In Equal Measure

[ruth]

Twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years of mourning, of wondering, of wishing—twenty-eight years of thinking that everyone she’d known and loved before the war was long dead, and he appears on a television screen. Her little brother. Erik.

And apparently he was a terrorist now. Ruth added it to the list of things she was going to cover when she finally caught up with him. It went right after hugging him and throttling him in equal measure. And getting that wound tended to; Lord only knew what Erik’s idea of medical attention was and Ruth was not about to let a poorly tended injury so close to a critical artery kill him.

The fact that Washington, D.C. was a lot bigger than it looked on paper was conspiring to drive Ruth insane. He couldn’t have gone far, not with that injury. Blood loss alone would leave him too dizzy to make it out of the city limits. She called every no-name little clinic in the city—like hell Erik would go to one of the bigger hospitals after dropping a baseball stadium on the White House that little shit—and immediately looked to the parks. Some place isolated, where he could be relatively sure that no one would stumble across him. There was only park that made sense, and that was Rock Creek Park. Unless he had allies living within D.C., a park the size of Rock Creek was most likely his best bet.

It was really a stroke of luck that she ran into Rigby; the massive man with more strength than he should have and a sense of smell that would give a bloodhound a run for its money was proving himself quite invaluable as they entered the park and he looked for the scent of blood. Ruth had tricked him into thinking that she was able to see the future (most of it was just a matter of paying attention to details), but it wasn’t a cover that was going to last for too long.

“Hey, Ruth, I got blood!”

“Then let’s follow the trail,” she said. Erik, you’d better be okay.

[Erik Lehnsherr]

Lurking about in the parks of Washington, DC was not exactly his idea of time well spent. However, he had no other choice. He had come into the city to meet new recruits for word had gotten to him that they wished to join The Brotherhood. Unfortunately, he had been spotted and the authorities immediately went after him. He used his abilities of course to avoid capture -- again -- but what was most important was to ensure he was not followed. There were those in the Brotherhood who were at the headquarters and he could not endanger their location with the risk of being followed. So instead, he went on a complicated route, and by the time he got to the park, he was finally satisfied that he had evaded them. The park was not only to avoid capture, but also, it was the agreed upon location for him to meet another mutant who was interested in the Brotherhood. So despite his discovery, Magneto intended to remain true to his word, and be here to meet the mutant.

Unfortunately, he now had something else to worry about, and that was the fact that his wound had reopened, small drops of blood clear indication of that. He was arrogant enough to believe that he could restitch the wound himself -- just as he had done with his head injury -- and also refused to acknowledge any severity that this injury result in if it was not properly tended to. Still, he could not afford the time or convenience of going to a medical professional right now. He was far more focused on using the darkness and shadows to keep himself concealed until he was certain it was safe to return to the Brotherhood head quarters. He heard footsteps approaching and quickly turned in it's direction. If it was not the mutant, luckily, he had access to metal for despite the heavily wooded area surrounding him, he had his metal spheres in his pocket which held more than enough power to keep him well defended. He was not going to bother running at the moment, for he firstly needed to see how many of them there were, and then use the resources he had to successfully avoid arrest. He was not concerned. Humans were weak and they were no match for any mutant.

At he stood there, two figures came more and more into view. The more their silhouettes became more clear, the more assured he was that they were not law enforcement. Perhaps the mutant had brought along another recruit; one also interested in fighting for the cause. But when their faces became more clear, and the light of the moon shone down on them . . . Magneto found himself staring at the woman. There was something about her, something so familiar and deep deep down, Erik knew what that was. But the shock and impossibility of it numbed his recognition, and instead, he just stared, wondering who this was for it could not be . . . her. It could not be the person he had not even see become a woman for her life had been snatched from her cruelly just as the lives of the rest of his family at the camp they were sent to. So no. It was not her. Magneto could not describe the strange rise of emotions that stirred in his heart over seeing someone who looked so much like he had imagined her to be when she was older; so much like his mother. But he could not say anything about it. In fact, he found himself unable to say anything at all. He just looked at her, waiting for rationality to settle in so that he could move the conversation along and speak of the Brotherhood and it's politics rather than being reminded of the painful past he had.

