Reflective

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself.
--Shakespeare, Henry VIII

"I just don't understand why he wants to go." Scott glared at Jean through the opaque lenses of his protective glasses as she was preparing for bed, as if she was the source of his anger.

"They have a history. You know that." Jean was using the sort of tone Scott heard her take with the kids when they tried to pretend they were sick, when she had to explain, very patiently, that you couldn't lie to doctors or telepaths.

"But he's insane. A psychopath. He was going to kill Rogue, he tried to kill the rest of us—" Scott began heatedly, warming up to his topic of Magneto's many faults, a favorite ever since the Professor had asked Scott to accompany him on a visit to the prison.

"I'm not saying Magneto doesn't belong there," Jean said, exasperated, setting her brush on the dresser. She turned to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Neither is the Professor. He just wants to visit."

"What if something happens?" Scott pulled away from her, pacing the length of their room. "What if Magneto tries something? You know, just because there's not any metal around doesn't mean he's not dangerous—"

"To the Professor?" Jean sounded skeptical. "The world's most powerful telepath? Scott, be reasonable."

"I'm always reasonable," Scott said, annoyed.

"Well, then, what's the problem?" Jean leaned into him, her arms going around his neck. Her body was warm and she smelled like cinnamon, and if he wasn't tense and unhappy he'd be enjoying the feel of her against him.

"Nobody else is," he muttered, and she kissed him soundly.

"That's not true. The Professor is the most reasonable man I know. If he thinks it's a good idea to go visit Magneto, then I'm not going to worry, and neither should you." Jean pulled the covers back from the bed and climbed in, the red of her hair vibrant against the white sheets.

Scott lay in bed, listening to the sound of Jean's breathing evening out in slumber, and watched the way the moonlight filtered through the window and threw shadows on the wall.

Being a telepath doesn't always keep you safe.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Erik Lehnsherr first appeared at the mansion to help the Professor build Cerebro, mostly because he was an engineer, but also because he was a mutant with a pretty handy power when you were constructing a machine out of large pieces of metal.

Scott usually paid little attention to the moody, dark-haired man who always seemed to be perpetually scowling. Scott had had given him a cursory sort of once-over and that was about it. As an orphan, Scott was mistrustful of anyone who wanted to act like a parent, and he'd just barely managed to trust the Professor. He wasn't so eager to go through it with someone else, and besides, Cerebro had to be finished eventually and then Dr. Lehnsherr would be gone.

The two men spent a lot of time in the basement, anyway, and on the rare occasions they would come up for dinner, they were usually arguing over things Scott really didn't understand. Sometimes in the morning, Scott would see Dr. Lehnsherr's car disappear through the gates, sliding like a ghost through the early morning fog.

Scott always assumed they'd been up working late. There were a lot of extra rooms in the mansion that the Professor hoped one day to fill with students he would find with Cerebro, so Dr. Lehnsherr was probably crashing in one of those.

He figured out the truth one night when he'd been watching television with Jean and Ororo, masterfully trying to avoid staring at Jean's legs in her little pajama shorts. They all heard the low murmur of voices, the Professor's soothing tone and Dr. Lehnsherr's rougher, slightly-accented replies as the two of them passed the television room on their way back downstairs.

The Professor stuck his head in the door; Dr. Lehnsherr remained in the shadows behind him. Scott always got the impression Dr. Lehnsherr didn't know what to do around them, even though they weren't really kids.

"Don't stay up too late," Charles admonished. Scott noticed he looked very tired, but there was suppressed excitement in his expression, too.

"We won't," Jean said, ever the voice of reassurance, giving him her best responsible smile. When they were gone, she looked at Ororo and the two of them giggled a little.

"What?" Scott demanded, annoyed. He was older than both of them, but sometimes they made him feel like an annoying little brother.

"Nothing," Ororo said innocently, eyes wide.

