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Healing	By : AngelofSnow Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > Het - Male/Female Views: 4233 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the X-Men movies, or any of the characters from them. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Healing

Title: Healing
Verse: X-Men movieverse
Timeline: post X-Men: The Last Stand
Author: AngelofSnow
Pairing: Eventual Rogue/Magneto
Rating: Eventual M – nothing bad in this chapter
Disclaimer: I don’t own the X-Men. I am not making any money
off of this.
Summary: The Cure is only temporary. While healing Rogue and
Magneto find each other and realize they have more in common than they
originally thought.�

Better Summary: This
story is the author’s take on what might happen to Magneto and Rogue when the
Cure wears off. As their mutations return, they meet. Magneto attempts to
reunite the Brotherhood; Rogue attempts to control her deadly skin. Life is not
easy for Rogue and she discovers Magneto may be the only one who can help her.
This story features a romance between Magneto and Rogue eventually, so if
you’re against that, read no further. This story also contains some of the best
smut ever written on fanfiction dot net, if you’re into that sort of thing.
It’s tastefully done too.

Soundtrack: I recommend
the song “Creep” by Stone Temple Pilots. Erik feels like half the man he used
to be.

Notes: This story
contains spoilers for X-Men: The Last Stand. So if for some odd reason you have
yet to see that movie, don’t read this. This story follows movie canon, as I am
mostly unfamiliar with the comics and cartoons. There are a few storylines from
the comics weaved in, but I promise you’ll understand them even if you are
completely unfamiliar with the comics.

Chapter One:
Skillets

Magneto:

�� At first, he
had considered suicide. It had taken him several weeks to completely dismiss
the idea from his head. It was beneath him to take the coward’s way out. Still the
prospect of facing the rest of his life as such a changed man was not
appealing. He felt weak. He felt human.
For the first time he felt his age. He knew he was no longer young. He knew he
was getting older; the evidence greeted him every morning when he looked in the
mirror. He was sixty-seven for heaven’s sake. But he had never felt old before.

�� It was
difficult adapting. He had not returned to his fortress. It was too difficult
to face what had once been the center of his power. All that metal… He wasn’t ready yet. Besides, how would he have
opened the door to his own room? It was made of metal and he had purposefully
never put a doorknob on it.

�� So he rented
a small apartment in San Francisco
and filled it with wooden furniture. He bought several cheap Ikea d�cor plastic
lamps. He used only disposable Bic razors; the ones with the plastic handles
and barely two blades to shave with. He even bought that ridiculous new age
flexible plastic cookware. It was a nightmare to cook with. The red plastic
skillet burned everything he made in it and it was a fight to remove the egg
residue that stuck to it. Yet he never considered buying a good metal skillet.

He lived on as little money as
could, hesitating to withdraw more than was necessary from his foreign bank
accounts. He was still considered a wanted man to the U.S. government.
Every so often, he would see his picture on CNN with the words “dangerous
mutant terrorist” underneath it. He always laughed when it came on the screen. If they only knew…

He began making plans to settle in San Francisco. He
considered taking a job as a guest lecturer at the University of San Francisco.
Perhaps when enough time had passed from the battle at the Golden Gate Bridge
he could get a full time job teaching there. He didn’t dare lecture on Mutant Relations,
though that was obviously a subject he felt passionately about and the one he
knew best. He would surely be recognized as Magneto if he did. Instead, he
talked with the school’s Rabbi about doing a Holocaust lecture.

On warm days he would go to the
park just to leave his apartment. Occasionally he played chess there,
eventually playing against a man named Jonas. Jonas was very old, Erik guessed
in his eighties and he never spoke aloud. Erik liked that. When he tried
playing against other opponents they had annoyed him with their mindless
prattle. They seemed so human. Erik
could beat Jonas without much effort. He missed Charles terribly.

The loss of his closest friend
weighed heavily on him. He was only now beginning to deal with his grief. As
much as he had disagreed with Xavier’s politics and as much as they had been
enemies, it meant nothing to Erik. They had still been friends. They had had
the type of friendship were no matter what came between them (the Statue of
Liberty incident) and no matter how long they went without speaking (his
plastic incarceration), they picked right back up again as though nothing had
happened. Even though he could never accept his friend’s peaceful placating
methods, Erik never for one moment stopped caring about Charles. He found
himself wondering if there was more he could have done to prevent his friend’s
death. The wolverine’s accusation that he hadn’t tried to save Xavier from the Phoenix struck a cord. Perhaps, if he hadn’t goaded Jean so much
about unleashing her power? Or if he had tried to fight her with Charles? They
could have… Magneto was not someone who second guessed himself or regretted
a necessary sacrifice if it benefited his cause of mutant supremacy. But he
wasn’t Magneto anymore. He was only Erik Lensherr. And Erik had regrets.

00000000000000

It started with a paper clip. It
had moved away from him when he tried to pick it up. He thought for a moment it
might be static electricity or his eyes giving out on him. But when his fingers
had neared the paper clip again, it moved. He didn’t feel the hum of metal around
him and he could not move the paper clip towards him, only away, but it was a
start.

A week later he could move the
chess pieces around on the board in the park. He began to hope. It was three
months after he had been stabbed with four doses of the “Cure” while on the Golden Gate Bridge. Eagerly he searched the net for
information about mutants who had also taken the Cure. He found blogs by
several mutants who were regaining their powers. Apparently, the glorious Cure
had only brought temporary relief. It was said that Cure only lasted three or four
months and then mutations returned in about another two months. He had had four
doses and his immune system was older and slower to remove the drug from his
system. He knew he was facing a long recovery.

But recover he would. For now he
would bide his time and heal. Just the thought of no longer being weak made him
feel years younger. Without his powers he felt exposed, defenseless. He had
nightmares about the camps again and being unable to fight back. Now his
thoughts strayed back to his abandoned cause. He began to dream again his old
dreams of a separate land for mutants.

After another two weeks he could
levitate small metallic objects and the faint hum in his mind of nearby metal had
returned. He bought himself a $38 Kitchenaid iron skillet.

0000000000000

Notes: This is my
first fic I’ve posted on ff net and I haven’t really been writing seriously for
a while, so I’m probably very rusty. However, I’m currently living in an
apartment that F. Scott Fitzgerald used to live in and it’s inspired me to
write again.

Preview: Next
chapter we see how Rogue has been fairing now that she can touch. It turns out
she is really ticklish.
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Healing