Chapter Text
On the bright, lush meadows of the Xavier Estate, rabbits joyfully hopped around and birds merrily chirped from the trees. The fresh air was filled with an excited hum, the promise of something approaching.
Teletubbies, teletubbies, teletubbies, teletubbies…
High in the sky, the smiling sun watched a car drive up to the mansion. She giggled.
Teletubbies, teletubbies, teletubbies, teletubbies…
It was time.
…
It was a Saturday morning in the middle of spring, and Charles was in his office poring over papers.
If you asked Raven what he was doing, she would certainly say that he was catching up on some unavoidable paperwork, since that was the excuse he’d given her when she’d asked if he wanted to join her on the grounds for some relaxation in the sunshine.
In actuality, though, Charles wasn’t catching up on work; or doing work at all. Instead, the papers scattered around his desk had been meticulously placed to look like work was going on; to ward away anyone from stopping by and trying to get Charles to socialize like Raven had.
Because Charles was not in the mood for any sort of company. He wanted a day to himself. Charles had considered telepathically barring anyone from his office, but even he knew that was probably going too far.
As he pondered the idea of creating a second, secret office to hide away in, Charles suddenly became aware of the presence of a new mind on the school grounds.
Unlike the other dull, uninteresting minds at the school, this one was incredibly entrancing and delightful as it brushed against Charles’ consciousness, and he suddenly felt he might not mind some company after all.
It was, of course, Erik.
Charles smirked. After the battle where they had defeated En Sabah Nur, Erik had been adamant about leaving the school, but Charles had known he’d come crawling back sooner or later.
And now it was looking like that day was today, and Charles had to admit that he hadn’t thought Erik would be back quite so soon. Erik really hadn’t been able to hold out for long—the battle had been on Wednesday.
Erik had lasted all of two days on his own.
“Good morning, Erik,” Charles said cheerily as Erik came barging into his office without bothering to knock, like Charles knew he would. Charles didn’t look up at the man, pretending to be immersed in the papers in front of him. “I must say, I was not expecting you to drop by so soon.”
Taking the seat across from Charles, Erik frowned. “Sure you weren’t,” he groused, clearly spotting how unsurprised Charles was by his abrupt reappearance. “But I thought you’d be happier to see me, Charles. I guess poor taste can’t be helped.”
Deciding not to take the bait, Charles ignored the attempt at banter, gathering up the random papers on his desk and smirking as he finally turned his full attention to Erik. “So—are you here with a request or an offer?”
“Neither,” Erik said, regarding Charles with some hesitation. “I’m here to stay.”
“My friend,” Charles said in surprise before he could stop himself, the words expelling from his mouth in a rushed exhale. For a moment, Charles sat staring at Erik, and then he forced himself to regain his composure, clearing his throat and pretending he wasn’t suddenly feeling hot under the collar. “Where is this coming from? After how adamant you were about leaving, that’s the last thing I’d be expecting.”
“I’ve changed,” Erik said, almost eagerly. He smiled at Charles cautiously, looking like a puppy warily seeking affection from a stranger. “I can see you’re skeptical, Charles, but I’ve been busy these past two days, and I have since learned that isolating myself is not the answer.”
“Have you, now?” Charles mused, finding that he quite liked the idea. “You’re sure this isn’t an excuse to use the mansion as a refuge away from the law? Because if so, I’m more than happy to let you stay regardless. There’s no need to tell me what you think I want to hear.”
Charles could imagine that Erik might have gotten himself entangled in some illegal operation for mutant rights in the past few days, and that was unfortunately more plausible than the enticing possibility that Erik had matured and genuinely wanted to stay. Still, as much as Charles wished that Erik would settle down and stop breaking the law, after everything else Erik had forced upon Charles, helping him evade the authorities would actually be quite tame.
“Nobody’s after me,” Erik snorted. “Not this time. I’ve been busy working for mutant rights, of course, but in a perfectly legal manner. It’s through my job.”