"I hate when you do that," Scott muttered. He went back to watching the movie, but then something occurred to him. "Do you think Dr. Lehnsherr's married? I wonder if it makes his wife mad that he's over here all the time and spends the night a lot."

Ororo and Jean burst out laughing. "Oh, Scott," Jean said, shaking her head. "He's not married."

Scott looked at her and scowled. "So? Maybe he has a girlfriend. You know. Somebody."

"He does have somebody," Ororo said, and when her and Jean exchanged another pointed glance, Scott finally figured out with they meant.

He slumped a little in his chair, hoping it was too dark to see him flushing. "Oh," he mumbled, feeling stupid.

"It's okay," Jean said, though she sounded a little smug. "I mean, I only figured out because I'm a telepath."

"I only figured it out because I saw them kissing." Ororo giggled.

Scott stood up abruptly. "I'm going to bed."

"That doesn't bother you, does it?" Jean asked him, sounding concerned. "I mean, it's actually sweet, Scott." Jean was always the defender of the oppressed and maligned, whoever they might be.

"You know everything, don't you? Can't you tell?" He pushed past her, heading towards his room, wondering if she would figure out why he was upset.

Why did everyone always know what was going on before he did? No one told him anything, ever. It reminded him of being in foster care, never knowing what was going to happen to him next, and he hated it.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Scott drove the car carefully, hands wrapped like a vise around the wheel. He had schooled his features into looking benign, but that was sort of wasted when he was in the car with a mind-reader.

Luckily there was enough going on at the school to discuss: John's continual attempts to sneak out during lunch and smoke, Bobby's parents who had no idea he was a mutant, Jubilee's fondness for inappropriate clothing, and Rogue's remarkably improved physics grade (the last was dangerous territory—Scott knew why she'd aced the test on magnetism last week, and he didn't want to talk about that.)

About ten miles before they arrived, an awkward silence settled between them. The Professor stared out of the window; Scott wondered briefly if he was remembering the man Erik had been before he was Magneto.

"That, among other things," Charles said softly, then turned to Scott with an apologetic expression. "Ah. I am sorry. I don't expect this will be easy, and I should not be prying into your thoughts."

"I just don't understand," Scott said tightly, merging the car into the right lane with a bit more enthusiasm than was entirely necessarily. "Do you think you'll make him regret what he's done, what he's become?"

"Oh, no. It's far too late for that. Besides, he'll never understand that what he's done is wrong." Charles sighed.

"Do you think he'll be happy to see you?" Scott said accusatorily, wincing at the bite of his words. What was wrong with him? He hated losing his temper.

"Doubtful. I was surprised he agreed to see me, actually, but no—I don't think he'll enjoy this visit anymore than I will."

"You mean they let him have a choice if someone wants to see him?" Scott laughed bitterly.

"Of course," Charles said, sounding affronted. "He's not an animal in a zoo, Scott."

"Maybe he should be," Scott muttered, old anger rising up to choke him.

"No man deserves that, not even Erik. It would prove him right, about humanity." Charles turned his focus back out of the window, and Scott fell silent again. He didn't speak until he was pushing the chair up the smooth sidewalk towards the building's entrance.

"I don't know how you can forgive him," Scott said suddenly. What the hell, he was thinking it, so why not say it out loud? Charles would know, anyway.

The Professor turned his head to look back at him. He looked sad. "I know you don't. If I could give you a way to do that, I would. I know how hurt you were by what happened."

Scott didn't respond to that, and he stared at the perfectly manicured hedges in front of the building and tried to calm down. This was hard enough for the Professor; he didn't need to make it worse by expounding upon how much he hated Magneto.

"You didn't hate Erik, not before," Charles murmured, as Scott maneuvered the wheelchair through the quiet lobby towards the guard booth, his jaw clenched.

"He's not Erik anymore." Scott was relieved when they reached the desk, effectively ending the conversation, because he had the uncomfortable thought that maybe he was wrong. Maybe Magneto was still Erik Lehnsherr, and Scott had never known the man at all.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

"You—the Professor said you wanted to see me?"