[ruth]

As Ruth followed Rigby through the park, she went through basic first aid to treat a neck injury. (And she would much rather have him in her clinic back home, in a sterile, controlled environment because she hated working in the field because it always brought up memories of explosions and mortars and bodies strewn throughout heavily shelled streets and there were reasons she and her husband were careful when it came to touch.)

“Hey, smells like we’re getting closer,” Rigby said, shooting her a grin.

Ruth gave him a strained smile in response and tried not to think about what would happen when he figured out she’d lied about being a mutant. She was quicker than he was, no doubt—her frame was still somewhat willowy and compared to his bulkier frame, speed would be her greatest advantage—but Ruth had no desire to risk a physical encounter, especially considering the sorts of views Erik had been preaching. Would he even want to see her?

Then again, he probably thinks I’m dead, she thought. Would he recognize her when he saw her, or would the past thirty years of separation have erased her from his memory?

It was a credit to her instincts that she saw him before Rigby’s nose connected the blood to a person. Erik in person was even more striking than through a television screen, and Ruth was amazed by how much he reminded her of their father. Gone was the sweet, awkward boy Ruth had last known; in his place was someone who was all at once familiar and unknown. She took a deep breath, swallowed, and called out to him.

“Erik?”

[Erik Lehnsherr]

Although she was aged from the girl he had last seen her to be, the way she said his name was unmistakable. It was inexplicable, how he knew it to be her. The way she said his name, the way she looked at him, and her appearance over all. Perhaps that was why it was most shocking. Because despite Magneto's attempt to deny it, the truth was staring at him right now. And he could not wrap his mind around it. He felt his mouth dry, for the first time ever in his life, feeling as if all words had left him. He believed her to be dead. And it had not just been a naive belief; for he had been told by a witness. He had mourned for her, as she had been the last to die in their immediate family. He had witnessed their mother's death, informed of his father's . . . and then Ruth. His sister. The last Lehnsherr to die apart from him. Or so he thought. For all those tears spilled, now proved to be needless for she was alive. And here, before him. Yet the man he became prevented him from moving toward her in a warm embrace. Once the shock that numbed him would pass, his mind would start working again and start realizing that he was not the Erik she knew; he was Magneto. The other with her was saying something, but his words fell upon deaf ears for all of Magneto's attentions were focused on her. On Ruth Lehnsherr.

"Ruth," he both questioned and stated, the word of recognition finally escaping his lips and unsure as to what tone he used to state it. She was alive. She was here before him. She looked well. The years have been kind to her as she had grown into a beautiful woman, one that reminded him of his mother. The war had destroyed many lives and the spirits of those still living. It was reassuring to see her now, inevitably still affected by the war, but not dragged down by its lasting and haunting memories. There was more to her than that. "How can this be?" He asked, wondering how . . . what had happened that allowed her to survive. All these years not knowing she had lived through the war . . . they all seemed to build up to this single, unexpected moment. All thoughts of how she had found him, or even who the other man with her was, left him as he gazed at her. He was not even sure how to describe the emotions her revealed presence caused to stir in him. All he knew was that they were extremely unfamiliar for he had never once expected to see her again, and had he trusted his instincts and gut feeling any less, he would have believed this to be some cruel trickery with the powers of another mutant.

[ruth]

In which camp had he been kept? It couldn’t have been Treblinka; the camp was dismantle towards the end of 1943 after a revolt, and there were hardly any survivors. Had he been sent to Auschwitz? Had they really been so near each? Where had he been after the liberation? Which of the complexes had he been held in? Where did he go after liberation that she hadn’t bumped into him? How many close calls where there? And what about after the war? Where had he gone? What had he done? Did those strange powers of his appear after the camps?

Ruth swallowed and her eyes stung just a bit. So many questions, an entire lifetime to catch up on.

“Ruth,” Erik said, disbelief coloring her name slightly as recognition dawned in his eyes. “How can this be?”

