Who: Charles Xavier x & Karen Page karenp What: Super saying hello to the new tenant in room 110A. When: Thursday, April 16, evening Where: Copperstone Apartments Rating: Audience Discretion is Advised Warnings: Spoilers for Daredevil (2015). Discussion of murder, mutant powers being used, fear, and a little bit of wtf? Just because. Status: Closed/Completed GDoc
~*~
Test City was trying to test Charles Xavier's survival instincts.
That was all he could determine given how he'd been alone for some length of time in the apartment complex, waiting on tenants to arrive to whom he was to perform the duties of Superintendent for, only to have a psychotic and an unknown tossed into his midst. He was surprised by how lovely both young women were and how different. The one was likely best kept at long-distance while the other was quite tame in comparison---which said much given his "tame" tenant had recently committed homicide.
Charles decided there was no time like the present to reach out a hand to her all the same. He was no one to judge. His gifts made him a target for others. The situation he was in now -reduced to paralyzation in a wheelchair- was thanks to the fear of others, the fear of what was different, the fear of the future. Some would say it was the result of Erik Lehnsherr as he'd been the one to pull the trigger, but Erik hadn't shot with the intentions of putting that bullet through Charles's spine.
People sometimes made rash decisions when they felt their life was being threatened.
He would never stoop to judging another again in the way he'd jumped to conclusions regarding Erik. One day? He'd become that man's friend again. Perhaps. It was all a matter of some conjecture now given he had no idea how things would shake out in the wash. They had been working diligently toward forging a new future, a different one than the war torn world of Logan's memory, when Charles had been taken straight to Test City in his chair without a by-your-leave. It could be he'd return home to find he had no home any longer.
Putting a smile on his inner voice, Charles sent out, 'Hello and welcome to Copperstone Apartments. My name is Charles Xavier. I'm your Superintendent as it appears so I wanted to greet you on a personal basis.'
There was enough information for Ms. Page to recognize he had some reason for intruding on her personal thoughts. It was harmless enough, wasn't it? As far as missives went, Charles thought it sounded reasonable. He'd never been much of a true socialite before it all. Most of his socializing had been done after class hours while inebriated in the local pub. He'd had more fun with Raven than he'd managed with anyone else. All the rest of his time had been spent in study or working toward a better tomorrow or, after the shooting, after the start of the war in Vietnam, sulking in a brandy bottle.
'Do you have any concerns you need addressed at present? We're borrowing some assistance from the maintenance man over at Hope Springs until one is appointed to us here at Copperstone. I'd be glad to relay along whatever you need to have done to see it is attended to quickly.'
Charles purposefully didn't ask any personal questions or offer any personal information. He thought it would be best for Ms. Page if he eased her in, as much as he could, to his way of things.
~*~
Karen was settling into her apartment as well as could be expected. It was a really nice apartment, far better than her small place in Hell’s Kitchen. It was more on the scale of Matt’s apartment, with all the space and none of the brightness that accompanied that billboard. Honestly though, for that kind of apartment, Karen would’ve put up blackout curtains. Still, after everything that happened, she was lucky to even have a place to live and a job to help support herself. Without Matt and Foggy, Karen probably would’ve ended up dead a long time ago. Ben, too.
Just thinking about Ben made her stop washing the dishes she’d used for dinner; a stir fry of sorts, with cubed beef, peppers, onions, and then some rice to go with it. Her apartment had come stocked with a good bit of food, which she appreciated. Hopefully, Matt was doing well, though she had half a mind to ask him to move in with her. They were already working together again, though. Without Foggy, would Matt really want to spend the majority of his day with her? Would she want that? Given his freaky lie detector abilities, Karen wasn’t so sure she wanted to be around him so much that he would be able to guess her secret. There were only so many times she could sidestep the issue at hand.
“What the fuck?” Karen set her plate down, startled all to hell at the voice in her head that was distinctly male. It was a voice she hadn’t ever heard before, too. She cautiously grabbed a knife from the block and stepped away from the sink to look around her apartment, knowing full well she hadn’t let anyone in. Was it Fisk? Was it somehow his idea of messing with her? Did he know that she pulled the trigger on Wesley?
Karen held the knife up defensively. “Get out of my head,” she hissed. “If you want to talk to me, you can send me a message over the network.” She set the knife down on the counter, figuring he was somewhere else if he was talking to her through some kind of telepathy. The knife was traded for her phone, where she very nearly called Matt. But then a thought struck her.