Scott nervously approached Dr. Lehnsherr, who was standing behind a large wooden table in the workshop behind the garage. He was staring intently at something, rolling a ball-point pen slowly between his fingers.

"Yes. I am curious about that thing you're wearing."

The man certainly didn't have much tact, did he? Scott's hand went up to touch the bulky visor he wore to keep his eyes shielded. "This? It's because I shoot optic blasts from my eyes."

Dr. Lehnsherr sighed. "I know why you're wearing it, Scott. I am merely curious about the apparatus itself. May I see it?"

"Um, the optic blasts?" Scott knew he was being difficult, but there was just something so arrogant about the other man that he didn't like.

"I would rather see the visor, if you don't mind," Dr. Lehnsherr replied dryly. "Though I've no doubt your optic blasts are impressive."

"What am I supposed to do while you're looking at it?" Asking questions with obvious answers was annoying when other people did it, but Scott didn't care about that right then.

"Keep your eyes closed?"

Scott scowled, heaved a great sigh as only a recalcitrant teenager could, and then pulled the heavy visor off his face. He held it out towards Dr. Lehnsherr without a word, eyes squeezed shut.

"Thank you," the other man said politely, and Scott fought back the panic that always arose when he didn't have his visor on. It made him feel out of control, nervous, like the blasts would rip out of his eyes even if he didn't want them to.

"Don't tell me you sleep in this horrid contraption?"

Dr. Lehnsherr's voice startled him. "What? I—yeah. I have to. I can only take it off to shower."

"It's not very comfortable, I don't image."

His voice was closer, as if he was standing right in front of him. Scott didn't like not being able to see, not knowing what was happening around him. "It's not."

He felt hands on his face—startled, Scott stepped back, keeping his eyes closed with a force of will though his natural inclination was to open them and see what was going on. Useless as that may be, it was still instinctual. "What are you—" his voice was high, panicked.

"Stay still. I need to check something." Dr. Lehnsherr's fingers spanned his face, tracing, as if drawing a map. He had calluses, Scott noticed, and they made his fingers rough. "There."

He felt the slide of the visor back over his head, and Scott gratefully opened his eyes to regard Dr. Lehnsherr back behind the desk, jotting something down on a notepad. "Why did you do that?" Scott asked curiously, edging closer to the table.

Dr. Lehnsherr looked up, his brow furrowed. "I'm an engineer," he said, as if that were obvious.

Scott folded his arms across his chest. "So?" He didn't like people touching him, not really. It had taken a long time before he'd even let the Professor hug him good night.

Dr. Lehnsherr drew himself up to his full height, and his voice when he spoke was strangely gentle. "You need something that will afford you more freedom of movement, something more practical that can be used to control your gift. I am going to make it for you."

"Why?"

"Because I can," Dr. Lehnsherr said simply, and went back to perusing his drawings.

"I thought you were building Cerebro?" Scott didn't know why he was doing this, being so antagonizing. He'd resigned himself to the necessity of protective eyewear, but to have something smaller, not so constricting…to have something that might control his powers…

It would be the next best thing to having to wear nothing at all. So why was he being such a jerk?

Because I don't trust people who say they are going to do things for me, because most times they never do. It was a lesson an orphan and ward of the State learned well.

"I can do both," Dr. Lehnsherr said quietly, then waved him away, though not unkindly. "I have to work. I'll probably need to see you again, for measurements."

Scott nodded and turned to go. "Dr. Lehnsherr…thanks." He felt awkward—what did you say to such an unexpected gift?

"You're welcome," Dr. Lehnsherr responded, and Scott decided that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to like the other man, after all. Just like the Professor used his telepathy to help Jean control her powers, Dr. Lehnsherr was going to help Scott control his.

