1963-06-21 - Say It Aint So, Joe
Summary: Moira forces Charles to come clean about everything. She gets her memories back…but at what cost?
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
moira xavier 


It has been a busy few days for Xavier. He was in Seattle to present at a conference, and then went to Anchorage for a failed attempt at gaining another student. He'd only just arrived this evening and let some of the teachers know he would be back late from the airport as he was going to have dinner on the deck at Harry's, have a few adult beverages, and do some reading.

The evening is perfect. Low temperature, light wind, almost no humidity. The handful of clouds in the sky are a deep red and purple with the setting sun out on the field. Charles is busy with a plate of some sort of chicken caesar salad and a bottle of wine.

*

Determined to finally speak her mind, to get some answers, Moira went back to the school this evening. Of course, she was missing Charles again. But someone knew where he was, at least, so another taxi ride and she's limping her way up the deck of Harry's. If the quiet sound of her crutch is lost among the diners, he'd probably recognize the quiet press of her brilliant mind, if nothing else. Especially as determined as she is right now.

A few heartbeats later, and the darkhaired, elegant woman is there, right at the side of his table. She's in a buttercream yellow sundress tonight, her hair down and soft around her face. She almost looks as young as she did years ago when they first met, but there will always be a new weight behind her eyes. "Charles. May I join you?"

*

Charles is already putting down the book he's reading as she arrives and he looks at her with a smile. "Moira, what a wonderful surprise. Of course you may. Please." He motions. "Have a seat."

"If you'll be staying for a moment, they have excellent salads here. Moreover, they also have greasy fare if you would prefer a burger. Wine?"

*

For once, Moira isn't smiling at him. She always used to, those echoes of emotions not connected to memories inspired smiles just as warm as ever. But it's not there tonight. No, there is a weight behind behind her eyes which is restrained pain and anger. Confusion. As he offers her to sit, she does gently set aside her crutch and sink down into that chair across from him.

"…Maybe after. We… need to talk." Moira begins softly, her heart now suddenly in her throat. Quiet panic. Could she actually bring this up? Would he just take it all from her again? She studies his face, looking for answers before she even asks questions. Trying to find why such a man would do this.

*

"Moira," Xavier says, a little taken aback at how she's acting. Usually she'd been so exuberant and effusive in her kindness. It doesn't seem like her to be acting this way. "Is everything alright? Did something happen while I was away?"

Charles sits forward in his seat; all of the gentle flirtation is now gone, and he seems rather intent. Either he is not reading Moira's mind, or he is a very good actor.

*

Pale eyes study his face another few heartbeats, seeing if she can find anything there which might give away darker motivations — give away anything but gentle warmth and that intent, respectful look he's giving her. Even now, there is part of her that could just stare. Enjoy his eyes, enjoy the passionate spark behind them. But Moira shakes off those thoughts with a deep breath and looks down, away. "…I… Jean and I spoke, while you were gone. She's… still fighting for control. And she's picked up things… while you were around me."

Then her eyes pull back up, heavily weighing on his. She wants to see his reaction when she says it. "…Did I used to know you? And Erik? Why does the Mansion feel like home?"

*

At first, Charles doesn't move. He keeps his intent stare, through her comment about Jean. But as Moira asks point blank, he knows that he has been caught. Blue eyes look away and his tongue licks at his lips as he tries to think of the words.

Finally he nods, gathering the courage to look at her. "Yes, it is true. You and I used to know each other rather well."

*

As he confirms the truth, some ice runs through her. Moira's shoulders square off, a deeper breath taken in against the well of emotions and sudden studder of her heart. She couldn't lose courage now. After all, she was in the right. Or so her mind says. She tilts her head down, trying to search for his eyes even as he looks away. She doesn't speak again until he comes back to her gaze.

"…Why don't I remember any of it? It's like… listening to music that… Is *just* too soft to hear. But I know it's there…"

*

"It was, as I assume you fear, because I erased those memories from your mind." Charles reaches to pour himself some more wine. He's going to need it.