“Wait, if you’re in my head- fuck. Look, I haven’t done anything to you. Just leave me alone.”
~*~
Unfortunately, Charles considered his method of communication before the network always. It was a habit more than an attempt at discourtesy. He winced as he realized he'd invaded both of his new tenants' minds unannounced or unoffered. It was thoroughly rude of him as well as brash. He should have waited, found a different way to say his greetings to them.
Trying to salvage the moment, Charles offered, 'I find the network to be a bit cold. Impersonal. I wanted to let you know I was here if you needed me. I'm not hurting you. Honestly. It's all superfluous communication. I send the thought, you receive it, I hear your response. It doesn't mean anything too personal is exchanged between us.'
The story would have been quite different had they been in physical contact. Charles lost a bit of his well-honed control when he was touching someone. It'd always been worse for him with physical contact to ground him inside one mind. He'd had to start singing bloody limericks in order to have a casual shag in college. That had been the only way to avoid a pounding headache which made the whole endeavor more trouble than it was worth.
How was he supposed to get her to trust him if she was so very panicked? He could calm her down, but that immediately got pushed aside as a possibility seeing as it was something Erik would have done. Erik had a tendency to think if humans weren't behaving as the mutants wanted, the mutants should simply make them comply. They'd yet to get to the stage together where they agreed it was for the best if they resolved their differences amenably without using unfair advantages.
'I'm sorry if this disturbs you. I truly am. I won't share any secrets you share with me with anyone else. I've been this way my whole life, you see. It's not something I can turn off per se. I wish I could. More than you know. If it would make you more comfortable, I could come by. After you're done with your dishes of course. I'd hate to impose any more than I have already.'
He was an utter prat. What had he been thinking? Charles rubbed his hot face with his hands -colder courtesy of his issue with his circulatory system post-paralysis- to try to get rid of the worst of the humiliating blush. It was ludicrous to think he could simply say a greeting into a young woman's mind without her becoming concerned. A cursory glance at her surface thoughts had shown she'd much on her mind, but Charles wasn't one to judge.
They all had made mistakes in their life. Some worse than others, certainly, but mistakes were the result of the experience of living whether one was human or mutant.
~*~
Karen rolled her eyes. Apparently, her Super’s idea of personalized communication was far different from her’s. She could only hope that he would learn from this particular instance and use a phone next time. “This is a little too personal, Charles,” she replied, too uncomfortable with the way they were communicating to bother trying to think it instead of saying it out loud. It was just too much, after Matt and everything with Ben and Fisk and Wesley.
“God, you should meet Matt.” She sat down on one of the stools that was on the other side of her counter. This was ridiculous, all things considered, but Test City was clearly all about the ridiculous. “He’s blind, but he’s got this really freaky-” Karen waved her hand about, trying to articulate how good Matt was at reading her. “He can’t see, but he sees so much.” It was a quality she both loved and loathed in Matt. Her secrets were best kept secret, and Matt’s ability to judge her voice was terrifying at best. Knowing her secret would only hurt him and put him at risk. Burying Ben had been gut wrenching, but burying Matt? Foggy? It would kill her, and the problem was, Fisk knew it. Wesley had known it.
She glanced around her apartment, and decided she honestly didn’t really want to stay there all that much longer. “Can I come to you instead? If that’s okay?” Despite the fact that Charles didn’t seem all that interested in respecting her boundaries, she could at least respect his. “Or neutral ground? I’m not a big fan of this whole situation, you know? At least back home, I knew the ground I was walking on wasn’t exactly stable. Here, I don’t know if it’s stable or if it’s going to fall out underneath my feet.” And wasn’t that a scary thought. Without Fisk at least around, who knew if she was safe or not. Karen wanted, so desperately, to be safe. She just wanted to put all of it, everything with Wesley and Fisk, behind her.
~*~
'Matt Murdock, the blind lawyer? He's an interesting one. His view of the world is truly unique and not only for a blind person. I've---sorry. I get ahead of myself. Feel free to come over. I'll unlatch the door. Do mind our other tenant on your way over. She's in a foul temper.'
Baby Firefly was always in a foul temper from what Charles had observed. The woman had two switches which consisted solely of "on" and "off." He'd had to refrain from switching her "off" more than once already. It was difficult to know what would be stepping over the line and what would consist of maintaining order in his building where she was concerned. Charles hated to admit it even to himself, but he sincerely hoped the woman moved to another unit shortly. She was too dangerous to be settled in with average people.