Maybe I'll study engineering at college, and then I can do good things for mutants, too.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

There were a million security procedures that had to be followed before the Professor was allowed in to see Magneto. Scott was waiting for him in the small control room, which was filled with bored looking guards and several television screens. Scott was able to see Magneto in his cell—sitting and reading, it appeared—and that made him feel viciously satisfied even though he knew that it shouldn't. He knew what had happened to Erik Lehnsherr as a child.

The guard—Mr. Laurio, or something—ran through the security precautions and told the Professor a thousand things about Magneto the Professor probably already knew as he was transferred into the plastic wheelchair.

"I'll be back soon," the Professor murmured to him, and the guard stepped forward to escort him down the ramp. Scott wasn't sure what to say, so he nodded and looked around the room, tried to figure out what he would do in an emergency, how he would get everyone to safety.

I could adjust the blasts, shoot him from here if he tried anything. That'd be fitting, wouldn't it? Considering he designed this damn thing.

Scott eventually looked back towards the cameras. Charles was speaking animatedly, gesturing, though Magneto had his back to him. As Scott watched, Magneto raised his head slowly and looked directly into the camera. He smiled.

Scott's fingers went up, lightly touched the dial on the side of his visor. His hands were shaking. Magneto couldn't see him through the camera, of course, but he must know that Scott was there. He must have asked the Professor who had accompanied him.

Scott took a deep breath and deliberately turned his head. He refused to allow that man to have any control over him ever again.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

"Try this on."

Scott could barely believe Dr. Lehnsherr was serious. The thing lying on the table in front of him didn't look like it could possibly work—it was made out of plastic! Wouldn't it melt the moment he opened his eyes?

"Are you…sure?" Scott sounded doubtful.

Dr. Lehnsherr looked up from the work table, brow creased. "Of course I'm sure." He waved imperiously towards the visor. "You trust me, don't you?"

Scott did trust him. Dr. Lehnsherr had sort of become the school's de facto science teacher since he was around all the time. He was still a bit standoffish—though Scott had seen the tattoo on his arm and thought maybe he understood that a little. After all, he'd had a crappy childhood, too, though it probably wasn't as bad as being in a concentration camp.

Scott took a deep breath, pulled the heavy metal device from his head, and set it on the table, fingers searching for the new one. It was so light in his hands he nearly dropped it before he got it situated properly on his head.

"Well?" Dr. Lehnsherr sounded impatient, but not angry. He sounded eager, too.

Scott tilted his head up—better to make that hole in the roof—and opened his eyes. Everything looked red, but he could see. Nothing happened—there weren't any beams bursting forth and shattering the plastic casing. He moved his head back and forth, testing the weight of it.

Slowly, Scott lowered his head and regarded Dr. Lehnsherr. "It works," he said, stupidly, and his voice was shaking.

Dr. Lehnsherr smiled, pleased. "I told you it would. Now, there's a dial on the side. It should control the force of your optic beams—please do not practice that in here, however. Charles would be angry, I imagine."

Scott suddenly found it hard to talk. Everything he saw was drenched in red, the edges slightly blurred, like a picture slightly out of focus.

"Is everything all right, Scott?" Dr. Lehnsherr sounded concerned. "It's not causing you pain, is it? It might take a few days to get used to."

Scott nodded, because he couldn't speak. "It's…"

The other man must have figured out why Scott couldn't speak. He walked over and rested his hand lightly on Scott's shoulder. "Come outside," he said, voice soft. "So that you can see how it works. It will do you no good if it's not functional."

Scott followed him out into the lawn, the sweeping expanse of overcast sky lightly tinged pink. His fingers fumbled for the dial, and if Scott was anyone else, he may have shouted when he found he could, indeed, control the strength and intensity of his blasts.

He just smiled instead, and stared up at the sky, and for once he actually liked what it felt like to use his powers.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Scott didn't need to be a telepath to see the strain on the Professor's face when he returned from his visit. "Scott."