“You know him?” Rigby asked, glancing back and forth between the two.

“He’s my brother,” Ruth replied, moving towards him. “And until recently, I thought he was dead.”

Her voice caught on the last word. Actually seeing him, seeing that he was alive and whole and alright, even with the neck wound, was nearly enough to drive her to tears. She looked him over, eyes trained for any indication of his injury—did he heal quicker along with his powers?—and caught sight of a few spots of blood.

“You reopened the wound,” she pointed out. “Either you’ve overexerted yourself, or you haven’t had it properly tended.”

The remaindered that he was injured in such a precarious spot jarred the medical instincts she’d honed in the years since she was a young girl in the Warsaw Ghetto to the forefront of her mind. She had her first aid kit in her purse—something she kept with her at all times, nestled in right with a small handgun kept mainly out of a war-borne instinct she’d never managed to override—and she snapped the button open, reaching for it.

“Do you mind if I take a look? I want to make sure no infection has set in.”

She had just found her brother; Ruth had no intentions of letting a gunshot wound take him away so soon. And as much as she would prefer to have him back at her clinic, or even the hotel room she’d taken, North Salem was nearly five hours away. No, she’d have to do it here. Perhaps after initial treatment, she could convince him to go with her to North Salem. Terrorist or not, he was her brother, and she didn’t want to see him go just as quickly as she’d found him.

[Erik Lehnsherr]

The other person questioned how they knew each other, and Ruth easily stated that he was her brother. Magneto knew that he would not have so freely offered this information. He knew nothing of the life she lived now, of who she was affiliated or associated with. For it to be known that he had relatives was a dangerous thing, and not something he would advertise for the world or other Brotherhood mutants to know. At least, not yet. Not until it was necessary. "That makes two of us," he said, in regards to her words of how until recently, she believed him to be dead, just as he had believed her to be so. "Leave us," he stated, in a naturally authoritative voice. He could not have a proper conversation with his sister, when another was standing among them. "I will speak to you at a later time," he added, so that the man -- who Magneto knew was a mutant based on his calm demeanor when in Magneto's presence -- would know that Magneto was not discouraging him from potentially joining the Brotherhood. But that the timing was not the best at the moment.

She then went on to speak of his wound -- something he had given little to no thought of. Especially not right now. Though it seemed that she took great notice of it. Leave it to Ruth Lehnsherr to detect and address such a thing in the midst of such a shocking reunion. She listed possibilities of what could have caused it to grow slightly more severe, but Magneto was still not worried. Although, she already seemed to be preparing to tend to it, based on her actions of opening her purse and then asking if she could take a look to ensure there was no infection. "It hasn't," he stated bluntly and confidently, not moving his gaze from her. His arrogance was enough that he knew it was not infected. He had merely reopened the wound but would fix it when he returned to the headquarters. Yet at the same time, this was not an argument he wanted to have with her. "It is a minor injury," he added, for he had suffered far worse and far more violent, than this mere wound. He would not exaggerate its severity. Feeling the numbness slowly start to ebb away finally allowed him to take a couple of steps closer to her, still in disbelief over her very unexpected company.

He had so many questions and yet he was unsure where to begin. "Where have you been all this time?" There. That seemed like a good place to start, and yet, he also knew it was a loaded question. One that if answered properly, would require a lengthy explanation, though Magneto was interested in hearing it -- otherwise he would not have asked. Besides, it was far easier to ask of her own past and how she came to be here, than it was to discuss his own. He doubted he would repeat the details, as he kept the camps, Shaw, and all else following, from others who were not already aware of his situation. He was not about to engage in speaking of it now. Not when he was far more curious as to where she had been, how she managed to escape, and what she was doing now. He wanted to learn of the woman she had become and in order to do that, he needed to be made aware of and understand her past.

[ruth]

“That makes two of us,” Erik commented when she told Rigby that she thought he was dead.

