A Machine Without Feelings (Cherik) | ✓

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔈𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

Note: period-typical racism/racist terms in this chapter - they do not reflect my views in any way!

When Charles woke up, he was in a room that he did not recognise. The walls were made of light panelled wood, and a window directly opposite from where Charles lay was open slightly, letting a sunlight-warmed breeze drift through. There was a fireplace to his right, but there were only ashes sitting there, untouched. There were a few framed paintings on the walls, hung a little askew but depicting landscapes filled with trees and oceans.

Charles blinked, his eyelids like lead, and he struggled to sit up. He groaned as his body ached all over, and he did not have the strength to sit.

"Oh, he's awake! He's awake! Jean! He's awake!" a hushed, relieved voice chatted quickly, and Charles felt a warm pressure slip into his left hand. The voice was female, and spoke quickly and excitedly.

"Sir? Sir, are you awake?" a second voice called out, also female – Jean, the other voice had called her. This voice was less energetic than the other one, and its gentleness made Charles settle, the voice coaxing him to relax. 'You are safe,' it seemed to tell him, the hand around his squeezing.

Charles groaned again, blinking as he craned his stiff neck to look around the room a little more. As he took in his surroundings in more detail, he finally laid eyes on the two women that were speaking to him. They were both young, around Charles's age or slightly younger. One was a pretty dark-skinned girl with pale hair left out in wild ringlets that mimicked either clouds or a blizzard, and she was smiling at him with giddy excitement. The other had blue eyes and vibrant red hair that was styled neatly in a bun, loops of hair tucking under her ear. Her eyes gazed down at him with a slight frown, concern etched into her features. They were both beautiful in different ways, wearing simple but clean day dresses, and their auras told Charles that they did not mean him any harm.

When Charles did not respond because of his raw throat, Jean helped him take some sips from a glass of water, the liquid sliding addictively down his parched throat.

"Thank you. Yes, I- Where am I?" Charles asked after swallowing gratefully, bringing his right hand up to his forehead to try and rub away the ache building there. Charles's voice was still rough, like someone had taken a hot poker to his throat and charred his windpipe. His lips were also chapped and flaky, and no longer bore their natural red flush, and his complexion was pallid. Dark circles wrapped around his eyes, and an untamed scruff was beginning to grow across his chin, making him lose his boyish charm.

"You are at Eden House," Jean told him, voice soft as she reached behind him to help sit him up, stuffing a few more pillows behind his back to help him. "I am Jean Grey, and this is my sister, Ororo."

The white-haired girl smiled brighter at her name, leaning forward to touch Charles's hand.

"What's your name, Sir? We've been trying to guess it for the past few days. Logan found a book in your luggage, and it had the initials C.X. written inside. So, we've just been calling you Mr X," Ororo said, voice spirited.

Jean gave her sister a look, chastising her silently, and Ororo sunk back into her chair, a little embarrassed. Charles managed to laugh, though the action made his throat ache.

Charles thought about it for a moment. His head was foggy and fractured, and he couldn't seem to get a good grasp on his memories. Some images flashed through his mind like disjointed pictures; a large house with a Red Room, a grey-coloured school, a tomb stone, teaching a little boy arithmetic with jam dripping down his chin, and a severe-looking man with pale blue eyes. That same man whispered 'Charles' in his mind, and the last image made Charles's heart squeeze, but he couldn't match the emotion to a coherent thought or distinct memory. Charles, panicking a little, found that he could not even remember his name – only hearing the whispered voice call out 'Charles', but he did not know if that was truly his name or a memory of someone else.