1963-06-06 - Imported Bitburger
Summary: Charles Xavier receives some unexpected visitors.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
jean erik moira xavier 

Class is just finishing up, which is weird because it's a Monday evening. Just this year, Charles has been trying out having Monday lectures; the idea being that offering night classes might allow some of the students to hold day jobs in Salem Center, and so far it's been a hit. A hit with everyone except for the Professor, who has to work late two nights a week.

A small price to pay for making things better for the students. One week of school left, and even headmaster's get excited for the summer break. Class in Xavier's office is just letting out (it happened to be student project day), and Charles is saying goodbye to the students. Abruptly, there's a buzzing from the teacher's desk.

"Sounds good, Rufus," Charles says with a nod. "We'll catch up soon." Once the young man leaves, he presses a button on the desk and the intercom chimes. "Yes, this is Professor Xavier, go ahead."

"Professor, you have a visitor."

"Oh? At this hour?"

"Professor, it's Erik."

There's a intake of air as a thousand things enter Xavier's mind. He sits in his chair, thinking for a moment, before finally answering.

"Go ahead, send him in."


The doorknob twists. A latch is released, and the door to Charles Xavier's office swings open. It's a motion more fluid than what might be drawn by a normal hand, a mystery soon solved, for in the hall beyond stands an old friend. One who's been missing for some months, only toreturn without warning.

"Hello, Charles."

Erik Lensherr steps in, but he is not alone. Under arm is a wooden crate, heavy by the looks of it, but a latticework of metal strewn in perfect symmetry along its edges suggests that Erik does not lift it with muscle alone.

For a long moment, Erik looks upon his old friend with a guarded expression. A moment longer and it might have grown worrisome, but a grin spreads along his jaw and he steps in, laugh lines forming at his eyes.

"I brought you something."


The students and those who live within the walls of the Institute have been nothing but a dream. There were those who think too much, those who laugh too much, some who play too much, and some who cry for the sake of crying even when there was something to laugh too much about. It took some getting used to, but there was slow progress. Save for seeming like a mad woman jerking away and nearly screaming the halls down or laughing like a maniac, she was on the up and up!

But she remained a fixture outside of the Professor's door, listening in to the lecture, and stepping away to get a drink of water from the bubbler. The last thing she sees is the last student filtering down the hallway and a man with a box .. no crate slip inside with no warning. The immediate thought was pressing. One that has her brows lowering in curiosity. Was this nervousness? Fear? Hope? Worry?

She slowly approaches the doorway, onehand resting against the wall, a lean and tilt of her head to spy inside has red locks dancing and green eyes narrowing.


Charles repositions himself in his chair with a bit of a grin on his face. His blue eyes look to the box and then up at Erik. "A present?" He stands abruptly and moves towards the box. "I admit you've piqued my interest, Erik." The Professor folds his arms over his chest, inspecting the odd packaging.

The red of Jean's hair distracts Charles from the package and his intrigued look softens into a smile. "Jean, please come in. There's someone I'd like you to meet."


"Of course I have." Erik steps in, taking a moment to gauge the Professor's desk. Will it handle the weight? Yes, it can handle the weight. Trouble is, there's no room for such a sizable crate.

"Teaching class at this hour?" he asks. "Bit unorthodox. Then again…" He casts a look around. "This isn't an orthodox operation."

Decidedly, Erik sets the crate down upon the floor. It is just about then, when Charles beckons Jean enter, that Erik's hands are moving. Twisting and turning in the air, as if conducting a symphony, while the metal latticework begins untangling and unwinding of its own accord. Pieces of it flay off and begin lifting the lid to reveal what's inside.

Two dozen glass bottles, set within wood shavings that fill the empty spaces. Stamped in black ink upon the inside of the lid is the word: 'Bitburger'.
Erik turns to see who Xavier is speaking with, eyebrows lifted.


"Okay." Jean murmurs, taking those few steps to enter into the office, a clear glare upon her face and yet, it all stops as soon as she sees Erik manipulate the box with just a motion of his hands. She was sure that it was created with metal. Parts of her wanted to try to even move the latticework back into place because she could but she didn't deem that wise. She may stab someone, and it would not be pretty. All in all, her arms fold about herself as she watches the display, until the contents were revealed, which has her drawing closer to lean forward to peek inside of the box.