Given she was also fraternizing with a complete psychopath, Charles saw no good coming of her staying on site. They pair of them would likely attempt to murder everyone for grins and giggles. He wished he were a violent person only to protect himself from them. It was ludicrous really, being inside minds such as theirs. Charles had taken to perusing minds farther from his own for the amusement sake as much as to keep his sanity intact. Test City wasn't entirely filled with monsters of other realms.
He advised Karen, 'I'm in the Super apartment down from you. 101A. Be a dear and latch the door behind you when you come in? It's really hard for me to manage on my own.'
Charles had adapted a backscratcher he'd picked up in the mall to use to switch the latch back and forth on the deadbolt. It helped when he was home alone. He'd taken to leaving the door unlocked when the was out. There was nothing of value which could not be replaced in the living quarters. It was easier to avoid questions as well seeing as he couldn't quite reach the lock to latch his door properly upon leaving. The last thing he wanted was to be viewed as some weak cripple in a place where many of the residents seemed to be predators looking for easy prey.
~*~
Karen appreciated that he liked Matt. He was the only familiar face she had, and if she were honest, she really only needed him. Foggy was great, truly. She liked how fun and easy going he was, and how big his heart was, but there was a kind of pull toward Matt. Karen knew she could hide all kinds of things from Foggy, but Matt had that stupid way of getting to the heart of the matter. He was a good man, who’d made the best of a pretty crappy situation, battling his own problems, same as her.
“Yea, I pretty much plan on avoiding most people in this place,” she muttered, returning to the sink to finish off her dishes. It only took a few minutes before she was drying her hands on the kitchen towel and making her way out the door. She locked it behind her and pocketed her keys and phone before making her way toward his room. “You know, I think at least we lucked out on the complex. The other one isn’t as nice as ours.” Karen didn’t much like having that whole apartment to herself. It was more than she could ever have been able to afford on her own.
She knocked once on the door to 101A before walking in. “Hello?” Karen latched the door behind her, like he’d asked, and stepped further into the apartment, taking in the kitchen and living room, pleased to see he at least had a large, open concept the same way she did. Seeing a relatively young man - he was no older than Matt, surely - in a wheelchair surprised her slightly, but Karen only offered him a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you. Like this. Much better, you know?”
~*~
"Better is a relative term," Charles smiled at her gently, "I'm happier being a faceless voice. I lose a lot of points when someone sees me in the chair. No matter how much a person tries to hide it? There's always a look on their face which tells me all I need to know about how they view me: cripple, weakling, freak."
Charles considered them all for a moment, his eyes cloudy from the reminiscence. It had been years since he'd been the young man graduating with his PhD from Oxford. He remembered how it had felt to talk up beautiful women in bars. It's been easier than it should have been courtesy of his gift, but Charles liked to think he'd never mislead a date. In those days? Everyone was looking for something simple, uncomplicated, fun.
Paralyzed blokes didn't come in 'uncomplicated' nor were they meant to be seen having fun.
"I think my favorite is when I'm called diseased."
Disease was a terrifying thing in the era Charles was from yet it seemed war was the worst enemy of the people. The man named Logan had taught him much about how he was meant to change the world, the future, even himself. He'd been trying before being absconded away with by this place. Charles tried to consider being the building's Super akin to being the Headmaster of his school for the gifted.
Baby was nearly the same maturity as his former students.
"I was shot through the back by my best friend. You killed a man you considered your enemy and have been hiding that murder from your best mates. Now. We're on even footing in terms of letting cats out of bags. Think you'll tell Matt? Here? It's not as if it's liable to matter overmuch. This is, from all I can tell, a different dimension from where we all originated. No one has the same mind as the residents. I've checked. Extensively. You don't have to answer. I'll know anyway. It's not something I can help. It's times like these I could really use a drink. What about you, Karen? Can I get you anything to make you more comfortable or is that a lost cause considering I'm a crippled mutant freak who may or may not be somehow contagious."
Bitterness was easy for Charles to slip back into. Drunkenness was as well. He wasn't above admitting his faults. He was almost proud of them. Erik had accused him of trying to be mutantkind's Great Telepathic Hope. Look at him now. Not so heroic anymore, eh?
~*~
His greeting seemed rather self deprecating in a way that Karen didn’t quite know how to react to, but she vastly preferred seeing him in person compared to a voice in her head. “You lost a lot of points putting an unfamiliar, disembodied male voice in my head, so there’s that,” she countered coolly, arching an eyebrow to display just how unimpressed she was with his attitude. It was his casual voicing of her past actions that had her startled to the point of stripping away her pretenses. Charles was clearly very much like Matt, in that regard. He just didn’t pull it off as well.
