𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐓 (X-Men ~ Peter Maximoff)

The Paris Incident

Private planes were a luxury few could afford. Maybe it was the cost of storing them that drove the price up, or perhaps the expensive navigation systems that didn't use the constellations to work out which way it was headed, or there was always the possibility that it was the top shelf liquor that stole those precious pennies. Either way, with the interior practically screaming royalty – from the white leather seats to the polished wood panels to the thick glass of the decanters (of which one was definitely missing) – Erik wanted nothing more than to smash Charles head against the table.

He had enjoyed his time with the man back in the sixties, and it had hurt to have to take a different path to achieve his goals, and so it was only natural to want to fall back into their old relationship, but even if Erik somehow mustered the courage to strike up a friendly conversation he doubted it would be anything like the ones they had shared before. The man in the seat perpendicular to him was not the same man he had left that day on the beach.

Charles might've looked better today than he had done for the past four years, but even a blind man could see the complete personality change. He liked to blame Erik for everything, what with it being the easiest option, but not so deep down he knew the cause of his degeneration was none other than himself. Raven chose to go with Erik, partially because he had filled her head with ideas for a new world, and partially because Charles had spent his life forcing her to hide who – what – she was from the world. He had to shoulder some of the blame, but with Erik sitting mere feet away from him it was unbelievably simple to pretend to be the good guy once again.

The plane had been in the air for a good forty five minutes, the flight course leading them to where the grumpy old man quartet were currently suspended over the Atlantic Ocean, dark blue seas meeting the horizon an eternity away. Charles, who had clearly decided he had nothing better to do with his time, had spent those precious 2700 seconds staring at Erik, hoping that by some miracle he was receive a lengthy apology for all the inconveniences Erik had caused him over the years.

Of course, the word miracle wasn't used lightly. It was no secret that Erik was stubborn and so logically , he wouldn't give Charles the satisfaction of acknowledging the tension between them. Instead, he tried to keep his promise to Jennifer, and he decided that friendly conversation was the best way to keep his cool. Only the conversation subject wasn't quite as light hearted as it should've been. "How did you lose them?"

There was no misinterpreting the question. Charles had almost cost them their lives in the kitchen when he had been unable to stop the guards pointing their weapons at them, so it was really no mystery why Erik wanted to find out why.

"The treatment for my spine affects my DNA," Charles replied, trying to keep his voice steady. One thing he could blame Erik for was the loss of movement in his lower body, and he might not have explicitly said it, but he was holding that grudge.

Erik, either oblivious or unbothered by the look of hatred being cast towards him, swivelled his head to look at Charles, line folding on his forehead as he frowned in confusion and disbelief. "You sacrificed your powers so you could walk?"

"I sacrificed my powers so I could sleep." He shook his head as his voice faded over the last word, casting his eyes outside and then down at his lap as he avoided eye contact. If there was one thing Charles Xavier refused to be seen as, it was weak, but as his mind kept wandering back to the long nights wherein he was tortured with pain, and the pleading voices he lost the ability to control somewhere down the road, he couldn't stop the tears brimming in his eyes. He shook his head once more, attempting to rid himself from the negative memories. "What do you know about it?"