Author's Notes: Many thanks and pans of gooey fudgey brownies to PoiLass, Alara, Infernal_Ice, Ana, and my friendly school friends for putting up with me and weeding through these, and Alara and Poi for straightening out my Chuck 'nun' episode. So the guy's not telekinetic. It was an honest mistake. =) On with the story.

Of Moons and Men

The sky was clear, surprisingly, and the moon shone down on the diamond world beneath it with a cold impassiveness. It cared not for the tears shed, for the hearts broken, for the rage released. It cared nothing for the decisions to be made that night. Truly, the moon was a bitch.

Magda closed her eyes against the almost malevolent glow of the sky and tried to keep the tears back. It wasn't as difficult as she'd imagined it would be. There was nothing left to feel, now. Like the moon, she watched everything with a cold impassiveness, not knowing what would happen, yet not the least bit apprehensive. She was blaise about saving the world.

The thought did little to stir any real emotion from her. Her baby was dead. She'd carried that little soul inside her for nine months, had brought it into the world, and cared for it for such a short time. What had she done, that her son was taken from her?

Been married to a mutant? Surely that's what her husband was thinking, if he was even thinking in his rage. She knew the extent of it, had seen it many times, had seen him use that rage to kill. She'd seen the man possessed by such a fiery demon of hate that it had made her want to flee in terror from him. And even now, she did not know why she had not. Truly, he could have become a monster. Yet nature balanced all things, and anyone capable of such destruction was also capable of such gentleness. And she knew that there was no one as gentle as Eric Magnus Lehnsherr. She was reminded every time she watched him with the children, every time he touched her, every time they made love . . . there was no touch as gentle as his, and no rage greater.

And that rage was centered on four drunk souls, four drunk humans that would not be able to defend themselves, did not have a chance.

They hadn't attacked because Eric was the mutant Magneto. They had attacked because they had seen the menorahs in the windows, had thrown the bricks at the symbols of Judeism. Because they were drunk, and they let their hate fly uncontrolled.

As she had allowed her Hate to fly, uncontrolled, after them.

It wasn't fair to think of him as such, though she knew that was how he saw himself, now, if his rage had cooled. He was so full of hate, so afraid to love. But when he did love, he loved with every fiber of his being. Nature must balance.

She opened her eyes again. Charles was driving as fast as the roads would allow, following swerving tracks in the snow, in the darkness. Thankfully no more was falling from the clear sky. Because the moon in all her uncaring air wanted to watch? Or because she wanted to be kind?

Nature must balance.

"I'm sorry, Magda, I can't find him. He's shielding himself from me."

She merely nodded; where the tracks ended, so would their search.

And what would she do, once they arrived? Would her husband even listen to her? Would he be as he was so long ago, cold and moon-like, stone and miserable? Would he comfort her, or would he leave her? Would he understand that the only thing she could do was love him, even now?

And could she? Watching his rage, being right there had been almost enough to make her flee him, so many years ago. Could she be brave again, when the world that had taken her son seemed so determined to take her lover?

Charles rounded the rented vehicle around a sharp turn, the tires crushing the snow with a vicious sound. The drunks had been heading right towards the lake, and at high speed, judging by how far they skidded. She wondered if perhaps her husband had caught them here, dragged the truck towards the lake. She wondered if they'd have to wait till summer to recover the bodies.

Then she saw the truck. It looked slightly smaller than a pickup truck should, narrower, trimmer. She could see frantic motion inside the cab, could see that the windshield was broken, yet jammed in on itself. The windows were fogged up, the people inside nearly hysterical. A lone figure stood in front of the vehicle, silohetted against headlights that still functioned. Behind was the smooth ice of the lake.

They'd been down here yesterday. Eric had taken the kids ice skating that morning, keeping little Gianna's skates from slipping out from underneath her the old-fashioned way, by skating alongside and holding her mittened hand. Magda had sat on the bench to the figure's right, watching them, saving her strength for the party.

Never knowing how very much she'd need every bit, right now.