"When I realized the plans that the Central Intelligence Agency had for mutants, some of their contingency plans if things were not to their liking with the mutant population, I made the decision to break from them completely. I feared that they would come after you in a way to get to myself and the students, and so I blocked those memories from you." Charles exhales, knowing she is not likely to be happy with his decision, but those are the reasons and that is the truth. Her reaction will be what her reaction will be.

*

The woman exhales quietly as he admits to having done it himself. The one question she was still wondering — was it him or someone else. That answers that. Moira suddenly blinks against glassy stinging in her eyes, the tears not quite spent yet, but they are certainly there. "…I knew I… consulted with the CIA… I thought they dropped the program. THough, it's how I met Joe…" And that statement alone holds a bitterness and a hate which is something he's *never* known from her before. SHe suddenly reaches for a glass to pour some wine. She needs it too.

"…God… Charles…How much did you take? How… long was it? Was… was it really worth it?" She asks, not entirely able to hide the anger from her tone.

*

"To keep you safe? To keep the students safe? In a word, yes. Yes it was, no matter how painful it was. I came across some plans through the minds of several generals about their plans for us. For you, for me, and for the students at my school. I had to act. In my opinion, I had to act quickly. I felt like I was doing it to save all of you."

Another intake of air as he tries to remember. "I took quite a bit. Anything I thought might keep you safe."

*

There is still some anger there, but the worst of it's gone. Erik, Jean and Warren all said that he had to have a good reason. And, clearly, he did. No matter the pain it caused. Moira looks down and away, trying to get control of her breath and the lingering tightness in her chest. "…would you do it again?" She finally whispers, not looking at him any more.

*

"I don't know," he says shaking his head slightly as he looks out toward the sunset. "The mental blocks I put on the CIA all worked. I stole the files, burned them, and used Cerebro to search the minds of everyone at that building who knew. It was a painstakingly difficult process. I had no idea then if I was powerful enough, or if the blocks would hold. If they're starting to fail on you, the same could be said on the others."

He sighs. "It's not something I did lightly, and it was extreme to my students, to you, and very painful to me. But, if the situation was the same, I would. The children are safe, you were able to meet Joe and get married. It seemed like a good decision."

"But it was very difficult."

*

"…I suspect the are only starting to fail because I came *back*. I…I don't remember anything. I just… feel things. Things I don't know why I'm feeling…" Moira admits, her voice bitter and a touch shaken. Then he dares comment on her meeting Joe, getting married, and something in her just shuts down. She doesn't meet his eyes. She stares hard at the table, but one of those tears finally escapes. It streaks silently down her slightly too pale cheek. "…Charles.. these last three years have been… hell." She whispers, so low he might barely even hear it.

*

"Hell?" Charles says as he tilts his head, not quite understanding. It was her wedding day, the last time he looked into her mind. The day he promised to never do it again. Keeping that promise, he does not look now. "I don't understand."

*

It might be nicer for her to keep it wrapped up, to not put more weight on his shoulders, when it's clear the decision has already hurt him so much. But anger is a hard thing, and the misery of the years between compared to the clean, open ability to breathe she just *feels* on the campus, it's all overwhelming in a way that erodes Moira's ever so delicate control. She's only human. And she's a human who is hurting more than any ever should be. She drags in a slightly unsteady breath, still just staring at the table. "…Joe… maybe it was the war, the service… he… He never got the violence out of his blood. He…" But then she goes quiet. SHe's never actually put it into words, and she doesn't even know how. She blinks against another escaping tear, her lips hovering mute on those memories.

*

"Oh heavens, no. Moira, I am so, so sorry," Charles says as he brings his hand up to his brow. No, not to read her mind, just as support. "I didn't know. You seemed so happy. I felt like I had made the right decision. You must know that if I knew what was happening, I never would have let him hurt a hair upon your head."

