Strange Bedfellows
by Jemisard

Fandom: X-Men movie verse
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: MA
Status: New, complete
Series/Sequel: "Lost Past" six.
Disclaimers: They aren't mine. You know that. I'm just borrowing them.
Thanks:ERIKA, light of my life, without you this would never have been, You coerced, encouraged and put in so much effort to keep me writing this series. Also, Hayate and Nadja, my darling friends, your patience has astounded and floored me. Thank you all.
Summary:Charles turns to an enemy to try and save his son from the grips of an organization who claim to own him, and want to continue their 'research'.
Warnings:Mature themes, slash themes, violence, angst.

Charles sat at his desk. It was five in the morning, but he hadn't been able to sleep. He hadn't slept since those thugs had shown up in their vans yesterday. He'd been awake when they brought in his beloved son, screaming and terrified, desperate to escape them.

He'd been awake ever since.

For the first time in far too long, anger began to boil in him. Anger at the injustice that these humans were inflicting on his son, purely because he was a mutant.

It was at this time that he wondered if Erik had been so wrong after all.

He knew what had to be done. They needed lawyers, a very good one, and they needed to work on a case to get his boy released.

There weren't many people who were going to want to cross the W.U.C.D.O. especially for a mutant. There were even less who would be willing to give it their best.

Charles stared at the photo on his desk thoughtfully. Normally, he would have never have considered this, but now was far from normal.

This would be a cry for help that he hoped wouldn't be refused.

He spent a day chasing phone numbers and minds, trying to reach the man he needed at this point. Finally, exhausted and sore from his efforts, he found a link that would get him there.

He wheeled himself down to Cerebro, gingerly placing the helmet over his head.

In his home, having just 'relocated', the man that Charles was trying to contact sat in an easy chair and sighed. It was nice to be in his new home. A fire burnt away in the new fireplace, his slippers were warm, the wine cool and the company gone.

All in all, it was perfect.

"I need to speak to you."

He glanced upwards. "Yes?"

"In person. Please. I need your help."

"Charles, would you please leave me alone, I just settled in."

"Erik," Sabretooth said earnestly, his mannerisms and speech too much Charles' to be a coincidence, "they've got Scott. I need you to help. I don't know who else to ask, who else would help. You must help me, please. I need your help."

Erik Lensherr went to refuse when the giant hung his head. "I need you."

Damn the man to hell and back. "If we must talk, can we at least do it over the phone? I'll call you, as soon as you let my employee go."

Sabretooth shook his head with a snarl and stalked off. Erik reached out and the metal cordless flew to his hand.

Even men like him needed a phone sometimes.

No one in the mansion slept well, but few slept more uneasily than Logan. In between the nightmares of a lab where they experimented on him, and cells where children sobbed and reached for one another, desperate for human touch, he was waking up screaming every two or three minutes. It felt like every two or three minutes, anyway.

Finally, he gave up on sleep and took to stalking the hallways, prowling, scouting, checking that each and every body was where it should be, safe and sound in its room.

Most of them were, and those that weren't in their rooms sounded safe anyway.

Search completed, Logan went to the kitchen. He was bored witless, tired, and more than a little scared, though not for himself.

For all these students who were innocently asleep, dreaming their dreams and hoping for their wishes.

For the teachers, who had grown up in terror, hoping to escape it here, only to have it force its way back in.

For Charles, who had lost his son tonight, and had been forced to face reality.

For Scott, who would be lucky to see tomorrow out unharmed.

Logan felt his anger well up again, and he smashed his fist into the wooden door, before stalking outside into the fresh air.

It was mid morning when the car pulled up at the locked gates of the mansion. Ororo sat on the station, watching the hand reach out and press the intercom.

"I'm here at the invitation of Charles. Open the gates."

She froze. She would know that accent anywhere, the cultured tones of their arch rival. Charles!

"Open these gates, or I'll open them for you. Charles invited me here, and I don't want to be any longer than I must be."

Ororo, open the gates. I did invite him here.

Ororo was too numb to protest. She just nodded mutely and opened the gates for the black car.

Heads turned to watch. Conversation stopped, people left in fear.

The slim blue skinned woman and her older companion strode through the hallways, ignoring the looks and fleeing children.

A curt knock on the door, followed by a soft, "please come in," and they were in the office.

Charles had aged over night. The lack of sleep and food were showing on him, stress marking his face like Erik had never seen. He sat down and took the hand that lay on the desk shaking. "Raven, please wait outside," he murmured, without taking his eyes off the crippled man opposite him.

Mystique stood up and left silently, stepping outside and shutting the door softly behind her. Erik moved around the desk, amazed by the strength of his feelings now that they were in here. He wrapped his arms around Charles, letting him sob softly against his shoulder.

After a while, Erik moved back and knelt down next to Charles. "What has happened, old friend? What have they done?"

Slowly, painfully, Charles told Erik of the events of the last couple of days, down to every last detail.

At the end of it, Erik looked even more outraged than Charles felt. Though there had never been any love loss between Scott and Erik, on the few occasions they had met, Erik, like Charles, had always felt sightly protective towards the quiet and timid boy, until the war had started brewing. After that, the tolerance had disappeared, both too firmly stuck in their ways.

Now though, was different. Erik would never let a mutant suffer, especially not in a case like this.

Charles watched Erik stand up and walk to the window. His head was low and he was trembling with contained anger. "Where did they go?"

"To the South, I think were heading to Washington."

"Then we take them to court there. The top court. This means war."