“Yea, I think I’ll take that drink. I care a hell of a lot more that you just said what I did than the fact that you’re stuck in a chair. In case you haven’t figured it out? Disabilities don’t bother me. Did having your voice in my head freak me the fuck out? Yea. Definitely did. I’m not big on people getting inside my head, literally or figuratively.” Karen pulled out a chair from the kitchen counter and took a seat, more than willing to let him get her whatever it is they were going to be drinking. She didn’t much care what it was, as long as it was alcohol. Lord, just the thought of talking to Matt about what happened with Wesley, what she’d been doing with Ben to get him killed, made her feel sick.
“Look, if you can’t control the mutant thing, that’s cool. Just give people some kind of warning, you know? I’ve been jumpy as hell on a good day and living by myself in some lush apartment hasn’t really been cutting it. And this place is definitely lush, compared to my tiny little place in Hell’s Kitchen.” Karen glanced around his apartment, figuring the layout was probably similar to hers. She turned her gaze back to him, considering what he’d said. “I should tell Matt, but I’m probably not going to. At least, not yet. It’s my burden to bear, and he’s got enough on his plate. He shouldn’t have to worry about Fisk coming after me, too.” She shrugged. “He saved my life once, taking my case. He shouldn’t have to do it again.”
~*~
Telekinesis was a neat trick Charles wished he could master. He'd love to have been able to have brought the whiskey bottle over to them without having to roll to fetch it. Unfortunately, he had only his mental gift, no others. It was a quick trip. He was able to gather up two tumblers to bring back along with the golden liquor which he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he shouldn't be drinking, yet had no intention of putting back onto its tray untouched all the same. Sometimes it wasn't about knowing what was right or wrong. It was about choosing to take the wrong path regardless.
Living creatures -animals, mutants, humans, it didn't matter as long as they were alive- could be self-destructive for no reason at all.
Charles knew he was in the self-destructive queue as well as he knew his own name. It was hard to ignore the violence in life without the use of some kind of numbing agent. Given how he felt everything? Charles thought he should get a hearty pat on the back for being conscious at all. His days were filled up with pain, agony even, grief, heartbreak, depression, anger, sometimes harsh enough to be hatred, and always the threat of violence erupting at any moment.
He'd felt more than one murder. Karen Page had nothing on him in that regard. She might regret her actions, fear the consequences of them, yet she'd never been both the murderer and the victim at once, never felt the power of taking a life at the same time one's life was ended. It was outside the realm of what she was capable of as a person. Charles didn't consider it a limitation on her part. He only felt a little more alone because he could recognize it as another way she'd not understand him.
Returning to put the tumblers down on the coffee table, Charles poured two fingers of whiskey in each before offering one to Karen, "I figured why bother pretending we aren't going to drink at least a double shot, eh? I've gotten to where I abhor pretense. It's painful for me and I'm already in pain. Sorry again about startling you. For what it's worth? This is my attempt at warning you in advance. I'm simply not very sociable of late. I'm working on it. I've had---a lot happen."
~*~
“I keep my past close to the vest,” Karen explained, as he retrieved the bottle they’d be drinking. She’d never admitted aloud that she’d killed someone before, until she’d been faced with Wesley and the choice to either live or die. “I haven’t told anyone about what happened to Wesley. Haven’t talked about it, either.” If he’d been reading her mind, he knew that already, but it was important to her that she say it. She watched as Charles poured out their glasses, appreciating the measure of amber liquid.
Whatever dark clouds were hanging over Charles, they were screwing with him pretty badly. Karen didn’t blame him, nor was she all that surprised by it, but it was something to think about. His life was worse than hers, even though comparing them was like comparing apples to oranges. She took a decent swallow of the whiskey, enjoying the burn of it down her throat.
“It’s forgiven,” she replied, waving her hand halfheartedly. “I get what going through awful things is like, even if I haven’t got the first clue what you’re going through.” Karen finished off her glass and then reached for the bottle, pouring herself another two fingers worth of whiskey. She topped of Charles’ glass while she was at it. “You probably want to talk about it as much as I do, which means you also probably need it, same as me. We both know I’m not talking to Matt about it anytime soon, as much as I might want to. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”
~*~
"You know, I think I might've used something similar to that line as a pick-up for ladies at Oxford. I believe it worked for me. I know it's going to work for you."