"Bitburger.." She says slowly. Then backs away to take the two men in as a whole. They both seemed relaxed, and it was easy to conclude that they were friends. "Hello Mister Lensherr."


Xavier smiles widely as he realizes what the present is. "The best," he says to Erik. "I would tell you that you shouldn't have, but the truth is that I love this beer. I'll need to get it into the icebox as quick as possible."

As Jean introduces herself, Xavier tilts her head. "Erik, this is Jean Grey, our newest student. She's from upstate, and a telepath such as myself. Amongst other things. Bobby and Alex are in charge of the physical portion of her training."


"Das besten," Erik agrees. He's about to say more, though his eyes dance back to Jean when she vocalizes his last name, before anyone else gave it to her.

A telepath.

With a knowing look, Erik looks back to the Professor, then turns more fully to face the young redhead. "Hello, Jean. It's a pleasure to meet you." He strides forward and offers a hand in greeting.

At mention of Bobby and Alex, Erik turns back to look at Charles, dubiously. Two young boys, training a young beauty. One must wonder how much training actually takes place. "Indeed." The word is spoken with some doubt. "I do hope it is going well."

Turning back toward Jean, Erik studies her with an inquisitive stare. "Charles tells me that mastering telepathic ability is difficult challenge to endure. I wonder." His eyes remain upon Jean, though his voice seems directed toward Charles. "Can she show me what she can do?"


As Xavier fills Erik in on her current status within the institute, she studies the taller man rather obviously until her nose begins to scrunch and lips curl as if she tasted something horribly gross and sour. She doesn't mention it however, and begins to rock back and forth upon the tip of her toes and the balls of her feet, both hand drawing behind herself to keep them interlocked. "It's going well!" Jean added, overly cheerily and nearly defensively. "I'm now able to move the snowball an inch instead of blowing it up."

With that said, she glances in between the two men with a shift of her eyes left and right. "I can do what you just did.You are a telekinetic, yes? Maybe I can move the metal back into place if I try hard enough." It was a thought!


Charles' eyes drift from Jean, back to Erik, and then to Jean. He'll let Lensherr share his powers with the young lady rather than explain them for him. "I think that's a wonderful idea," Charles says regarding moving the metal back.

And a good idea not to practice with the mind powers. Not yet, anyways.


A laugh, an honest one at that, is given when Jean speaks of moving, rather than obliterating, one of Bobby's presumed snowballs. "Well, then that is progress!" He steps back then, moving away until the crate of bottled bier sits at the center of a triangle between Charles, himself, and Jean.

"Not quite. I can manipulate magnetic fields." He gestures toward the crate, and the metallic threats shutter and tremble. The movement stops, and Erik's fingers turn from facing the box, until they are extended toward Jean. "Please," he says, then lowers his hands to clasp them together and watch with some eagerness.


She could always trust Charles to at least be a glowing beacon of positivity, Jean offers up a smile and a slight lean forward and back. Her hands draw from her back, shaking them out and squeezing at the air briefly as she takes in a breath. Even the amusement from Erik gives the young woman a bit of confidence to open up and let her give herself a chance. "Okay.."

She waits for the moment until the threads were back into place, a clear look of hesitation boring through enough for her to give this little demonstration a second thought. But, she goes for it anyways, her eyes focused at least upon one thread, squinting and giving it her best shot to try to move it.

And.. nothing happens.

With another shake of her right hand, she finally lifts it, directing her fingers towards the thread and it gives, inch by small inch.


Then, there is another mind on campus. At the door, to be specific. A mind Charles knows well, but is full of curiosity and nerves about the place. Whomever answers the door, staff member or student, will quickly learn that the woman is Dr. MacTaggert and she's hoping to speak to the Head Professor. Oh, and she hopes it's not a bad time, she tried not to come during the school day. Another student is now dashing to fetch Charles because this is so above a student's paygrade, but the little paper card in his hand claiming Moira to be a Professor of Genetics at Columbia University seems quite legit.


Charles looks at Jean and smiles as she struggles through her attempt at putting the metal back in place. Some might think this is a failure, but the Professor sees it at the opposite. Just two days ago, Jean Grey seemed absolutely unwilling to use her powers at all. This, however, was a sign that she was starting to seem playful with them; to seem to want to stretch herself and to push herself. And when the metal moves, his smile grows. He gives her a solemn nod. "Well done, Jean."

