Thirteen Days: The Sun Came Up Today

[x-avier.livejournal.com]

A meeting in the Oval Office provides some closure.


"You look like you haven't slept much in the last two weeks, Professor." The observation was made almost idly, but the eyes of the man sitting across from Charles were sharp over the rim of the china cup as he sipped at his coffee.

Charles smiled slightly, taking a sip of his tea before he answered. "If you'll forgive me for being frank, Mr. President, the same could be said of you," he said mildly. The Oval Office was quiet around them, empty save for the two of them and the Secret Service agent standing by the door. Not Val Cooper, which had surprised Charles; he had half-expected her to be at this meeting. "I imagine that we both discovered a shortage of hours in the day during this latest crisis."

"That would be a fair assumption," said Jonathan McKenna, as he suppressed a sigh. "Damage control is not my favorite way to spend my time. I always seem to do more of it than I'd like." The faint, ironic smile he gave Charles then was not the practiced politician's expression most Americans saw from this man on television. "Then again, what isn't damage control, when it comes to Magneto?"

"Indeed," Charles murmured pensively, staring down into his teacup for a moment. "I do hold out hope of managing to be proactive with regards to Erik. Someday, perhaps..."

"Personally, Charles, this time around I'd have settled for being proactive with regards to the satellite weapons system the damned Russians snuck into orbit under our noses. I wonder sometimes why the United States of America bothers with intelligence agencies," was McKenna's tart reply. His mouth twisted slightly, however, as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "That wasn't entirely fair of me. But it does highlight something important. It seems that in addition to trying to find Magneto, we also need to watch out for what neighbors and allies might be doing in the same cause."

Charles looked up, focusing fully on the President once more. "May I ask where the situation stands with the Russians right now, Mr. President?" he inquired diplomatically. The question was somewhat presumptuous, but he was hoping for more details.

McKenna smiled slightly. "That would be why we're having this meeting, Professor." He sipped at his coffee, looking reflective. "Have you ever heard of a General Anatoly Sumarokov?" he asked after a moment's pause.

"I'm afraid the only Sumarokov I know is the eighteenth-century playwright," Charles said, pondering the sudden question. It was unlikely to be a non sequitur.

"Well, his namesake is very much alive - for now - and chiefly responsible for the mess we found ourselves in this month. He and Bill Stryker would have gotten along like a house on fire, from the sounds of it." McKenna set his cup down carefully on the equally exquisite china saucer, then folded his hands together as he leaned back in his chair. "He oversaw the creation of this weapons system. Developed the design in secret with a group of pet engineers, and launched the satellites under the guise of spy satellites - right under the noses of his own government, never mind us."

Charles blinked. "The parallel is... rather startling." McKenna gave a bark of laughter, and Charles grimaced slightly as he went on. He hadn't intended to bring up old history. "Apologies, Mr. President. But it is something of a relief to know that this was not approved by the Russian government."

"Agreed," McKenna said briskly. "A rogue group is one thing; the Russians losing their collective minds is another." He fiddled with one cufflink, his gaze moving around the Oval Office for a moment, as if reassuring himself that it was still here. "They're doing what they can to root out all his people. He had allies in various branches of their government and military, of course. Would have needed them, to pull this off and set Magneto up like he did."

"I would imagine they'll be quite occupied for some time with this," Charles said, having some knowledge of just how difficult it had been for the man sitting across from him to clean up after William Stryker. "And the satellites themselves?"

"The satellites will be decommissioned, under our supervision," McKenna said, and gave Charles a somewhat sardonic smile. "I doubt your people were thinking about this when they brought back those cosmonauts and some of those prisoners, but what they gave us was leverage, Professor. We have witnesses who can testify to what went on, and they stay with us, not the Russians. The two cosmonauts have actually requested asylum. They were entirely unaware of what was happening until the Brotherhood showed up on their doorstep, can you imagine that?"

Charles suspected it would be best not to pry into the conditions of that 'request' for asylum. He was a realist, at times. "I'm truly relieved to hear that these weapons will not longer be a threat," he said, quietly but sincerely.

"Oh, our leverage won us other concessions, as well. We'll have American observers at every Russian space launch for the next two years - we've got them over a barrel on their treaty violations, rogue group or no rogue group." McKenna sighed, rubbing at his eyes for a moment. "The trials for Sumarokov and his conspirators will be secret, of course, but we'll have observers there as well. And the Russian President's promised to start sharing whatever intelligence they get on Magneto - I'll believe that when I see it, but he's saying all the right things to settle the doomsayers on both sides. I do think he was as... horrified by what this nearly came to as any of us."

"One can hope," Charles said, and would have said more, but he got the very distinct impression that McKenna wasn't finished. So he merely waited, patiently, and wasn't disappointed.

"A number of my advisers wanted to take this public. To embarrass the Russians, or to hold them to account publicly - it's funny how people with such different motivations wound up sounding exactly the same in some of the meetings we've had over the last couple of weeks. Valerie was terribly effective in arguing them down. I think most of them eventually realized that it would be innocent mutants who'd pay the price if we made this public beyond the very small circle of our closest allies. Those who weren't swayed by the potential collateral damage were horror-struck by thoughts of how the Chinese might react if this ever got out."

McKenna shook his head, regret crossing his features for a moment. "I could judge the Russians more harshly - part of me wants to - but then I stop and remember what I nearly allowed to happen four years ago. And all I can conclude is that we've got to find a way to move past this, too. To learn from it. Because God knows, we can't count on too many more near misses."

If there had been any less weary determination in McKenna's voice, it would have come across sounding very bleak. As it was, Charles smiled very slightly and sipped at his tea before he replied. "To further understanding, then," he said. "I think we both have ways to help that along, Mr. President."

McKenna tilted his head, as if catching the hint of something more significant in the innocuous comment, but let it go. "How are your people?" he said more abruptly. "Valerie's passed along the news that the injured are doing well. I suppose I'm asking about their morale."

Charles pondered that for a moment. "I'm not sure they've had sufficient time to process the experience," he admitted. "But that time will come."

"I want you to tell them what I've told you. In strictest confidentiality, of course - please emphasize that to them - but do tell them," McKenna said. "I hope that it helps, to know that this isn't just going to be brushed under the carpet. I'd feel... used, in their place, if I thought that was how this was going to end." He grimaced slightly. "It bothers me more and more that what they do can't be acknowledged in any sort of official fashion."

Charles smiled. "I wonder sometimes whether they don't do as much good unacknowledged, Mr. President. As a public force, they'd be an object of curiosity, perhaps of fear. The average person would be forgiven for wondering just what separated them from those like Magneto. Good intentions are a very mutable thing - pun intended."

McKenna was regarding him with interest. "Go on, Professor."

"As it stands, the X-Men are certainly no secret at this point, at least in certain circles, but what do most people who know of them truly know? That there are mutants who arrive on the scene of a crisis or a disaster to help, do so, and then go back to their lives." Charles smiled again, rather struck by his own train of thought. "They're judged for what they do, rather than who they are. I understand and appreciate your sentiment, Mr. President, but this is not a bad thing. Far from it, in fact."

"Not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character," McKenna murmured. "Not a bad thing at all."