“You have a job?” Charles asked, not bothering to hide his surprise. It had been two days, and Erik’s resume would almost certainly be a mess—if he even had one.
“It’s more than a job. It’s a lifestyle,” Erik said, like some sort of motivational speaker.
Erik leaned back in the armchair, and Charles was pleased to see contentment spreading over the other man’s face. Charles wasn’t the most adept at studying body language or facial expressions, having spent his life relying on his mutation for that kind of information, but he knew Erik well enough to tell that the man was genuinely satisfied with whatever 9-to-5 he’d somehow picked up.
“Where were you able to find work?” Charles couldn’t help but ask, resisting the urge to telepathically find the answer for himself.
Erik’s cheeks reddened. “That doesn’t matter now,” Erik said, waving a hand as though physically brushing away the question. “What matters is that I have a stable career, a new appreciation for peaceful means of gaining equality, and an interest in living here for the time being.”
Erik smiled placidly at Charles as though daring him to press for more information, but Charles could feel the sincerity emanating from the man’s brain, so he simply nodded, deciding not to pry.
“Then welcome home, Erik,” Charles said with a smile. “You’ve been missed.”
Erik grinned back widely, proceeding to levitate a chessboard over to the desk, and as both men immersed themselves in the familiar game, Charles promised to himself to weasel the truth out of Erik when he next had the chance. By any means necessary.
Aside from reading the man’s mind, of course. Charles wasn’t a monster.
That was a distinction reserved for Erik.
…
As Erik and Charles caught up with each other after two whole days apart, downstairs, Peter, Scott, Ororo, Kurt, and Jean were hanging out and idly watching tv.
They’d also turned down Raven’s invitation to go outside and enjoy the sunshine, and they hadn’t even had the grace to give a lie (ahem, an excuse) of being too busy like Charles had.
But that was youth for you. More interested in technology than the outdoors.
They weren’t watching anything that genuinely interested them, though. Only Kurt was really invested in the random program that was playing, excited to have the chance to learn about Saturday morning cartoons. The rest of the group was just chilling, chatting and occasionally snorting at the children’s programming that was on.
And then a very familiar face had walked by the room they were in, striding single-mindedly down the hallway, and that had taken the rest of their attention from the cartoons.
“That was Erik who just passed by the door, right?” Peter asked, sprawled sideways on one of the couches and fiddling with a Rubik’s cube.
“Unless Raven is trying to prank the professor, there’s no one else that that could have been,” Jean replied, scooting closer to Scott to make it easier for him to braid her hair. “And his expression looked way too serious for it to be her.”
A commercial break came on the tv as the current show ended, and Kurt turned away from the tv to look at the group. “What do you think Erik is here for?” he asked.
“As long as he’s not trying to find a long lost son, I couldn’t care less,” Peter grinned nervously.
Peter’s heart rate had jumped upon seeing the familiar face of his dad, since he’d promised himself that he’d tell Erik the truth the next time the man was at the mansion, and that time was now. But how could Peter have known that Erik would only wait two days to come back? Peter was expecting to have at least a decade before he saw the guy again!
“You’re going to have to tell him eventually,” Ororo said, shaking her head at Peter as he stuck his tongue out at her. “You have such daddy issues.”
“Hey,” Peter protested. “Nothing could be my father from the truth.” He clapped a hand over his traitorous mouth as he realized the Freudian slip he’d made.
“What was that, Peter?” Jean asked with a smirk.
“It’s a dad issue,” Peter grumbled, before realizing his newest slipup and deciding it would be safer to just stop speaking altogether.
At least Peter was speaking to people who already knew the truth. Just imagine how awkward it would have been if that had happened around Dadne—MAG. MAGneto. Magneto, that was what he’d totally thought just then. Goddammit.
“Maybe Erik’s here to apply to be a teacher,” Scott said, finishing Jean’s braid and looking pleased with his handiwork.