*

Moira lets silence linger for a few hard moments, still not really certain how to find words. How can she even talk about what it was like. About why she'll never walk normal again? She trembles, ever so finely, but that shaking is there as she wars with emotions that half want to scream, half want to cry, and pushes back the need to ask him why he abandoned her to it. She knows why. It doesn't make it easier. "…I know… you didn't intend it. You wouldn't have… let it. But… it… It happened. It kept happening. He threw me down the god-damn stairs." It's that last statement where her voice breaks and her head just sinks into her own hand, hiding the contining tears now. She has to pull herself together.

*

Charles bites at his lips as she falls apart on him. He wants to reach out to hold her, but given that this is entirely his responsibility, it seems a bit self serving. "This is my fault, Moira. Everything that has happened to you the past few years came as a direct consequence to the decision that I made. I know you will never truly forgive me." Charles eyes are beginning to well up, but he holds it in pretty well. "And I want you to know that you're right for feeling that way, and that however you look at me from now on, you are right."

*

At the end of that statement, Moira's pale eyes jerk up, staring at him hard through that tearful gaze, a touch of earnest anger flashing for just a heartbeat, "Dammit, Charles, can you stop making it about you." Yes, those words are stinging. Rough. From a raw place. But no less true. "Whatever *happened*, happened. There is no fucking way to change the past. But you can fix the future. Fix this. Let me know what I missed. Give me… *Something* back."

*

"For the past three years, in my mind, it has been about me. I'm sorry." Charles wipes at his eyes and stretches his face, trying to hold it in. "I'll give you back whatever you wish."

*

Moira hasn't bothered to wipe away her tears. She doesn't want to. It's the first time she's cried about it in so long and part of her wears them as the same badge of survive as the scars of her leg. She stares at him hard, not quite forgiving yet, but a touch hopeful that maybe she'll at least have some answers. "…Please. Everything. I… I want to remember, Charles. I want to remember… putting that together. Being happy with you. I want to help Erik. I… I want to know everything."

*

Charles tilts his head, "You knew about us?" She had failed to mention that.

*

"…not… Exactly. Jean said you… cared for me. Deeply. It might be nice to remember what being actually cared for was like." Yes, those words are bitter, but the amount of pain Moira's still feeling is beyond words. She's not let any of it out until now. Poor Charles is getting the brunt of it all. Her expression softens a heartbeat later, though, "…Please?"

*

"Very well," Charles says as he purses his lips. He thinks about taking another swig from his wine, but decides better of hit. He closes his eyes and reaches up to touch the side of his head lightly with his fingers. He takes a moment to calm himself before he enters her mind.

Sifting through someone's memories is not an easy task, but as he's done it he has become better at it. Gradually, the memories begin to fill her mind. Her time at the Mansion, with the students, and with Charles. And with the memories come the emotions as well. The entire process is short lived, but the effect is heavy and overwhelming.

*

The tears before were light, tears she was still trying to fight, to hold back. But as the memories come, the first time they stepped foot into the mansion, the first students. Long conversations in the library. Even some times in the lab, and it all fills in those echoes of emotion she was feeling and she simply didn't understand, well, the tears come far more immediate and hard. A ragged breath escapes her lips as she half crumples against the table — though, if he'd catch her, wrap an arm around her, she won't fight him. She can't fight anythng right now, lost to the ocean of it all. For a few moments, she looks so incredibly fragile.

*

Xavier doesn't stop there. He implants some of his own memories into hers as well. She'll now know each time he checked in on her, and the promise he made himself when he saw her get married. Finally, when he opens his eyes, he realizes that even though she will likely despise him, he still very much wants to hold her.

He scoots over and reaches out for her, just as the wait staff reaches the back deck. "Do you want a cab?" the lady mouths at him, and Xavier nods.

*

Maybe she will despise him in the morning, maybe she won't. Chances are Moira still hasn't worked out how she feels about that. But right now, she does know that she wants to be in his arms. She needs to just lean against someone, to let go for the first time in so long. So she sinks into him, her head buried against his neck. One hand comes up, stretching against his shirt, just holding on for a few tight, long moments as she tries to adjust to it all. For these few minutes, she simply can't. The cab is probably a wise idea. But she's in his arms, now, hanging on for dear life.

*

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