Charles toasted her with his glass as he took a warming swallow of whiskey. It made him feel almost whole again, if only while it was burning its way down his throat. He could drink it and know, for only the time he was drinking, how easy it would be to become an alcoholic to soothe his pains. Any addiction at all seemed better than living with the chronic pain he was in both mental and physical in nature.
He tried to think what would be easiest to tell his new tenant. The last thing he wanted was to piss her off at him any more than she already was or to upset her with too much too soon. Karen wasn't some fragile girl though in spite of her almost fairytale-like beauty. She was stronger on the inside than people gave her credit for being. She could handle a bit of his pain to balance out the weight of her own. She could use the feeling of being needed.
Lolling his head back against his chair, Charles stated, "It was 1973 at home for me. Vietnam was where most of my students at my school, most of my staff, most of my friends had been sent to die. I felt them. Die. Many of them. In my head. You'd think that was impossible given I was in New York state and they were on the opposite side of the planet, but minds? They're like---voices. Unique. There was a study done at Oxford where a mother was played only a tape recording of several infants crying. She was asked to identify her own infant solely on its crying. Every mother successfully did it. Every one. Me? I'm no one's father. At least, not that I know. I can hear the unique mental voice of my people, my friends, my kind, anywhere in the world. I started taking a serum to numb my physical pain. I took too much. It cut off my---gift. I considered it a blessing. I was tired of listening to people I love die."
Draining his glass, Charles filled it again and tipped his head to her.
Karen couldn't shock him with her reaction or her experiences. She could never know what it was like to be inside the minds of everyone around. It didn't matter if they were good minds, good friends, or terrible minds belonging to terrible people. Charles didn't get a choice. All he got was the ability to shut it off if he numbed himself out enough. Sometimes? He managed with liquor alone. If he were lucky, he'd manage with whiskey and Karen for company.
~*~
Karen grinned, appreciating his sense of humor. Charles clearly had his shining moments, though she imagined they were few and far between. It was a little startling to hear he was from decades earlier than her, but really, she knew she shouldn’t have been too surprised. This place was pretty weird, all things considered.
“That sucks,” she admitted after a few quiet minutes. “I can’t imagine what that’s like. Hearing all those voices in your head all the time, with no off switch. Add to that whatever put you in that chair?” Karen took a large swallow of whiskey, grateful for the way the alcohol was hitting her system. “Me being a murderer kind of pales in comparison, doesn’t it?” She finished off her second glass quickly, setting it aside so that she wouldn’t be tempted to pour herself another double. It was too much, too fast, and she’d be drunk before she knew it.
“I was protecting my friends, the only people I’ve cared about in a long time. It would’ve been fine, except Fisk found out and went after the reporter I was working with. I’ve got blood on my hands.” Karen could count on one hand the number of times she admitted to being a murderer out loud and still had fingers left over. She was fairly certain she’d only ever say it one more time, to the only person left who needed to hear it. She gave him a sad smile. “You know, I’m not sure how just yet, but it could always be worse. That’s an irrefutable fact of life, Charles. It could be a hell of a lot worse.”
~*~
No one could understand what it was like to be him. Erik had judged him off-the-bases over the drugs when all Charles had wanted was to sleep. It wasn't easy. His life. There were simple pleasures which were denied him more often than not such as sleep. He wanted to be a better man. Charles wanted to be the man he would become in the future. That man felt blessed to have his gift. He was pleased to be able to understand the pain of others, share it with them, help them ease their way towards happiness, joy, acceptance.
He didn't think of himself as a damned man.
Raising his glass once more, Charles toasted Karen, "To it not being a Hell of a lot worse and hopefully we survive the storms we're in unscathed."
It felt as if they would weather this place as best anyone could. They were different in their trials and tribulations, but they were both hurting. They each had their own secrets which were filled with anger and pain. Charles knew Karen could not help her past any more than he could help his own. All the pair of them could do was support each other as best as possible as hopefully friends.
This seemed to be the kind of place where friends were necessary rather than a wonderful plus in life.
Who knew what challenge they'd face next? Charles knew whatever it would be, he'd rather not face it alone. As far as he was concerned, Karen should count on him as someone who she could turn to in the event things got out of hand or just if she needed a friend.
He wasn't much, but he could be a friend. That was something Charles still understood: friendship.
Charles only hoped he learned a lot more in this place on the positive side of the line rather than the negative. He'd had enough negative. From what he knew, everyone here could use more positive and less negative.