“There’s no way,” Jean laughed. “What subjects would he even teach? Metal bending? Supervillainy?”
“International diplomacy,” Ororo supplied, and Jean choked.
“Even if he isn’t exactly suited to teaching, what other job would Erik ever even be able to get?” Peter countered. “As you’ve basically pointed out, it’s not like he has many transferable skills.”
Kurt laughed, turning his attention back to the tv as the commercial break ended.
As it so happened, the next show that was on was the Teletubbies, and as the opening theme began, Scott raised his eyebrows.
“Maybe it’s time to change the channel,” Scott said. “This isn’t exactly the Saturday morning cartoon experience like we were trying to show you, Kurt.”
“But this is interesting! I have never heard of these—what are they—tubbies?” Kurt replied, his eyes fixed on the screen.
“Teletubbies,” Peter replied with a snort.
The show began to introduce the teletubbies, revealing each in the usual sequence as upbeat music played.
Tinky Winky was the first, the purple teletubby waving at the camera; followed by Dipsy (green), La La (yellow), and Po (fiery, passionate red). However, as it got to the point where the song usually moved on, in this episode, it strangely didn’t.
Instead, a fifth teletubby jumped onto the screen—a deep, rich blue.
“And now with our friend Metalo!” the British narrator sang, pronouncing the word as Met-ah-lo with a drawn out “ahh,” and the teletubby childishly repeated, “Metalo!” as it danced on screen.
Peter dropped the Rubik's cube and hardly noticed that as it tumbled to the floor, it was somehow shaken up enough that it landed perfectly solved. “Am I high?” he asked distantly, vaguely noticing that everyone else was also staring at the tv.
“Metalo?” Jean asked in shock. “Has anyone ever heard of the teletubby Metalo?”
“That’s not the worst part, though,” Scott said in a numb tone.
Peter had to agree. The worst part was not the existence of a blue teletubby, or even the name Metalo—but what Metalo was wearing.
Because in place of an antenna, on Metalo’s giant tubby head was a huge, plastic, and unmistakable red and purple helmet, and on the teletubby’s back was a matching purple cape.
For reasons as of then unexplained, the blue teletubby Metalo was obviously a caricature of Magneto.
“The teletubbies were in search of beautiful flowers,” the narrator explained as the camera panned across the rolling hills of the Teletubby land. “Dipsy found a beautiful rose.”
“Rose!” Dipsy exclaimed in his high-pitched voice, waving around a rose.
“Tinky Winky discovered a tulip,” the narrator continued, and Tinky Winky cried, “Wow!” as he looked at his tulip.
“Po and La La both came upon a patch of dandelions,” the narrator described.
“Pretty!” Po squealed, while La La nodded enthusiastically.
Peter found himself on the edge of his seat. He wasn’t normally this captivated by the plots of children’s shows, but he felt himself desperately needing to know what plant “Metalo” was about to discover.
“And Metalo found…” the narrator began, as the camera began to move away from Po and La La, “...a treatise on mutant rights!”
“Eh-oh!” Metalo cried childishly, waving around a document. “Want equity!”
“Is this normal for children’s programs?” Kurt asked in a baffled tone.
Peter couldn’t tell if he was amused or horrified. “I can tell you with complete certainty, man—I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.”
“I can’t tell if this is supposed to be serious or not,” Scott said as he stared at the screen, where the teletubbies were joyously comparing what they’d all found. “Are they really trying to promote mutant rights or is this satirical?”
“Does it matter to the toddlers watching this show?” Jean replied with an amused tone.
On screen, the five teletubbies started to dance, the four original ones forming a circle around Metalo. “Even though Metalo is a mutant, the other teletubbies are still friends with him,” the narrator said.
“You’re different!” La La exclaimed as she danced, laughing and clapping her hands together.
“That term is subjective!” Metalo cried in a babyish tone, sounding equally delighted as he danced.