His whole body went tense. "Yes?" Why wasn't he feeling relieved? This was over. All he felt was tired, and slightly uneasy, because he didn't like that look on the Professor's face, and he had a bad feeling he was about to say…

"Erik would like to see you."

That. "No."

The Professor rubbed his temples. "Scott." He sounded as tired as Scott felt.

"You can't make me."

The response was so juvenile, it made him wince immediately after the words left his mouth. He wished they were in the car, at home, anywhere but here.

"Actually, I could," Charles responded, his expression vaguely chastising. "I'm not going to, however. It is your choice to see him or not, but if you don't, he will forever think you are afraid of him."

"What does he want?" Scott looked out of the small window towards Magneto's cage-like structure. He hated that the Professor was right; that was exactly what the arrogant son of a bitch would think if didn't give in.

"I don't know. He merely asked if you would be kind enough to indulge him with a visit." There was an edge underlying the Professor's smooth voice that told Scott very clearly that was likely not how Magneto had phrased his request. "He's not a danger, Scott."

Yes he is.

"Fine." He would be damned if Magneto would think he was a coward.

The guard ran the wand over him to check for metal, and then they opened the door to admit him. When he was standing on the platform, he looked down. It was a long way to the bottom.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Scott was thrilled as he looked over his college applications. He was hoping that his excellent scores on his SATs and the recommendation letters that the Professor and Dr. Lehnsherr had written him would help him get a scholarship to Columbia. He wanted to be close to the Institute, though he was very vague about why when anyone asked.

Not that it did any good. Jean was a telepath. Scott still liked to have illusions of being in control about things like his thoughts, which so often were about her.

"I think you still should consider Cornell," the Professor said, looking over Scott's essay. "I think Erik knows someone there in the—" he stopped, suddenly, looking up from the paper.

Scott had never seen the Professor with that look on his face before. He looked…. /i furious /i .

"Is something the matter?"

"I'm afraid so," the Professor said tightly, standing up, his chair scraping against the floor as he did so. He turned and left the room, almost at a run. Scott followed him, confused.

"What—can I do something?"

"Jean. You mustn't do this. You must get away," the Professor said firmly, and Scott's heart nearly stopped. What was he talking about? Was Jean in some kind of trouble?
Is she hurt? Is she sick? Is…

"No, Scott. Not yet. We must hurry." The Professor was taking the stairs down to the basement two at a time.

Wait. Why were they going down to Cerebro? "Are you going to use Cerebro to find Jean?" Scott asked, nearly out of breath as they arrived at the entrance to the chamber which housed the newly-completed machine.

The Professor didn't answer, merely opened the door in a hurry. "Stop this immediately. Jean—get away from there at once."

Scott couldn't believe what he was seeing. Erik Lehnsherr was levitating in the center of the metal room, and Jean was seated at the controls to Cerebro, the headpiece in her hand. Her face was white, her eyes as large as saucers.

She stood up when they entered the room, looking relieved. "I knew you would come," she said to the Professor, her voice shaking. Scott moved immediately down to the control panel to stand next to her. "I tried to tell him. But he kept telling me that I could, that I was strong enough…Professor, I only came down here so you would come find me…"

Fury raced through Scott as he looked up at Dr. Lehnsherr, still hovering like some demented phantom in the chamber. "What did you do to her!" he shouted, and his fingers went to the dial on his visor.

"Don't be silly, Scott. You can't use that in here." His voice was very calm.

"Erik, what were you thinking? I told you no. It's not—that's not why we built it!" The Professor was still standing near the doorway, staring up at Dr. Lehnsherr with a terrible expression of disappointment on his face.

"What's going on?" Scott muttered, confused. He looked down at Jean. "Why were you in here?"