Ruth felt a twinge of relief at that; so Erik had thought she was dead and that was why he never tried to find her. They had both thought the other dead; in a way, it was something of a relief compared to some of her fears. She fished out her first aid kit as Erik told Rigby to leave them alone—Erik must have been recruiting for his Brotherhood, then. Ruth didn’t spare much thought to pondering what use Erik could have for a mutant whose strongest power was in his nose and his muscles as the man raised his hands up in surrender and made a break for it. One less person to worry about when it became obvious that the only mutant thing about Ruth was the red tint to her hair.

“It hasn’t,” Erik assured, his voice full of arrogant confidence that made Ruth quirk an eyebrow in skepticism. “It is a minor injury.”

“You were shot in the neck,” she stated. “Regardless of how minor you think it is, I will feel far better if I take a look at it.”

He took a couple of steps towards her and she readjusted her hold on her purse. Ruth had had some time to adjust to the idea that Erik was alive; he was still wrapping his mind around the fact that she wasn’t dead in an unmarked mass grave somewhere in Poland. They’d have to talk about that, of course—certain bits, no doubt, as there was no way Ruth was ever going to tell him what exactly happened to her while she was imprisoned in Auschwitz. She’d had twenty-eight years to come to terms with what was done to her, and between Howard and the children, she’d made peace with most of it. Had Erik managed to find any modicum of peace? Or were his anti-human sentiments his way of coping?

“Where have you been all this time?” There was a great deal of uncertainty in his voice; much like her, he was probably overflowing with questions and had no idea where to begin.

“Here and there,” she replied. “There’s a park bench just around the bend; I’d rather you be sitting so that I can get a better look.”

Erik had gotten so tall; he had to be nearly half a foot taller than her. She could remember when he was still a little thing, having to literally look up to her. He’d been in the middle of a growth spurt the last time she’d seen him, and he was rapidly approaching her height.

“To better answer your question, I went back to Warsaw after Auschwitz was liberated,” she clarified, leading him to the bench she’d mentioned. “I stayed there until May, and then intended to return to Düsseldorf, but I was stuck in Frankfurt for awhile.”

She’d met Howard there, a charming U.S. soldier with too much shrapnel in his left leg to be worth anything to his unit and was convalescing in a military hospital before being shipped home. Ruth smile a bit at the memory.

“After Frankfurt, I decided to forgo Düsseldorf for New York City. I’ve been living in North Salem, New York, since 1950.”

Locating the bench, she gestured for him to sit down.  Ruth grabbed her water bottle from her purse and the clean scrap of fabric she kept with her at all times; one could never know when one would need to clean up a cut or a scrape.  Or a gunshot wound. 

"And you," she asked as she wet the cloth.  "What have you been doing?  Aside from getting shot by blue-skinned women and making grand speeches against humans, of course."  

[Erik Lehnsherr]

She was insistent, and as he had previously established, this was not an argument that need happen. So he complied, able to better distract himself when she began to answer his question. It started with a vague answer, simply ambiguously stating that she had been here and there as she then spoke of the park bench. As they made their way to it, she elaborated on her answer. He listened attentively as she revealed that she'd returned to Warsaw and stayed there until she traveled a little more. He wondered what she had been doing that time; how she had been coping with the aftermath of the war. But he knew better to ask. There was no need when it appeared she was able to have moved on from the trauma of the past. Which . . . he felt himself relieved by. The war had changed everyone in different ways, but it was good to see the resilience within her that he had always admired when he was a child. When she was sitting on the bench, he joined her, seating himself next to her as he proceeded to take off his fedora and turn his head a little so that she could have easy access to the injury. He did not fail to notice that she just happened to have the necessary supplies in her purse. Was it out of habit or out of obligation, he wondered. He remained silent despite his curiosity at the moment. He was fairly certain the opportunity would soon come to speak of not only the past but the presence.