“Definitely ironic,” Ororo determined. “...I hope.”
Suddenly, footsteps and the unmistakable rolling of wheels could be heard, and Erik and Charles’ voices sounded from down the hall. Just their luck. If Erik found out that he was being mocked in such a horrific manner, he’d be furious. They couldn’t let that happen.
“Oh, shit, they’re coming!” Peter cried, diving for the remote and randomly punching in numbers to change the channel, not bothering to check what program it landed on.
It was just in time, because at that moment, Erik and Charles entered the room.
“Good morning, all of you,” Charles exclaimed. “I do hope you’re having a rather fun morning watching…” His eyes turned to the tv, which Peter realized with a choking clarity had been turned to an…ahem, adult content channel. “...Ah. Well,” Charles stuttered, clearing his throat and looking away from that. “I just wanted to inform you all that Erik will be staying at the mansion for the time being.”
Erik nodded tersely, looking like he was doing his best to ignore the moans and gasps coming from the tv.
“Thanks for letting us know,” Scott said in a strangled voice, his cheeks as flaming red as the lenses of his glasses.
“I just didn’t want anyone to be alarmed, given that two days ago, Erik did try to end the world,” Charles said with a very pained smile.
“Lower the volume!” Ororo mouthed at Peter, before turning to the professor. “That is alright; who hasn’t tried to end the world at some point?” she exclaimed loudly in a falsely cheery tone as Peter fumbled to turn down the volume.
“Quite true,” Charles said, his eyes flicking back to the pizzaman on the tv. “I…suppose we’ll…leave you to it, then.” Without waiting for a reply, he wheeled himself quickly out of the room.
“I will never understand the youth these days,” Erik said, shaking his head, and then he was gone, following Charles down the hallway.
Once the two men were out of earshot, Peter slumped down, heaving a sigh of relief.
“At that rate, it might have been better to have the Teletubbies on,” Kurt said, sounding traumatized.
“I’m with you on that, man,” Peter grimaced, changing the channel back.
“I don’t know,” Jean said thoughtfully. “I don’t think Erik would react well to finding out that he’s being mocked on a British kid’s show.”
“He would certainly be furious about it, I am sure,” Ororo agreed.
“Are they even allowed to use his helmet and cape on the show?” Scott asked, his cheeks still bright red as he further diverted the conversation from the failed channel change. “It seems like that violates some sort of copyright, that they’re so blatantly using Erik’s likeness.”
“Could be something to ask the prof,” Peter said with a shrug. “As long as Erik never finds out about this. Or about me being his son.” Of the two, Peter really couldn’t tell which would be worse for Erik to figure out.
“Given how terrible you are at keeping secrets, I’d give it a day or two at most before he finds out about both,” Jean grinned.
Peter laughed. “Should we bet on that?”
Now that Erik had stumbled upon Peter supposedly watching such egregiously inappropriate content with his friends, there was no way in hell he was ever going to learn that Peter was his kid.
…
As Erik and Charles continued on down the hallway, Erik tutted. “If this is how you are running your school, Charles, it is a wonder that it’s even operational.”
“They’re good kids,” Charles protested, reaching Hank’s lab and wheeling himself through the doorway. “I assume—there must have been something educational about that program—I mean—”
“Are you guys talking about Scott and his friends?” Hank asked, his back to them as he peered through his microscope.
“We stumbled upon them watching material that was…not age appropriate, you might say,” Erik said, shuddering at the memory.
Hank spun around in his chair, pulling off his gloves with a sharp snap. “Don’t worry—they weren’t watching anything they were actually interested in.”
“Oh?” Charles asked, looking quite like a drowning man desperately reaching for a life preserver. “Is there a reason for such…”
Hank nodded, seeming way too calm about the whole thing. “Peter told me earlier that Kurt was really wanting the classic American childhood experience, so they were planning to suffer through a few hours of bad programming for his cultural education.”