Charles pulled the car to a stop, not bothering with his wheelchair. He merely opened the car door and stared at the man. Magnus didn't move, didn't acknowlege, but she knew that he knew they were there.

She stood from the car slowly, still completely free of emotion, not afraid, not anxious, just . . . empty. Like the sky. Like the moon.

She walked over slowly, able now to hear the men's frantic cries for help. Apparently he'd pinned their legs with the dashboard, making it all but impossible for them to crawl out. They beat against the windows clumsily as they saw her, screaming for help. It came as a shock to her, hearing a voice in her mind.

#They don't recognize you. They've never seen either of you before. They were merely passing though, having been to a party earlier, several miles up your road. They don't know that they've . . . what they've done.#

*I know,* she though in his general direction, hoping that was the way telepathy was supposed to work. She wasn't sure if he heard her or not, he didn't stir, merely watched Eric.

The figure finally spoke, a deep baritone. "I am stronger than you, Charles. You cannot stop me."

Yes, the voice was _his_ voice. Cold, pitiless, filled with rage. Nothing but rage. But she knew, she knew surely he must be suffering - yet she was not. She was as cold as the moon, now. She felt nothing; why should he?

Charles appeared to be keeping his thoughts to himself. "Eric, I only ask you to consider your actions."

A laugh colder than ice on the lake shattered through the night. "I considered my actions the moment I heard the glass break, Charles. I have no choice."

"There is always a choice, Magnus."

The figure half-turned, and Magda was still behind and out of sight. It hit her like a blast of wind - he didn't realize she was there. She was standing on swept concrete, and she hadn't shut the car door. But surely he sensed her -

"The choice was made for me by these . . . gentlemen, Charles." His voice was still cold, still nothing but rage, and yet he wasn't yelling. He hadn't raised his voice.

Charles did. "Listen to yourself! Do you really want to throw it all away? Dammit, Magnus, I saw you tonight, a happy man, a satisifed man! You have a home here, Magnus, a family. Surely these four men aren't worth the price you're so eager to pay."

"They are the ones that called for blood this night, and the night shall receive it. Please, take Magda home. She'll catch cold." His voice never changed, carried very little inflection. It was as though the words were spoken automatically, unnoticed in the fire that burned brightly in his soul.

And then, from somewhere deep within her, she found the same rage. Nature must balance.

"How dare you?" Eric turned his head, little else. His shoulders had an almost resigned set to them, his whole manner that of expecting the storm that was about to be unleashed, and accepting it.

"How dare you speak about me as though I'm not standing right here?" She approached him. "How _dare_ you?!?" He turned completely as she came into striking distance of him. Her eyes burned with the cold light of the moon reflecting on black onyx, her face snarled.

She did strike, with a viciousness she had not known she possesed, slapping him across the face with her palm. He didn't flinch from the blow, but as he turned his head back, his surprise was obvious, if only for an instant. She gave him no more time.

"How dare you?" And the rage was gone; she'd had her letting out, and all she felt now was sadness, overwhelming grief. Her son, her beautiful baby boy, was dead. Gone, before he had even said his first word. Gone before he'd even seen the world. Gone before she could tell him how very much she loved him.

And was she making the same mistake? Would she make the same mistake, here, now?

She threw her arms around the figure and began to cry, hot tears that brought back life to frozen cheeks, frozen eyes. Tears that brought back life to a soul entrapped in cold. Tears that starting the long, slow process of healing. Tears that he had not yet begun to shed.

"I love you, I love you, Eric, they took my son, they took my baby-" The rest, though as important as anything she'd ever said in her life, was made intelligable by her sobs, wracking her tired frame, which felt so empty, so alone.

And arms did come around her, gently, as gentle as the trickling of a tiny brook, as gentle as the carress of a feather.

"I know, Magda, I know."

And despite the gentleness of the words themselves, her rage returned.