And just like that, a student rushes in and puts a card in the Professor's hand. And just like that, time begins to stand still. Charles closes his eyes softly and reaches out with his mind. It only confirms what he knows to be true. He doesn't look any deeper, of course, that would be unfair to Moira. Especially after everything that transpired between them. Why would she be here? He must confess that he didn't comprehend a word of what the student said after placing the card.

The last time he reached in her mind was her wedding day. The joy she felt was enough to convince him to never do that again.


Eyebrows rise at the movement of metal. Erik looks up from his watching, studying Jean as she works her telepathic ability. He smiles, for it is an amazing thing to see, but a part of him will always be haunted by this stage of discovery.

A part of him will always think of his mother.

The flash of horror is quickly gone, with a flutter of eyelids.

"Practice, practice, practice." Erik reaches toward the box, and the strands of metal unwind until they hover in the air, slowly balling themselves up into a liquid mass that soon takes the form of a perfect sphere. The sphere, reflecting the room around, floats across the room and into Jean's outstretched hand.

Blue eyes remain fixed upon Jean. "With practice," Erik tells her quietly, "I believe you can accomplish anything."

With all of this, he seems to have missed Charles reaction to the young courier's unspoken missive. "Speaking of Bobby. Where is that trickster?" He turns to face Charles. "It would be appropriate to have him ice down two of these -" The words trail off, caught in his neck for a momentary silence. "Charles?"


It was a simultaneous reaction. The little bit of pride she felt in the room as her smile grows wide. The emergence of another strong mind that has her gaze slowly tilting towards the window, the feeling of.. was this heartbreak? At the same time, there was horror.. it was brief in a sense that it causes a slight shift where the books rest upon the shelf, a small rattle like an earthquake that goes unnoticed by Jean herself, even if she was the one doing it.

Erik's words cut through the fog as the ball of metal slowly rests upon her hand with Erik's gift, her fingers curling against it to stare into it, her shoulders rolling slightly as her face scrunches and crumples into something that wasn't readable. "I understand Mister Lensherr." Her words were quiet, shakey.. and as soon as the child leaves the room, her eyes begin to water as a knot slowly begins to form in her throat. "Th..thank you for the .. metal.. ball of.. doom.." Perhaps it was the mingling of emotions that allow her words to be chosen, but her hand lifts to grasp against her chest as she turns away from both of the men to stride towards the window to look into the yard below.

She was hiding her tears.


A few sounds precede Moira's entrance of the office — the sound of a somewhat heavy, solid crutch assisting limping but quick steps and the firm, practiced voice of the woman that Charles and Erik both know. Her tone is polite, perhaps a hint apologetic, but not wavering in it's confidence. "I do truly appreciate this, I wasn't certain what the best time would be. From the little I've heard, you practically hold certain classes around the clock. I won't keep much of his time, I promise." She says to the student who is leading her down the upper path towards the office. And then they are there, even if she has to play a touch of catch up due to her mostly useless left leg and the crutch that keeps her mobile, if at a clipped pace.

A smile plasters across her pleasant, slender features as she looks up and around the office, knocking out of some show of politeness, but still sticking her head in as well. The student showed her the way, after all, so that would be fine, right? That smile is professional and distant as she takes in the trio present, no recognition behind her pale eyes. "I… am sorry if I've interrupted. The young man just showed me up. I'm sorry… My name is Dr. Moira MacTaggart. I just started withColumbia's genetics department and… I have to say that I think the work you're doing here is… Phenomonal." Then her gaze catches on Jean, the slightly bent posture of the young woman at the window. Her smile falls. "This… this is a bad time."

For those who may be worried or may even look, there is no longer a wedding ring on her left hand, firmly clutched around that assistive crutch.


Charles, when Erik asks, looks to his friend with a serious set of eyes and then, away to the window. "She's here." She could mean anyone, really. She could have meant Rogue, or any of the other X-men. She could have meant Raven, the woman who was as much his sister as anything else. But for Charles, there's only really been one 'she' over the past 10 years.

As she enters, Charles reflexively tilts his head upwards, making it easier to swallow with a large lump in his throat. "Yes, uh, Mrs., uh, Dr. MacTaggert. My name is Charles. Xavier, my name is Charles Xavier. This is one of my students, Jean Grey. And this, as you know is Erik Lensherr."