“Childhood experience?” Erik gaped, as Charles gasped out, “Cultural education?!”
“Don’t tell me neither of you guys ever watched that sort of thing. It may be objectively bad, but there’s a sort of charm to it, isn’t there?” Hank said eagerly.
“Hank, you worry me,” Charles said, exchanging a glance with Erik at the thought of Hank spending his childhood consuming such adult material. “I assume this was a guilty pleasure of yours?”
“I guess,” Hank said, sounding slightly more embarrassed. “I think I just found Miss Frizzle really pretty.”
Charles felt himself growing faint, reaching out and clutching onto Erik’s arm to steady himself, his other hand tightly gripping the handle of his wheelchair. “Dear god, Hank. Miss Frizzle was in the X-rated shows you watched?”
Hank spluttered. “What?”
“You disgust me,” Erik spat.
“Who—who said anything about that?” Hank stammered, his eyes wide.
Charles frowned at him, narrowing his eyes. “That was what we discovered Peter and his friends watching, and it seemed, what you have claimed to watch yourself.”
The color drained out of Hank’s face, and he nervously pushed his glasses up on his face. “I meant—children’s cartoons! That was what Peter said he was going to show Kurt!”
Charles let out a long exhale as Erik struggled to suppress a smile.
“Well, that’s relieving to clear up,” Erik said, crossing his arms.
“In that case, I suppose there is nothing wrong with finding a character in a children’s show attractive,” Charles mused. “Growing up, I myself was quite fond of the red teletubby. She had quite a vibrance. Although her name escapes me now—”
“Po,” Erik filled in immediately, with confidence.
“How do you know that?” Charles marveled. He knew Erik hadn’t watched much tv growing up, and given that the Teletubbies was a British show, it was unlikely it would have reached the man—or that the name of one of the teletubbies would have stuck with Erik after so many years. “Did you grow up watching them, too?”
“Let’s just say I recently educated myself,” Erik supplied. “Through immersion.”
“Immersion in the Teletubbies?” Hank confirmed skeptically. He cast a glance back at his microscope. “I would be very interested in studying the neurological impulses which motivated that decision.”
Before Erik could respond, Raven entered the room, coming to a stop beside Erik. “I see you’ve found your way back to the mansion,” she noted with amusement, and Erik shrugged. “How does it feel being the only person able to get Charles out of his study?”
“I—I have quite a lot of paperwork, Raven,” Charles insisted, thinking back to the random papers on his desk.
Raven snorted. “Sure, Charles. Sure you do. So what are you guys talking about?”
“The Teletubbies,” Hank admitted when neither Erik nor Charles replied, looking grateful to no longer be talking about the…other type of entertainment.
“Oh, did you guys hear about the new blue mutant teletubby?” Raven asked.
If she hadn’t looked so serious, Charles would have written it off as a joke, but there was no hint of amusement on her face whatsoever. Even worse, neither Hank nor Erik looked surprised.
“A blue teletubby?” Charles mused. “What shape is his head antenna?”
“He doesn’t have one,” Raven said with a frown. “He wears a helmet.”
Charles’ gaze immediately jumped to Erik, whose gaze was stoic.
“And his name is Metalo,” Raven added. Though she pronounced the word as Meh-tah-lo, Charles immediately realized that the name was, in essence, metal-O.
“The helmet wasn’t a coincidence, I suppose,” Charles said, cautiously trying to gauge Erik’s emotional state with his mutation. Strangely, when Charles’ mind brushed up tentatively against Erik’s, he didn’t encounter any frustration or irritation, but oddly enough, a sort of pride.
“It’s really offensive,” Hank said. “The mutant rights agenda is overdone to the point of appearing satirical, and the entire character is a mockery of those who seek equality in society.”
For some reason, it was those words that finally ignited Erik’s anger, and Charles winced back as the rage flooded over to his mind.
“You’re wrong,” Erik said quietly, his eyes boring into Hank’s soul. “Metalo is a hero.”