To hear that she was now living in the United States . . . so close to where so much had happened in the past few years. To know that they had been so near each other and yet so very far at the same time. "You look well," he stated, speaking aloud the thoughts of how she had coped well with the past violence that the war forced upon them. "What has kept you in New York?" He questioned, knowing that there had to be a reason that she was there. That something kept her grounded, whether it was a job or a person. She then asked about him, and he knew not where to start. His time at the camp. His time hunting down Shaw. His time with Charles and the recruits. His time with the initial grouping of the Brotherhood. His time in prison. And now . . . his time recruiting others for the cause. Her words following his question, allowed him to remain unresponsive about his past, and focused on the tone in which she said her words, trying to determine whether she was speaking with disapproval or sarcasm . . . or both. What it did reveal was that she had seen what had happened. She had witnessed his speech. And suddenly, a very important question arose in his mind, perhaps one that had just been suppressed by all the surprise over seeing her. Was she a mutant too?

Suddenly, he felt less like a brother and more like the man he had become. After Shaw, he had mastered the art of keeping his emotions guarded so that they were even the slightest bit apparent. He knew how to keep his face stoic and his voice calm and composed despite the circumstances. Letting his emotions getting the better of him would not help anything, and so, he felt himself slightly stiffen as the paralyzing shock continued to fade and glimpses of who he now was slowly came out. "I am doing what is necessary to protect mutantkind," he answered. There was no need to delve into the past anymore. What mattered was what he did now. Besides, she had asked and remarked on Mystique shooting him and the speech he made about fighting for mutant freedom. "If you watched the entire segment, then you would know why." Because the country's own President had approved a project that would result in mutant genocide. Extinction. And Magneto refused to let that happen. Unlike some who merely hoped for a future without doing anything to ensure it.

[ruth]

Erik complied, and Ruth shifted her position in order to better access the wound. It was a relatively clean wound, all things considered; that blue woman certainly knew how to keep a gun steady. Ruth could admire that, remembering just how badly she’d shaken when she’d first been taught how to shoot. Her comrades had feared she would never be able to manage a gun without quivering from it, but she’d gone on to become one of their best snipers out of determination—first, to keep her family as safe as she could possibly manage and then to avenge them after they were taken away.

“This may hurt a bit,” she warned, not knowing exactly how tender the still-healing flesh was as she gently took to cleaning away the blood.

He was lucky; the bullet had managed to miss all of the vital arteries and was very much a surface wound. Ruth breathed a bit easier with that knowledge; a bit of antiseptic and some proper stitches and she would no longer have any complaints.

“You look well,” Erik commented. “What has kept you in New York?”

“A number of things,” she replied, the blood giving way to subpar stitching—her best guess was that he did it himself, judging by how uneven it was. She’d have to cut it away and re-stitch it. “My education at first, and then my work; my husband and the children—I am married, by the way; he’s a very nice man, I think you’d like him—and North Salem’s really a nice town. After everything that happened, I suppose part of me was ready to settle down a bit.”

So much of her had been resistor and fighter. She’d been fighting nearly five years of her life, but it felt like it had been so much longer than that. Like it had made up so much more of her life. There was a sense of a stolen childhood that she couldn’t quite shake.

Upon her inquiry as to his own past, Ruth could practically see the doors slam shut in his eyes. He’d become such a guarded person, not at all like the heartfelt little boy Ruth had once loved and teased in equal measure.

“I am doing what is necessary to protect mutantkind,” he insisted. “If you watched the entire segment, then you would know why.”

“You’re talking about the Sentient program? Or whatever it was called,” she clarified. “President Nixon had that program shut down immediately after you and that blue lady left. The man behind that program—Trask?—he’s on trial for illegal experimentation and other things. My husband and son would know more; they are following the trial very closely.”

She finished clearing away the blood and made a disapproving sound. “These stitches are terrible. Am I to assume that you did these yourself?”

[Erik Lehnsherr]

She warned him that it may hurt, yet he did not flinch. This was nothing compared to past pains, and her ease of warning him seemed to suggest that she did this as a professional career. Why else would she carry such supplies with her in her purse. He listened attentively as she explained what had happened in New York. She had a family. A husband. Children. At least one of their lives had gone in the direction they had always intended it to. When Erik was little, he had often thought of his future in a family as tradition as the one he was born into. He would have a wife, children, a house to call his home . . . but after the camps, all that was no longer an option. He would not be a man who lived such a life and instead, followed another path. One that was far less expected. "Are you happy, then?" He asked, knowing that deep down, he did wish for happiness for his sister. Hoping that the war had not stripped her of her humanity as it did for him -- quite literally as well. "It sounds like you have done well for yourself," he added truthfully. She seemed settled, she spoke kindly of her husband -- suggesting that him and Magneto would get along -- and even spoke of the nice town she was residing in.