Charles does not notice that there is no ring on her hand.


Erik's eyes are averted from Charles long enough to look over his shoulder, staring at Jean while she reacts. Ball of… doom? He opens his mouth as if to speak, perhaps some rebuttal, likely in regard to his opinion that the mutant gene does not mean certain doom unless other, more fanatic types would have it mean certain doom, when that run-on thought is stalled out by Charles' look at his cryptic words.

"She -" he starts to ask, then his forehead shoots upward. "Oh..!"

Erik turns back to face the doorway, perhaps a bit too quickly, and does well to hide his surprise when Moira enters. Charles sort of gave it away, after all. With a pleasant smile on his face, Erik folds his hands together behind his back, standing there quietly. However, a growing sense of unease creeps in when the Professor stumbles over his words. "I, ah, do not know you. Yet. But now, I suppose I do."

The attempt at stifling his grimace just doesn't work as well as he'd like. "Pleasure -" A pause, and a look toward Moira's ringless hand. "Miss MacTaggert."


"It.. it's not a bad time, I apologize." Jean says quietly, her hands immediately lifting to wipe away at her face as she gives in with a huge sniff, so much that her arm raises to wipe across her face in the most juvenile way possible. There was just too much 'feeling' in the room at the moment, from Charles' nervousness and heartbreak, to her own sense of wonderment and Erik's ability that was displayed, to Erik's brief moment of horror and now unease, she was heading right down the path to crippling catatonia that she was best attempting to escape.

"I.. think I'll take my leave now." There was no room for objection, she was already straightening and heading towards the door, past the same bookcase that rattled before. In her rush to escape, a book falls from the top of the shelf, veering at an odd trajectory to smack poor Jean right upon the shoulder, which has her twisting and immediately bending to snatch the book from the ground to hold it against her chest as if it was something that she meant to do. "Excuse me."

Another book falls upon the ground, which was soon grasped from the floor, a trail soon created with one even smacking at the top of her head as she retrieves another. Soon, her arms were full of books, awkwardly juggled by a red-faced woman who couldn't leave soon enough. "Plan to do some reading. Study, study?" High pitched tones aside, she gives a really, really huge and unnecessary smile towardsMoira.

"Nice to meet you Dr. MacTaggart I love you bye!"

The only that was left from Jean was the epic facepalm heard 'round the institute and a high pitched 'eeeeee' as feet beat against the wood from afar.


The slender woman in her austere gray business suit (no lab coat for a school visit) is left wondering what in the WORLD she walked into. First, the strangest introduction ever to the unfamiliar man, then that *look* from Erik, and suddenly the cascade of books from the scattered young woman who is practically running out of the room. Moira takes it all in with slightly wide but not terrified eyes. She's just noting everything quietly with a brief nod and a small, remarking sound from her throat that doesn't actually escape her lips. Jean's exit gets the primary attention first, "…Miss Grey. It… it was a pleasure. Ah… good luck." She calls after the woman.

Then she's looking back to the men, a touch of understanding behind her gaze, mingled with pain and sympathy. "…She's got barely any control, am I right? Telekinetic? The poor girl…" Not judgment, not hate or fear. Just an utter, protective sympathy from her. She takes another breath and restarts introductions. "Well, I know *now*, Mr. Lensherr. It's a pleasure. If we're being formal, it's Dr. MacTaggert, but… really, Moira is fine." And then that smile, one Charles knows far too well though it's muddied with something and far more tired thanit ever was before, returns to Charles. "Professor Xavier… it is an *honor*. I've read… *Everything* you've published."


To watch Jean go, the Professor cannot help but laugh. Surely he'll need to explain all of this to Jean. Right now it's funny. When the time comes, it will be much more difficult. Charles is there when he speaks to Moira, but he's not really there. "The honor, Dr. MacTaggert, is mine. I am very familiar with your…work." Eyes flash to Erik. "Please, tell me how I can be of service."

For a moment, Charles considers entering her mind, but it takes everything in his power to hold back and keep the promise to himself he made back when she wed Joseph.

Before she speaks, he realizes he's being rude. "Can I offer you anything to drink?" Don't say it, Charles. Don't say it, don't say it. "Maybe ginger tea? Or, if you prefer, Gin and Tonic? Technically it is after hours."


