-----------------------------------------
Before the Light
by Lianne Burwell
June 2004
-----------------------------------------

Charles Xavier woke in the predawn gloom with a gasp, 
unable to remember where he was for a moment. Gradually, it 
came back to him. Genosha, former mutant homeland, now a 
ruin. He slept in one of the few houses in the area to 
remain intact. It was from here that they planned to 
organize the survivors to help them stay alive.

The room was dark, but he could feel others close by, and 
he reached out with his mind without thinking. Erik was the 
first he touched, both because of proximity and long 
familiarity. They had a lot of history between them; as 
friends, as allies, as enemies, as lovers. They were 
sharing a bed again for the first time in years, but for 
the moment it was only because they were short of beds.

Erik was dreaming of the past. They were in northern 
Africa, he and Erik, back in the days before Gabrielle. 
Before disagreement over the integration of mutants into 
the world had driven them apart.

Charles was tempted to join Erik in the dream; life had 
been so clean, so simple, back then. So much suffering 
since then. In his darkest moments, Charles sometimes 
wondered if Erik had been right; that the only way the 
world was going to accept mutants as part of it is if they 
were forced to.

Charles pushed away from the urge and moved past the tiny 
bedroom. Their hideaway on the edge of the city, next to 
the water, was small, but they had to be careful. Neither 
he nor Erik were well thought of. As well, the world 
believed Erik was dead, which was the only thing keeping 
teams assassins from their door.

In the outer room, Callisto's dreams were almost as alien 
as her body now was. She might revel in the tentacle-like 
clusters that had replaced her arms, but Charles could tell 
that she was a little ambivalent about how others saw them. 
Strangers, she didn't care about, but others...

Callisto's dream shifted, almost as if in response to 
Charles' thought, and he flushed. Callisto was dreaming of 
Storm now, and all the things she could do to the other 
woman with her new 'arms.' Storm showed no sign of horror 
at them. To the contrary, she was voicing her appreciation 
enthusiastically.

Charles withdrew quickly.

Wicked and Freakshow -- the children hadn't given their 
real names, obviously, and Charles was not going to pull 
them out of their minds with his telepathy -- weren't 
staying in the house, but they hadn't gone far. They didn't 
trust either Charles or Erik, but Callisto's arrival had 
forged a bond. An outsider attacking locals, so to speak, 
made people band together. Until Callisto had proven 
herself, they were going to keep a close eye on her. And 
them.

So young, Charles thought to himself. So young, and they 
had been through so much in their short lives. He wondered 
if they considered themselves lucky or not to have survived 
the destruction of Genosha.

He gave a tiny nudge, and dreams of horror became more 
pleasant. The two relaxed, and cuddle together a little 
closer in their makeshift den. It wasn't much, but it was 
something.

Charles roamed further, searching out the bright lights 
that symbolized living minds in his mental landscape. They 
were painfully few. Once Genosha had been home to more that 
sixteen million, mutants all, who had taken this land from 
their human slavers and made it their own. Then death had 
rained down out of the skies, and nothing had been able to 
stop it.

So few survivors. So very few. And even though it had been 
violence on an unprecedented scale, not a single speck of 
aid had been forthcoming from any nation in the world, and 
not simply because of what had happened in New York.

No, the world was willing to sit back and do nothing 
because the victims were not 'human.'

Charles drew back to himself, tempted to despair. 
Rebuilding for the survivors seemed a fool's dream. And 
even if they succeeded, how long would it be until another 
fanatic tried to destroy what little was left? How long 
could they conceal Erik's continued existence? How could 
they -- or more likely *he* -- protect Erik when the 
inevitable attempt to take him came.

"Relax. There is little point in worrying about it yet."

Charles snorted, and rolled towards his bedmate. "Turning 
mind-reader this late in life, Erik?" he asked wryly.

"I leave that to you. I simply know you very well, and you 
have always worried far more than is healthy."

"This time I'm not sure I'm worry enough. You have to 
admit, the odds are stacked against us."

The sky outside the window was turning a pearly gray, 
heralding the approaching dawn. There was just enough light 
for Charles to see Erik staring pensively at the ceiling. 
He was still a handsome man, after all these years. "Since 
when have either of us worried about the odds?" Erik asked. 
"We have both always decided what was the right path, and 
let nothing stand in our way, not even each other."

"And look where it has brought us," Charles pointed out.

Erik's mouth curved slightly. "Perhaps because we have been 
working at odds. It has taken a lot to bring either one of 
us down in the past. Together we are unstoppable."

"You are far too optimistic."

"Perhaps." Erik turned, and draped one arm casually over 
Charles. Charles felt a slight vibration run through his 
body, whether a reaction to Erik's powers, or simply a 
reaction to Erik, he had never been able to tell. "And yet, 
it has always been you who has optimistically insisted that 
we should be part of the world, not separate."

Charles sighed. "While you said that force was the only 
thing that would get humans to accept us. I wonder--"

"There is no point in wondering what might have been," Erik 
said, stopping Charles from saying aloud what he had been 
only thinking earlier. "The past is the past, and all we 
can do is carry on from this point. But this time..." His 
eyes flashed. "This time we will be prepared when they try 
to destroy us again. And we will not sit by passively and 
let them build the weapons to send against us."

Charles understood what Erik was saying. Training mutants 
to use their powers in battle, and not simply the way that 
the X-Men did. Sending out spies to find those weapons 
programs and sabotage them. Discredit -- and perhaps worse 
-- those most vehemently anti-mutant.

He should have been horrified. He wasn't.

"Never again," he said.

"We will protect what is ours."

Vows spoken in the dawn light, as binding in his mind as 
the ones he had spoken once with Lillandra. He pressed his 
lips to Erik's, papery dry, to seal it.

Through the window, the sun was rising in a blaze of color. 
Time for the work to begin.

THE END