When she spoke of the Sentinel program however, and the reason Trask had been arrested . . . Magneto could not remain silent. He was compelled, and obligated, to correct her. It was not only based on his own extensive research of Trask Industries, but also of the newspaper articles that had been released to the world. "Trask was partnered with international and domestic governments, making everything he did legal by their standard, as they also funded his projects." This was not a theory or suggestion; it was a fact. "They even gathered mutants for him to further his research, and granted him permission to experiment on them, regardless of the cost." Financially and the cost of their lives. They had even taken soldiers fighting in the war and gathered them for Trask's own purposes. And Mystique would have been at Trask's lab as well, had she been able to kill him. None of this was a secret, so he was surprised that Ruth claimed that Trask was arrested for something the government had permitted, condoned and funded. But at the same time he supposed that was what some liked to believe. It was easier to think that their President was not a man who allowed for the deaths of so many mutants which . . . sadly was not the case. "The government was very aware of what he was doing, and the many lives of mutants that died in the process of his cruel experimentation." So many, even ones that Magneto knew quite well for they had joined the Brotherhood.

"He is not on trial for illegal experimentation. He is on trial for selling military secrets." He had grown bitter and angry and attempted to make what money he could now that his project had been shut down. Again, this was not theory, it was fact. For even the media was all over the story. He hoped that this gave her clarification. That she now understood that the government was not a man in support of mutants, for he would have otherwise allowed Trask's project to be completed and use them to wipe out the entire mutant race. The government was no friend to mutants. She then expressed her assumption that he did the stitches himself, criticizing them. "Just because I do not have the same medical expertise as you may have perhaps acquired, does not mean that I am not able to tend to my own wounds adequately." He now was making an assumption, based on the way she was treating his wound and the supplies she carried with her, that she was some sort of medical professional. His tone was not overly defensive; it was spoken with the same calmness and composure he often spoke with . . . which was even possible now, despite the fact that his mind was still registering the fact that she was not actually dead.

[ruth]

“Are you happy, then? It sounds like you have done well for yourself.”

She smiled a bit. “I’m as happy as I could have been, thinking that everyone I had known and loved in Warsaw had died,” she answered as she set the cloth aside and pull out a small vial of antiseptic and a cotton ball. She had moved on simply because she hadn’t had much choice. It was either move on and become stronger for it, or let herself become consumed by bitterness and regret. Mama and Papa wouldn’t have wanted that for her. Or for Erik, either.

“Trask was partnered with international and domestic governments,” Erik corrected with the topic turned to Trask, “making everything he did legal by their standard, as they also funded his projects. They even gathered mutants for him to further his research and granted him permission to experiment on them, regardless of the cost. The government was very aware of what he was doing, and the many lives of mutants that died in the process of his cruel experimentation.”

Ruth listened carefully as she disinfected the sub-par stitching and fished out her medical scissors. She frowned a bit at the implications of human experimentation—she thought of her youngest daughters, of the hell they went through under the hands of Mengele before Ruth brought the Soviets to Auschwitz. It was disconcerting that the U.S. government could ever condone the torture and murder of human beings in the name of science—but part of Ruth was not at all surprised. She knew very well the lengths governments were willing to go to in the name of securing national interests.

“He is not on trial for illegal experimentation,” Erik added. “He is on trial for selling military secrets.”

“Ahh, I see,” she replied. “My mistake, then. It’s a disturbing revelation of events. It makes me worry about the future."

She commented on his stitching and Erik’s natural arrogance shone through in his retort.

“Just because I do not have the same medical expertise as you may have perhaps acquired does not mean that I am not able to tend to my own wounds adequately.”

