real dance and then, of course, time and time and time again, memories of her protecting Harry, risking it all for him.

The good memories have to come with their share of the bad, of course. Hermione can pass those on too, to give a sense of everything that she is and all the things she had chosen to be. The loss of her parents flickers first, tied up with her hopelessness and the torture she went through at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. All of it echoes with the faint memory of fear and failure, her heart thick in her throat.

What ties all her memories together, all the pieces of herself that make her who she is, are the memories of family that she can't hide. A tall soldier, a young boy, dotted with images of knights and dragons. The last memory she offers is one that she thinks will effect him most, a memory of her and the Charles she knew before, where he shared the feeling of his telepathy with her, leaving her awed and loving him more than she had before.

When she's done she blinks herself out of her near trance, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes.

That was a lot, wasn't it? I'm sorry. ]

[ He wipes his face out of habit. His control was better than he thought, not all that weak. It was good to know.

Not at all. I did ask, anyway.

He hesitates before continuing on, thank you for letting me in. ]

[ Hermione shifts, awkwardly, and for a moment she feels as if she's overwhelmed him. His voice comes back into her mind, though, and she softens, offering a small smile and a touch of affection that she tries to nudge through their connection, just for now.

Of course. I'll always let you in, Charles.

And, then, there's that feeling of trust that comes when she's thinking about him. She knows, and the guilt is tangled with it, that he's not the Charles she knew, but she still believes in him and his morality. He won't take advantage of her and she's certain of it. ]

[ I don't do this anymore, he replies wistfully. Erik's mind, of course, was always open to him. They have that level of trust now, a trust scraped and earned over time.

Memories flicker by, a group in red clothes of mixed ages surveying him with distrust as Charles tries to be honest, to talk about his powers. A young quiet boy, whom Charles had liked, had been so fond of, still flinched whenever Charles used his powers. Always, always varying degrees of fear, of wariness. And Charles knew it didn't matter, it never mattered how good he was, how kind, how much he promised, he'd never have their heart. ]

[ You could. With me.

Hermione stops and she shifts, turning around to look at Charles before she steps in front of him. Shifting, she moves down and reaches for his hand, letting her fingers squeeze his before she lifts it, letting his palm touch the side of her face before she turns her eyes back up to him.

I shared everything I had with a Servant, once. His name was Diarmuid, and I could feel everything he felt and he could feel what I felt too. I know what it's like to share every single piece of myself with someone and I know what it's like to trust someone with my heart, my mind, my thoughts and my feelings. I trust you with that, Charles. Not just the man I knew in the Drabwurld, but the man I see in front of me as well. I'm not going to run away, I'm not going to be afraid. I promise. ]

[ I could, he agrees seamlessly, brushing his thumbs tenderly against her skin.

But I think you've been trying to be strong for so long. I know a little of what it's like, to have people you care about forget you.

Charles had done it once, pushed to the brink to save Erik's team mate. It had been awful, for both of them and Charles had never forgiven himself for what he did.

I know you're not afraid. But I also know you are trying so hard to be brave when you don't want to. ]

[ It's hard to admit her fears and her weaknesses, but at the same time she knows she's already shown it all to Charles. Hermione has offered him her mind and her emotions, letting him see the very heart of her, and here he was trying to help her admit things she's scared to. Despite his own pain and uncertainty he still tries to help others, and it concretes the knowledge she has that she can trust in him.

I know I don't need to be brave all the time anymore. Even if it's difficult to admit. And I am lonely. It's only hard because I can't tell them why I feel that way - it isn't fair for them to feel bad about something they can't control. Maybe it's wrong to befriend them again when I already know them, like cheating, but it's all I have right now.

It's not as though she has much of a choice, or that she can help it. She loves too much, too fiercely, for it to be ignored forever. These people are in her heart forever.

I just have to get used to it. ]

[ No, and Charles knows he's being hypocritical here. He's told himself similar things. Have to get used to it, have to adapt, have to make the most of everything. Everything is finite, everything breaks.

I don't think it's only your decision to make, but theirs as well. You can't make it for them, Hermione.

And this Charles knows, like a scar on his heart. You can't take away that from them. Even when they don't remember. ]

[ She had always known that she and Charles were far too alike than either of them had actually admitted, and she can see it all the more now. Her throat is tight and her hands are a little shaky, but she breathes out and tilts her head up. She looks at him and she softens.

I don't know how I'd tell them. It's not something that's easy. 'I know all about you, your pain, your worlds, the things that you've been through because you told me. You told me it all and you don't even know who I am'.

She breathes out, lifting her hand to try and grip his.

Is this what it's like for you sometimes? Knowing so much that it hurts? ]

[ His hands are tight before he relaxes them. He brushes some of her hair back, his mind a rippling brook, smooth and steady.

Sometimes. Telepathy only lets you know, but it doesn't give you any answers.

He often wished it was otherwise. It's easy to look into someone's head, to pluck the right note, to open them up to healing. But Charles is an imperfect creature. He didn't always know what to say, or how to say what is needed. All he can do is navigate the course he's been given.

We're all alone. I think while it might be hard, other people might welcome the chance not to be.

He moves to kiss her forehead lightly, If anyone can do it, it's you. ]

[ They are so deeply connected in this moment, Hermione offering her mind and her thoughts to him, that for a moment she wonders if she ought to feel scared - but she doesn't. She just feels safe, and protected, and understood.

You can see things, but - there's no context? She makes a quiet guess, always desperate to learn, to understand. You know things but it doesn't mean you know what it all means, or how important it is. It must be hard.

Hermione can understand, in her own way. She had learned so much, and she remembers being Diarmuid's Master, sharing a connection with him, bright and beautiful. It must be something like that; to be able to dip into minds and see things but not really understand the true weight of it.

No one wants to know all their secrets have been told to someone else. ]

[ That's not always true, he mused, thinking about Erik. It's true Erik never opened up to him, not in the beginning. Charles has simply barreled his way through and there were consequences to that. But because he had, the ease at which they communicate now would have been a dream. A myth.

Maybe you can start small, Charles suggests, Sometimes, people don't mind losing their secrets. They simply don't know how to let go. ]

[ Maybe you're right. You are the pro.

It's a gentle tease and she fights the urge to smile at him, but it comes anyway. It's a beautiful, serious moment, but she softens.

Charles? How do you start small when you know someone is going to die? ]

[ Charles blinks.

I beg your pardon? Is someone dying on the Fleet? ]