Erik takes a few steps to close the distance, smiling easily while offering his hand in greeting to Moira. "Erik, then."

Once their greetings are made, the tall gentleman moves back over to his gifted case of Bitburger. The lid is lowered, but the crate is left where it lay for now. He has the strength to lift it without metallic assistance, but it would be rude to exert such manual labor in front of their guest.

Erik meets Charles' glance, but his poker face is now firmly planted. The key to winning at poker; don'tspeak until you know your foot is very far from your mouth.


There is still a touch of concern in her gaze, tossing one last look over her shoulder to see if Jean might be lurking anywhere or there are no other panicked students coming up the hall in the wake of the young telekinetic. When Moira sees none of that, she relaxes a touch and lets out a small breath. "Erik. Yes, both of you, please. Just call me Moira. I really am quite sorry if I intruded tonight, I suppose it would have been better to call but your number isn't exactly public. I imagine that's for safety issues, sadly."

She takes a few more steps into the room, skilled enough with the crutch that she's probably relied on it a few months now but not so much that it's become another appendage of her's. She's still adjusting to life with the thing. Charles' offer of drinks makes her blink. "…That.. No one keeps ginger tea. I have to ship it over from Asia half the time I want it. How did you know…" She stares at him, something flickering behind her eyes for just a moment. Then she's shaking it off. "Tea would be lovely. And… I actually wanted to see how I might be of service to you." She addresses both the men, not quite sitting yet, not until one of them does, but since Charles has invited him to stay, she makes her case to them jointly. "If you've read my work, you know that almost all my research is in the area of mutations. I just took a professorship at Columbia but it's only part time teaching. With your school here, well… It would be a true honor if I could, somehow, work with you and your students. Whether you need a teacher… mentor, advisor… Whatever you need. I'd simply be honored to have the opportunity to work with you all. And I'm fairly good at sticking my nose in it so… here I am, sticking my nose in it." She states with a game smile.


When Charles responds there's a little tilt to his head, but his eyes never leave Moira's. "I…I still, I mean I keep ginger tea. Just a coincidence, I suppose."

"Columbia?" Charles says. "That's brilliant!" he adds, as if an old friend just told him they were moving back next door. "Of course you could work with the school." His hand goes to his head as he becomes a bit rattled by the rush, and he wipes his eyebrow with his index finger.

"With summer coming up, we're just starting to set up plans for next evening, I mean next year. And, maybe it'd be a good idea for you to stay and have dinner with us so we could discuss your role."

"Right Erik."

He doesn't wait for the response, as he looks back to Moira.



Erik does not sit. Not yet. He's mostly paying close attention to that crutch. That's new, and it prompts him to wonder what the circumstances are behind such a thing. He's also paying close attention to the interaction, and making a tactical decision not to correct any of Charles' many blunders. Instead, he leans up against the windowsill, leg cocked upon the crate of bier while doing his best not to smirk.

He does not answer. Charles answered for him, after all.

Perhaps the slightest of simpers.

"Well." He stands from where he had leant, the simper broadening. "Dinner, it is." He hooks a thumb toward the door. "I'll have to grab my bag."

He's almost out of the office, when something comes to his recollection. "Oh and Charles? Do find Bobby and have him fix up those bottles, would you?"


Another slight narrowing of her eyes towards Charles — Moira is far too intelligent to be missing all those blunders, she just hasn't a clue what they could be from. She gazes between the two men, studying them each deeper, Erik's almost amusement included in this careful study. "…There is something going on here that I've clearly missed. Of course, I won't say no to dinner with two handsome men, but… someone is going to have to tell me the joke eventually." Oh, she is so very much onto things already. The trouble with near-geniuses — they're too damn smart.

Erik's study of the crutch may spill into other things his mutant senses would notice — pins. At least a dozen of them, up and down her leg, holding joints together as best possible after being shattered. Bones growing around them. Whatever happened, it was violent and life changing. She's probably lucky she's walking at all.

"But, yes. I'd love to do dinner. We can discuss how best, well… I can be of help to what you're doing here. Because I think it's wonderful and… the world needs it. Desperately." A softer smile betrays her pink mouth. "And, I'll selfishly admit it'd help my research quite a bit to have direct experience in such a facility."


"Trust me when I say, Dr. MacTaggert," Charles says, looking somewhat serious. "You'll have as much direct experience as you choose."

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