“Then allow me to be the one to inform you that ‘adequate’ is not the bar to which you should aim when dealing with a neck wound. Do you know how many critical arteries are located in the neck? You are lucky you did not bleed to death. Now hold still,” she said as she brought the scissors to the stitching.

[Erik Lehnsherr]

She gave a small smile and then spoke of how she is as happy as she could be, having believed that everyone she loves in Warsaw had died. He knew that his own presence surely would not make things better for her. Because Erik had died at the camps, and in his place, was Magneto. Unfortunately, she would soon come to realize that but he knew that he was now prolonging the inevitable, asking questions about her life to better understand what it was like. "How many children do you have?" He asked, questioning it not only for the sake of conversation . . . but also wondering if any of them were mutants. Though the larger question still being whether she was a mutant, and perhaps he was avoiding finding out the answer in the event that the response was . . . well, less than favorable.

She then responded to his words about Trask and the experimentation he had done on mutants, as well as the countless number of lives lost because of it. "As you should," he said, in regards to her words about worrying of the future. Though he did not advertise the truth about how mutants had become extinct in the future, mutants continued to be threatened. "Many mutants died for the sake of human science. All to create a world where we cease to exist." Ruth may not have known about Trask, but that was why it was imperative to inform others. It was after all how he recruited other mutants to the cause; because he gave them the truth and gave them a path to a world where mutants would no longer be hunted or have to live in fear because of human's ignorance. She then responded to his words about having healed his wound himself, doing as instructed by remaining still as he did not even flinch from any pain.

This hardly felt like anything. Besides, the scissors had metal and that alone was comforting for it gave him control of the situation, even if it wasn't his own hands or powers guiding the scissors near his neck. "There was no risk of that. She hit precisely what she was aiming for." His response to Mystique having fired at him as that he thought her to be a better shot, and she stated that she was. He knew she had not tried to kill him, nor would she try. Hell, it wasn't even the gun shot that had rendered him unconscious. "Which medical facility do you work at?" He asked, taking his assumption a step further. Besides, he did not want the topic to remain on him. He was avoiding speaking of the past as much as possible and the present . . . well, he would soon come to find out where exactly they stood when it came to their views on society.

[ruth]

“How many children do you have?”

“Five,” Ruth answered, a proud smile spreading across her face. “Alicja, Leonard, Mirek, Silvie, and Urszula.”

Even though she hadn’t given birth to them, they were still her children. She had raised them in the aftermath of the liberation, had given them a home and sense of family, they called her Mama and made every effort to keep in contact even as their lives took them off to do great things outside of New York. Ruth could talk about them for hours, about how proud she was of them and their accomplishments. She wondered if he had any children, or a wife that he loved. If so, Ruth would very much like to meet them.

“As you should,” Erik replied when she voiced a concern for the future. “Many mutants died for the sake of human science. All to create a world where we cease to exist.”

It was all very Third Reich, much to Ruth’s concern. Her thoughts turned to Alicja and Mirek, the only mutant children she had. Alicja was becoming a promising doctor in her own right and Mirek was becoming a force to be reckoned with in the political arena. A world without them...or her Howard...Ruth shuddered at the thought.

“No one should have to die for science,” Ruth commented. “Mutant or not, no one should meet their end in such a way.”

She took the scissors and carefully began to snip at the threads.

“There was no risk of that,” Erik insisted in response to her saying that he was lucky not to bleed out. “She hit precisely what she was aiming for.”

“So you know her well? I’m afraid that I do not and therefore could not accurately judge if she was truly aiming to wound or if she had intended to kill,” Ruth pointed out as she cleared the threads away from the wound. “All I saw was my brother—who I had thought was dead—on national television getting shot by a strange-looking woman.”

Ruth wondered a bit about that woman; did she have a family? Someone who loved her and cared about her? Ruth certainly hoped so; no one should have to go through life alone and unloved. It was no way to live, no matter how one looked. She cleared away the last of the threads and pulled out her needle and thread.