“A hero?” Raven scoffed, not realizing the danger in provoking Erik when he was already incensed. “Did you hear his speech about overcoming differences in the last episode? In full, British-accented babytalk?”
“I did more than hear it,” Erik said cryptically with a piercing glare.
Suddenly, a harsh ringing sliced through the tension in the room, and Charles lightly flinched, and then sighed as he realized the phone in his office was ringing.
“I suppose I’ll need to get that,” Charles said, partly disappointed to be drawn away for actual work but also relieved to escape the odd debate going on. “Erik, would you like to accompany me?”
“Why? Worried I’ll leave again? Or do you just want me to follow you around like some sort of pet?” Erik snarked, but he followed Charles out of the room without an argument as pleasure at being invited along emanated strongly from his mind.
As Charles wheeled himself down the hallway, he chanced a look up at Erik. “Did you mean what you were saying about Metalo being a force for good? Even if he is not as radical as you might hope?” Charles asked, taking care to pronounce the name just as everyone else had.
“Of course,” Erik replied without an ounce of hesitation. “If there is anything I have learned from my past, it is that violence is not always the answer. Using a children’s program as a platform for spreading a message can be a surprisingly impactful endeavor.”
Something about Erik’s certainty made it seem as though there was some puzzle piece that Charles was missing, but they had reached his office, so he wheeled himself over to the phone, deciding to ponder it later as he turned his attention to dealing with whoever was calling.
“Professor Charles Xavier,” Charles said once he’d picked up the phone, Erik settling down in his usual armchair.
“Good morning, Professor Xavier,” a stately voice came across the line. “This is the President, calling directly from the Oval Office.”
Charles’ eyes widened, and he made sure to send a suitably shocked expression at Erik before composing himself. “Mr. President. What an honor to be speaking with you! What can I do for you?” Charles asked, trying not to sound too eager.
“Given your unique platform as mutants, I was hoping to speak with you about your public image and the way in which it has reflected on the American government,” the president intoned.
Charles felt his heart sink. “Mr. President, I am sorry, but as much as I appreciate the opportunity, I must say I cannot endorse your political or fiscal policies, given that they do not properly address—”
“I am not asking for a public endorsement,” the president cut in with a chuckle. “I’m actually here to offer my sincerest congratulations.”
“You’d like to congratulate me?” Charles said, wracking his brain for any recent activist work he might have done. He just did so much for mutants, that it was hard to put his finger on any specific thing, but it meant a lot that his work was reaching the president, of all people…
“I’d like to congratulate Erik Lehnsherr, actually,” the president corrected. “But seeing as we do not have his contact information and the two of you are remarkably close, I thought I might as well ask you to pass the message along.”
“Certainly,” Charles said flatly, unable to think of a single reason why Erik would be the one congratulated by the president instead of him.
Charles just couldn’t imagine Erik doing any peaceful pro-mutant work that would genuinely benefit the country, and he tried to communicate his distaste silently to Erik through a series of complicated hand motions and expressions.
Erik stared at him, baffled, and Charles gave it up.
“I wanted to personally be the one to say that it has been determined by the Norwegian Nobel Committee that Erik Lehnsherr is to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize,” the president intoned.
Charles couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me, Mr. President,” Charles said breathlessly, clutching the phone tightly. “But are you aware of what you’re saying?”
“I know—it’s hilarious that it took so long for him to be awarded it,” the president laughed, missing the point. “I don’t know anyone more deserving.”
“Sorry, but could you enlighten me as to the specifics of why Erik is being awarded this high distinction?” Charles asked, and Erik sat up straight in his chair, looking interested. Charles shot him a thumbs down.
“It was unanimously determined by governments around the world that Erik Lehnsherr has done more for promoting world peace and equality in the past two days than anyone has done in centuries,” the president explained. “I am referring, of course, to his work as the blue teletubby Metalo.”