"You don't know!" she screamed with the power of a siryn, yanking out of his embrace. "You don't know how it feels to look at a part of you, something that was inside of you, and to know that you're holding a part of you that has died! You don't know how that feels! You don't _know_!" Needing to strike out at anything, and the nearest thing being her husband, she began to pummel him, wild swings. He had taught her rudimentary hand-to-hand, just in case there ever came a time he was not there to protect her, but all that knowlegde slipped away as she attacked without aim or thought.

How he could assume that he could understand that feeling? How could he be so arrogant as to believe that his hate and his hurt were the greatest? He hadn't dealt with morning sickness for months. He hadn't been the one with the swollen ankles. _He_ hadn't been the one to be woken up at one in the morning as the tiny bundle of life kicked fitfully at the walls of the womb. _He_ hadn't -

And how could she assume that her pain was greater than his?

Sometime during her thoughts, he had caught her hands in a gentle grasp, though he could have crushed them, would have crushed them if she'd been anyone else and dared to touch Magneto. Her tired knees gave way beneath her and she fell, yet she never touched the snow. He had her, arms around her to support her, leaning her against him, a pillar of strength, a mountain of strength. And she was shaming him, she was weak. She cried, and cried, into his sweater, no longer cold, no longer unfeeling, no longer sure. She could hear him throught her tears.

"Magda, forgive me, my love. I brought this upon us. I should have been more careful, I should have-"

"Shut the hell up," she choked out, around a hideously dry and large lump in her throat. "Just shut up, you stupid, arrogant man. You aren't the reason, I'm not the reason, the menorahs were the reason. They don't even know who we are, they don't live near here."

She met his eyes, his in shadow, hers shining with the light of the callously observing moon.

"They don't even know us." The anger and bitterness of her voice crumbled to hurt and confusion. "Why would they do this? Why would they hate us for the God we worship?"

He reached up a hand to stroke a tear-soaked lock of hair from her eyes, his not so full of anger, of hate. Eyes that were just beginning to feel, just a little.

"I don't know, Magda."

She leaned up, somehow finding just enough strength in trembling knees to straighten, nestling her head into the crook between his neck and his chin. She played her final card, her last shot at keeping the only man she'd ever loved, completely unconsciously.

"Take me home, Eric."

He stiffened; she felt him stiffen, felt the conflict within him, the sides of his life warring with one another all over again. She realized that she was losing him, yet did nothing. The feelings were gone. The moon had returned to her, to lend her the strength to remain unmoving in his arms. It had to be a decision he made all on his own. And she knew, without a doubt, what it would be. The man was gone, as he had nearly disappeared years ago, when those that would kill her children had incurred his wrath.

As these men before her, now silent, had done this night. The tears did not run, and the thoughts were without venom. These men killed her baby, as they were even now killing her husband, the man she loved, the man that slipped further and further.

He had almost gone, Eric had almost fled before Magneto when those that would kill his children were before him. Now these men had killed his child, and were before him. And Magneto was the one holding her as surely as there was snow on the ground. It was Magneto that tried to comfort her, as he would any helpless woman. As he would any helpless victim. Eric wouldn't have hesitated.

And what right had she to keep him in this town, keep Magneto at bay while she cultivated the man she loved? What right had she to force him to make this decision? Which was real, Eric or Magnus?

And what would she do if he did leave? How would she cope? She and the children couldn't go on without him; his construction company was the only income they had. Who would watch them if she had to go to work? Who would hold her at night and fight off the chill? Who would throw a pot of cold water on her while she was in the shower? He couldn't go. She couldn't let him. She loved him. Couldn't he see that she was as in love with him now as she had been when they'd first met? Couldn't he see that this was not his fault? Couldn't he see that she needed him?

"As you wish," he told her quietly, kissing her head. The ice in her heart broke, shattering into billions of pieces and melting away to memory, melting the hurt, just a little. The ground vanished from beneath her feet and soon they were flying, flying through the icy wind that somehow didn't cut. And the moon shone down brightly upon them, lighting the way home.

Back to Mitai's Index Page.