"Dr. Lehnsherr re-configured the paneling so that Cerebro wasn't looking for mutants anymore," Jean whispered, her hand entwined in his. "He wanted to know if it would work to find humans, too. The Professor refused to tell him, and Dr. Lehnsherr said he needed a telepath to use Cerebro so he could know for sure…"

"Are you so certain you will not need this knowledge one day, Charles?" Dr. Lehnsherr's voice carried easily, resonating in the spherical chamber, pulling Scott's attention back to him.

"I built Cerebro to find mutants, Erik," Charles said wearily; his tone of voice suggesting this was an old argument between them. "Are you aware of the harm I could do with my mind linked to the human population?"

"Yes," Dr. Lehnsherr answered gravely. "I am. Are you aware that such a thing may one day be necessary?"

The Professor shook his head slowly. "I told you I would not be a part of this. You have violated every bond of trust between us by attempting to use Jean in this fashion—do you have any idea what this would have done to her?"

"You do not give the girl enough credit, Charles. She is far more powerful and capable than you assume. Or is it that you fear the competition?" Dr. Lehnsherr lowered himself to the platform directly in front of the Professor, regarding him steadily.

"Scott, Jean, please go back upstairs." The Professor wasn't looking at them, but Scott knew he was irate without having to see his face.

"I'm so sorry—Professor, you know I wouldn't have really tried—" Jean stepped forward, looking worried.

"You could have done it," Dr Lehnsherr interrupted, and Scott stared at him in shock. He knew the other man was arrogant, but…to do something like this? Jean could have been seriously injured!

This was not the man Scott thought he knew, not at all. His stomach twisted.

"We'll discuss this later. Erik—you will leave my house and I think it would be best if you didn't come back."

Dr. Lehnsherr narrowed his eyes. "If you wish."

Scott and Jean were still standing at the controls to Cerebro, the two men arguing blocking their path to the door. Neither of them wanted to interrupt, so they stayed where they were, silent.

Dr. Lehnsherr attempted to move past the Professor and out of the open doorway with a thunderous expression. Charles stopped him with a hand on his shoulder; Scott watched Dr. Lehnsherr's body tense immediately at the contact.

"Erik."

"What, Charles? You asked me to leave. So I am leaving."

"Put it back." The Professor's voice was implacable. "The paneling. Put it back into the configuring for which it was designed."

"What if I say no? Will you have it destroyed? I think that you won't," he snapped, and Scott felt Jean's nails digging into the bare skin of his forearm.

"I'll make you."

Scott saw Dr. Lehnsherr's face close down, something dangerous flash in his eyes as he heard the Professor's words. "You and your precious morality would allow that?"

"Yes."

"Fine," he snapped, turning back towards Cerebro, and raised his hands. The panels began shifting, accompanied by a low hum as the metal sliced through the air. "I only wanted to know if it would work."

"Your curiosity is not worth the harm it might have brought, Erik."

"It wouldn't have harmed her." Erik insisted, then turned on his heel and strode towards the door. "Though you do not seem to believe that I may possibly know something that you do not." He pushed past Charles without a word, obviously infuriated, finally leaving the room.

It all happened so fast that no one had a chance to react. The Professor moved forward as if he were going to follow Dr. Lehnsherr, then he stopped as if he'd thought better of it. The panels were nearly finished moving.

However, Dr. Lehnsherr hadn't looked back on his way out of the door, didn't know that the Professor had moved a few steps closer towards the doorway.

With a sickening sound the final metal piece barreled into Charles on its way across the chamber, knocking him twenty feet to the floor below. It was all so over so quickly, Scott didn't even hear the Professor make a sound.

"Professor!" Jean cried, and the two of them dashed up the platform to where he'd been standing.

Scott saw in horror the Professor's body, lying still and broken on the hard surface of the chamber's floor. He looked up, a cry for help lodged in his throat, but Dr. Lehnsherr was nowhere to be found.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

"What do you want?" Scott crossed his arms and glared at Magneto. He didn't want to do this, and he sure as hell didn't want to be nice about it.

