Chapter Text
Ten-year-old Charles Xavier stepped lightly along the corridor that led to his father’s study, steeling his face against the annoyance that he felt at being summoned there by his mother’s monstrous suitor. In Charles’s mind, the study would always be Brian Xavier’s, despite the recent arrival of its current resident. Charles stopped before the heavy wooden door, breathed deeply, knocked three times, and entered.
He expected to see the ugly face of Kurt Marko perched behind his father’s long-unused desk, polluting the room with a smile that could only be described as poisonous. How his mother could even think about marrying this man was beyond him, but perhaps her drinking had finally addled her wits beyond repair. Instead, he was greeted by the bored countenance of a man he liked even less: his mother’s doctor. Stryker had been called on by Lady Sharon Xavier shortly after the death of her husband to help her manage what she called her “rattled nerves.” Quickly diagnosing her with hysteria, a common diagnosis among omegas, he had prescribed opiates and had continued to provide them for the last five years. Combined with constant drink, the drugs left Sharon nearly comatose.
“If you are looking for Mother, she’s in the lounge,” Charles remarked curtly. She’s staring at the wall like bloody always, he thought to himself.
“I’m not here for her, son.” Charles seethed at the term of familiarity, of affection. This man had stolen his mother from him five years ago, and he had the nerve to call him son? Then, Stryker rose steadily from the expensive desk chair, and Charles sensed a change in the room. Danger. He turned to leave and saw the disgusting smile of Kurt Marko, who shut the door loudly and leaned against it, blocking Charles’s exit.
“I hardly think an examination is necessary, Marko. The boy couldn’t look more omega if you painted him like a common whore,” Stryker spoke from behind Charles. At the word “examination,” Charles shivered, hoping that the two men would not notice his discomfort.
“You would have said the same about his father, if you’d met the man. Xavier alphas have looked soft for generations. I can’t afford to risk it.”
“Then wait a few years. When he’s mature, the pheromones will make it obvious.”
“Patience is not one of my virtues.”
“Whatever you say,” said Stryker, and Charles felt a strong hand close around his wrist, yanking backwards and making his elbow twinge in pain.
Charles lashed out, kicked at Stryker’s legs, but soon found himself overpowered. Marko lunged and struck him across the face, and Charles felt the skin of his cheek break at the impact, tears welling in his eyes. He stilled in Stryker’s arms and was pushed back onto his father’s ancient desk, which had now become an impromptu examination table.
Charles closed his eyes, his breath hitching in his throat, and his mind wandered to a time when he would sit on this very desk and watch his father seal important letters, showing Charles how to melt the wax for a seal and press it with the Xavier crest. He tried to ignore the hands at his belt, the rush of air on his thighs. But, he could not ignore the icy fingers that pressed into his abdomen and then traveled lower, one hand pushing up a knee and the other moving between his legs. He prayed to any god that would listen that he would be an alpha, that this examination would soon be nothing but an uncomfortable memory.
Stryker spoke calmly, ignoring Charles’s discomfort and nervous breaths. “I can definitely feel a cervix, Marko. It’s still underdeveloped. If I’d examined him even three months ago, I probably wouldn’t have been able to tell you accurately one way or another. But, it looks like you’ve got a healthy young omega. And a pretty one too. In future, I’d recommend you not mark up his face.” Stryker’s eyes flashed towards the darkening bruise on Charles’s cheek. “It will be easier to find someone to take him off your hands.”
“I might just keep him in the family. Cain won’t find a better match, and I can pay myself the bride-price.” Marko chuckled.
They continued to talk while Charles dressed, their voices fading into the background as he absorbed the new information. Omega. He could not deny it anymore. You’re such a fool, Charles. For years he had lied to himself about how his small build was a result of Xavier genetics or a delayed growth spurt due to his premature birth. He had entertained daydreams about becoming the alpha of the house, the new Lord Xavier to take his father’s place. Now, he was nothing but an omega, his only job to make a profitable match for the family and have a dozen children. He choked back bile when he thought of his likely husband, Marko’s giant oaf of a son. Cain was a fourteen-year-old alpha nearly three times his size. The Xavier name would die out, with Charles being the last to bear it, and the manor and its holdings would pass to the Markos.
“Charles, are you listening?” Charles turned to Marko at last, hoping his eyes would not give away his heartbreak. “You can run along and tell your mother the good news. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble, my boy.”
Charles fled from the room, beginning to lose his calm façade. He had no interest in seeing his mother, who was likely glassy-eyed and distant, pulled away from reality by the opiates. However, his childish instincts must have kicked in, because he soon found himself in the stuffy lounge, crawling onto her lap and burying his face into her bony shoulder. He finally spoke, and he cursed himself for the way his voice cracked. “I’m an omega, mother.” A tear fell from his eye onto the dusty lace at her collar.
Charles was prepared for apathy, or maybe disappointment. He did not expect his mother’s head to snap up, or her eyes to suddenly focus, looking more sober than they had in five long years. Her mouth twisted into a smile, her teeth looking large and square in her gaunt and once-beautiful face. Her eyes gleamed with what Charles thought looked like victory. “I’m so proud of you, darling.”
Her moment of lucidity vanished as quickly as it had come, and Charles was left to wonder why his mother had been so pleased. He wanted to believe that his old mother had pushed through the opiate fog. The mother that loved him, the one who existed before his father’s sudden death, had reached out during his time of emotional turmoil to soothe her baby son and remind him that he was loved. But, something in that smile and the glint in her eyes made him wonder if the mother he remembered had ever existed at all.
The wedding of Lady Sharon Xavier and the wealthy merchant Kurt Marko was a small affair. Sharon’s drug use had not left her with many high-society friends, and the few people that dealt with Marko found him to be distasteful at best and a vile, double-crossing cheat at worst. A few business partners toasted Kurt’s happiness while an aging neighbor woman tended to Sharon’s wedding attire and steered her firmly away from the drinks.