Charles dropped the phone, fumbling to catch it before it could hit the floor, and put it back to his ear with a shaking hand.
“I was—I was not aware that—” Charles stammered, before realizing who he was talking to and snapping his mouth shut, trying to process the shock swirling through him. “Thank you for calling, Mr. President. I will be sure to pass on the news to him.”
“Very kind of you, Professor Xavier,” the president replied. “It was very well deserved. Please let Mr. Lehnsherr—no, let Mr. Metalo know that he is welcome around the White House anytime. I would be honored to meet the mutant so famously known for his peacekeeping abilities.”
“Yes. Quite understandable,” Charles managed. “You wanker.”
“Excuse me?” the president asked, sounding confused.
“That’s…dank…sir,” Charles quickly corrected, his heart pounding. “That’s what I said, of course. Yes. Because Erik is famous for promoting peace. And I agree with that. Right. Of course.” Realizing he’d irrevocably ruined the conversation, Charles settled for making crackling noises out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, but I’m going through a tunnel,” Charles said, warping his voice. “I’m—losing—you—” With that, he hung up the phone.
“Did you just call the president a wanker, Charles?” Erik asked with amusement.
Charles wanted to punch his stupid, peace-loving face. “Maybe.”
Erik eagerly leaned forward. “Why was he calling? Something about me?”
“Well spotted, Erik,” Charles groused, wishing he could just unwind the past five minutes. “I don’t suppose you were able to hear what the president was saying about you?”
Erik’s eyes carefully studied Charles’ face, landing on his lips. “I didn’t hear, but it was regarding my work as Metalo, I presume.”
Charles felt such a rush of anger at the words that he couldn’t help but realize how ridiculous he was being, and he started to laugh. “Yes, it was about Metalo. You’ve been awarded a Nobel Peace Prize. For apparently being a blue teletubby. Is this real life?”
A wide, shark-like grin spread across Erik’s face, and he jumped out of his seat, pacing back and forth with excited energy.
“I can’t believe this,” Erik exclaimed. “I knew, of course, how central my portrayal of Metalo has been in securing world peace, but who knew that world leaders would be able to get their act together so quickly?” He stopped pacing, shaking his head in amazement at Charles. “Two days of being Metalo have made a bigger difference than everything I dedicated myself to in the past two decades of my life. If only I’d known that this was the key to securing mutant rights! Cuba never would have happened.”
Charles frowned at Erik. “Excuse me?”
Erik had the grace to look slightly ashamed as he lowered himself back into the armchair.
“What happened to ‘peace was never an option,’ then?” Charles challenged.
“Peace was never an option…until the Teletubbies were invented,” Erik finished solemnly.
“Let’s talk this through, Erik,” Charles said. “Please retrieve us a chess set so that we can properly argue over it, like the old days.”
“We were just arguing over a chess board a few hours ago,” Erik pointed out as he levitated the set back over. “But this is certainly the best way to symbolically express our differing points of view, so I’ll allow it regardless.”
Charles took his turn first, leaning over and moving one of his pieces, a white pawn, forward a single space. “Appearing on a children’s tv show is a far cry from targeting political leaders,” he began, starting the debate off.
Erik moved one of his black pawns two spaces forward with his mutation, his eyes locked on Charles. “That is what you’d think, Charles. It’s what everyone has been conditioned to think.”
“What good can dancing around on the telly in a blue suit really do?” Charles asked, moving another pawn forward. “Do you genuinely think that’s the most effective form of activism?”
Erik seemed to take offense at that, and he slowly maneuvered one of his knights two spaces forward and one to the left. “Perhaps you need to be enlightened as to just how effective tubby talking is. I would be happy to demonstrate, if you would like.”
“By all means, Erik,” Charles laughed, moving his king backward on the board. “Show me.”
“You must start the conversation off,” Erik said as he moved one of Charles’ rooks. “Go on, continue our debate, and I’ll reply with the uniquely demonstrative language of the teletubbies.”