Charles closed his eyes. His worst nightmare was coming true, and he wasn't on the side he'd always envisioned he would be.

Scott shivered and started chewing on the ropes around his wrists again. His mouth hurt, but it was preferable to being kept helpless in this cage.

The rope slid away and he pulled the tape from his eyes, wincing slightly at the pain it caused. He looked around him and nearly screamed.

He was back. In cell 17, hallway gamma, block alpha, in the major experimentation centre.

He clambered to his feet and ran to the door. He could see movement in the cell opposite him. He glances around, he couldn't see any cameras or people. "Kurt?" he whispered.

The shadow froze and reappeared back at the door. "Kurt's gone."

"Who is that? Who are you?"

"WFM-220285." A soft voice whispered back.

"I'm Scott." He reached his hand through the bars, and a slender hand reached out to grab his. He heard sobbing. "You're real, you're a real person," she sobbed.

He held her hand. "What is your name?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

"Did they take you through the weaver?"

The sob and shudder was all the answer he needed. "It's okay. Say, what do you do?"

She sniffed. "I can see things, from people's minds. Memories."

"That's pretty good." Scott held her hand a little tighter. "Do you remember the outside?"

"No. I can't remember anything but here."

He stroked her thumb lightly. "Do you want to see it? You could see my memories, see the outside."

She sniffed again. "You'd let me?"

"Of course. In here, everyone has to stick together."

He felt a slight tingle, and he thought of the places he'd seen. The mansion, the grounds, the quarries. Sunsets over the pyramids, sunrise at the castle, he let her see the places.

She sighed. "That's lovely."

"You hang on, and maybe I can show you, okay?"

"Okay. Scott? What's your designation?"

He closed his eyes, trying not to say the words but unable to stop. "WMM-311276. Do you have any sort of name?"

"Mnemosyne. It means memory."

"Can I call you Mo?"

She tightened his hand. "Please. It's the only thing that reminds me I'm a person, not a number."

Scott shivered slightly. He'd forgotten that once. He couldn't let it happen again. He had to get Mo out.

Scott had put the tape over his eyes lightly, and hidden his hands behind his body with the rope, hoping that they wouldn't bother to check to closely.

They should underestimate him. As a child he'd been cunning.

Now, he was going to be ruthless.

The cell lock clicked and opened, and he turned his face towards them blindly. A low chuckle. "Hello, WMM-311276. It's been a long time since I saw you in here. You've grown up well. WMH-010283 tells me that you have broken your programming. Well, perhaps it is for the best. We need to rework you a little. That time spent away seems to have educated you a little too much. The combined memories could be dangerous."

"My name is Scott Summers. I am the only son of Charles Xavier, teacher at the Xavier School for Gifted Youth." He took a deep breath and stayed silent, gauging where the other man stood.

"You are WMM-311276. You were here for fourteen years prior to your escape. Call yourself what you will, it changes nothing. We made you. You are ours."

Scott tensed slightly moved fast, ripping the tape away and throwing himself at the voice, eyes blazing red.

The empty room and slight chuckle stared back at him.

He threw himself back into the corner and wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could.

Charles wheeled himself one way, then the other, but somehow, it was no where as satisfying as pacing. Erik looked at him over the rim of his glasses and sighed. "Charles, that is not helping. I need that book over there."

Charles passed the book over. "It's been five days."

"I know, Charles."

"We haven't heard a thing from the W.U.C.D.O. yet."

"I know." Erik flipped through the pages and noted something down. "It would be far simpler to take him back by force."

"No. We don't want to stir up further anti-mutant sentiments. We try to do this legally."

"And if that fails?"

Charles stayed silent, but they both knew the answer. Scott had given Charles' life meaning after everything had broken down around him. He needed him.

Erik nodded. "I thought so. Charles, if you are going to keep distracting me, could you please leave me in peace? And send in Raven, I need her help."

"You promise she won't hurt any of the students?" Charles remembered the last time she had been there.

"She won't. She likes children, she just doesn't like the X-Men. It's a professional thing, you should know that."

"I know." Charles moved to the door, and looked out. Raven sat in the chair, disguised as a rather pretty brunette woman. "Raven?"

She looked up at him and stood, silently, moving inside. Charles moved off down the halls.

He need to catch on a lot of lost sleep.

It was several days later that they received a letter. A section of the World United Countries Defence Organization had sent an Agent Walker to reacquire stolen goods. The court date was set for next week.

Erik had sat with him as he read the letter, holding his hand like he used to. He has gazed up at the well loved face. "How can they treat him like that?"

"I don't know Charles. But we will get him out of there, I promise."

Charles tightened his grip on Erik's hand and closed his eyes, trying to forget it all for a while, and let the pain of too many years fade while he dreamt of should have been.

How long had passed in this cage? WMM-311276 held onto the pillow and stared at the wall. He'd tried blasting it down, but it wouldn't work. He was having difficulty remembering things, the shock treatment and weaver were doing their work. His eyes glowed darker all the time, and he could barely remember the people he had loved.

There was a woman with hair like his eyes, and another one who reminded him of, that stuff that fell in winter. Snow. She had white, snowy hair, but she wasn't old.

There was the man as well. He was really little, or maybe he had sat down. It was hard to picture now. The images and words wouldn't come like they used to.

The weaver did that. It stopped you remembering things that were important.

Charles. The man Charles, he was sure of that. He had helped him somehow.

He shrugged. It didn't really matter, not now. Now, all that was left was the cell.

Beyond that, it didn't matter anymore.

The End