"How nice to see you again, Cyclops," Magneto said with a nod, in such a calm voice it made Scott want to punch him.

"Cut the pleasantries, Magneto. What do you want?"

"A lot of things, actually. I do not think you can give any of them to me, however, as you haven't even had the courtesy of showing up with even the smallest bit of metal anywhere on you." He sighed. "I should have put some in that visor. A design flaw, to be sure."

Right then Scott didn't think he needed his mutant powers to see red.

Magneto looked up, a small smile on his face as he took in Scott's obviously enraged posture. "Still so angry, Cyclops."

"You nearly killed one of my students," Scott bit out. "And the rest of us, in the process. Did you think I'd just forgive you for that?"

"No, since you clearly could not understand why I was doing it, I didn't think you would. Though you've hated me for quite a bit longer, haven't you?" His eyes flickered towards the doorway, where the Professor waited for him in the control room.

Scott took a step forward. "They might not convict me if I killed you," he growled. "It would save all the taxpayers some money."

Magneto laughed. "Oh, Cyclops. If I thought you capable of that, I would have recruited you long ago. You're no more capable of killing me while I'm defenseless than my old friend Charles is."

"You tried to kill him!" Scott's hands were shaking. He hated this, hated losing control, always had. It was the reason he absolutely abhorred being around Magneto—every time he saw him, he remembered looking up from that platform, needing help, and finding no one there.

"I did not," Magneto snapped, glaring at him. "You know very well Charles believes that I did not intentionally mean for that to happen, and if he can believe me, why can't you?"

"You didn't even come back! Jean had to levitate him up, she was terrified, and—"

"Obviously she did fine. None of you have ever given Jean enough credit," Magneto said, sounding irritated. "She's stronger than any of you realize."

Scott's hands clenched into fists. "You could have come back."

Magneto raised a brow. "Oh? And what? Levitated him with his zipper?" He gave a small laugh, and Scott heard the bitterness behind it. "You didn't need me there."

Yes, we did.. "I meant to the school. When the Professor was recovering. Who do you think had to forget about college, had to keep things in line because there was no one else—"

"I am well aware you shouldered the burden of responsibility while Charles was incapacitated." Magneto crossed the room to his plastic desk, looking through a stack of papers. "If you wish to blame me for that, I suppose I cannot fault you."

It was the lack of feeling in his voice that enraged Scott past the point of all sense. "I blame you for killing the closest thing I had to a father."

Magneto's brow furrowed. "He's not dead, Scott."

"No," Scott said dully, moving backwards until he hit the unyielding plastic wall. "No, he's not."

If Magneto understood what Scott meant by that, he gave no hint of it in his expression. He held a piece of paper out to him. "Here."

"What is it?" Scott looked down at the paper doubtfully. It seemed to be a series of diagrams with notations he didn't understand.

"The reason I wanted to see you. These are the schematics for your visor and some suggested modifications. As I have a lot of time to think, thanks to the United States Government—" Magneto smiled coldly—"It occurred to me that you may wish to make a few changes and update the technology."

Scott stared at the proffered piece of paper, refusing to take it.

Magneto rolled his eyes. "Have someone take a look at my suggestions if you think this is some ridiculous plot for vengeance on my part. Charles knows of someone who could put your mind at ease if you wish."

"Why are you doing this?" Scott demanded, reaching for the paper. He snatched it with one quick, jerky movement.

"Because I can," Magneto said, and a brief smile flashed on his face. For a moment he was Erik again, and that made Scott hate him even more.

"I'll never forgive you," Scott choked, hitting on the glass to signal he wanted the guard to return.

"I'm aware of that, Scott."

The walls of the prison seemed for a moment to bleed red in Scott's blurring vision, and he was glad that Magneto wasn't a telepath, couldn't understand the lengths to which Scott felt his betrayal. It wouldn't matter, anyway.

On his way back up the ramp, he didn't look back. It was much too late for that.