Charles tossed one of his pawns off of the board. “I cannot imagine that the Teletubbies would ever be taken seriously on a topic as divisive as mutant rights.”
Switching Charles’ king with his own, Erik took a deep breath, and then pasted a wide smile on his face. “Eh-oh!” he exclaimed childishly with a wave.
“Really, Erik, would it not be a better use of time to protest against governmental mutant registration acts rather than appearing on tv as a lovable fictional creature?” Charles asked, vaguely realizing that he was, for once, arguing for Erik to take more radical action, rather than less. As an afterthought, Charles realized it was his turn in the chess game, and after a moment of consideration, he ate one of his bishops.
Erik had clearly anticipated the move, and with a glint in his eye that told Charles he was playing into Erik’s hands, the man quickly picked up one of his knights and balanced it on his head. It was a bold move in the game, but one that could certainly pay off, if Erik followed it with careful subsequent turns. He giggled in his Metalo voice. “Tubby toast! Tubby toast!” Erik exclaimed.
“This is the supposedly important dialogue you’re claiming to spread to your audiences?” Charles asked with a snort as he took Erik’s knight from the man’s head and placed it on top of one of his pawns; a bold move of his own.
“Again! Again!” Erik cried in a childish shout, clapping his hands. Though his mannerisms were comical, the look in his eyes was one of deadly clarity. Erik waved a hand, sending three of his pawns forward.
Damn. That put Erik in a really good position for winning. As Charles had been distracted by the conversation, it was looking like Erik had backed Charles into a corner with the chess game—that had probably been his strategy all along.
“Alright, Erik, the childish speaking patterns are getting old,” Charles sighed as he moved one of his pawns backward a few spaces. “You’ve made your point; now let’s speak normally.”
“Metalo no-no!” Erik said emphatically, waggling a finger at Charles. He flicked his queen so that it toppled over and surveyed the chess board triumphantly. “Check-diddly-doo!”
“How in the world—” Charles breathed as he realized that his king was indeed in jeopardy and Erik was very close to winning the game. Taking a chance, Charles pressed one of his knights into one of his rooks, cementing their love.
Apparently it was not the right move to make, for Erik’s smile widened. “Time for tubby bye-bye!” He sent one of his pawns hurtling forward until it was right next to Charles’ king. “Checkmate.” Of course, that single, smug word was said in Erik’s genuine voice.
Charles examined the board, discovering that Erik was right—there was no space that Charles would be able to move his king that would save it. Somehow, while speaking in single, practically nonsensical words, Erik had maintained enough brain cells to win the chess game.
Deciding not to be a bad sport and to let Erik go through with taking his king, Charles moved his queen in a heart-shaped pattern around the knight and rook, and Erik easily slid his pawn to the side and finished the game.
“Congratulations, Erik, you’ve done the impossible,” Charles said, not referring to the game in any sense except possibly an allegorical one.
Erik picked up on the double meaning of Charles’ words, raising an eyebrow. “Did I manage to convince you of the power of tubby talk, then?”
Charles massaged his temples and privately decided that he deserved a few days off from this nonsense. “No, but you have convinced me that there is somehow something more annoying than your horrendous takes on violence for the sake of mutant rights. I must admit, I never thought it would be possible, but here we are.”
Erik blinked in surprise and looked at Charles for a long moment, disappointment clearly radiating off of him.
“I see how it is,” Erik spat, standing up. “I thought—but no—you don’t respect Metalo.” He made his way to the door.
“Erik, wait,” Charles called. “Don’t go.”
Erik turned back briefly to look at Charles, a wounded expression in his eyes. “Words hurt, Charles.”
With those three impactful words, he was gone.
For a moment, Charles briefly considered feeling bad for apparently hurting Erik’s feelings about his work as the teletubby Metalo, but then Charles remembered that Erik was now the recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize, and he decided that it all evened out.