“Which medical facility do you work at?”

“My own,” she replied as she prepped the needle. “I own and operate a small clinic in North Salem.”

She’d get a young mutant in her clinic on occasion, some obviously mutant while others could pass for human until they sneezed or coughed and their powers flared. One young soul had singed the wall of one of her examination rooms when his mother brought him in for a flu shot. He cried and apologized over and over again until Ruth managed to calm him down and tell him that it was okay.

“And what about you,” she asked as she stitched the wounds up. “Where do you live? Any family or friends?”

[Erik Lehnsherr]

It was evident in the way that her face lit up following his question, that she was a proud mother. That was good, that she was able to embrace the role of motherhood and was able to settle in one place, establishing a family. "Those are lovely names," he told her truthfully. Five children. Such a large family, but it seemed to be something she liked and had wanted. He supposed that had things been different for himself, he would have wanted that too. But not now. He never intended to have a wife or children. Such was not the path his fate lay out for him. She then responded to his words expressing disapproval over the actions of the government, and it seemed that she agreed with him. Magneto knew all too well what it was to be a lab rat; enduring unbearable torture for so long -- thanks to Shaw. And the government had allowed mutants to suffer such a fate. Had it been the other way around, where mutants were kidnapping and experimenting on humans . . . what an outrage there would be. But because it was mutants, society accepted it. The government would allow it. It was sickening to think that they lived in such a society where the laws catered to humans above mutants. What a world they now lived in . . . one that Magneto was determined to change.

"I agree," he told her, so strong in his beliefs and goals, and this was exactly why. Everyone agreed with it . . . but hardly anyone did anything about it. Did anything to stop it. To make sure that no mutant was captured again for the sake of human curiosity. Ruth then questioned his knowing of Mystique, speaking of how she could not have known the mutant's intentions. Which of course made sense. With the rather rocky his relationship with Mystique had gotten, he had not known her true intentions either. No one had. They could only encourage her, and Magneto had often encouraged her to be herself . . . which usually worked in his favor. But not since her unfortunate departure from the Brotherhood. From him. But as always, his emotions remained guarded for he did not lament in the past with her. They were now on separate paths and he needed to focus on the future. Ruth's next words distracted him, referring to having witnessed her brother being shot by a strange looking woman. Strange. That word really stuck out. "Strange by what? Societal standards?" He asked, not defensively, but rather, quite calmly. "Using such words to describe a mutant is precisely what is wrong with society's perception of us." For they were regarded as 'strange'. Abnormal. Freaks. These were all words commonly thrown out there to insult those who looked different.

"Are any of your children mutants; do they bear a physical mark of their mutation? And if so, would you refer to them as strange as well?" His questions were partly rhetorical, partly spoken with genuine curiosity. While he bore no physical mark to reveal his mutation -- nor did Ruth, presuming she was a mutant -- that did not mean that those who did were any less than them. He also knew that he had picked out a topic far easier for him to discuss. Part of it was deflecting, the other part was defending fellow mutants. It was easier to discuss politics and mutants, than it was to talk about their sibling relationship. Speaking of emotions and sentiments had never been his strong suit. She answered his own question, revealing that she owned a small clinic. "For how long?" He asked, still feeling he'd rather focus the conversation on her than himself. Though that became increasingly difficult when she asked of his own family and friends. Unfortunately, it was not quite that simple, which proved to be quite contrasting with her. For where she wanted and had a family, his own family was The Brotherhood . . . a very different dynamic of the word. "I think it best not to answer that to ensure you have deniability should the authorities ever question you. I am a wanted man after all." His words were spoken with slight teasing, and at the same time, were ones that were true. For he was indeed one of the most Wanted men in the world.

[ruth]

Erik commented on the names, saying they were lovely. Ruth smiled at the praise. True, she didn’t choose the names (the closest they came to that was the nickname Mirek used in school because apparently no one who wasn’t Polish could figure out how to pronounce his name), but she’d always thought the names suited her children.

His agreement with her opinions on human experimentation were strong, and Ruth wondered again what he’d endured while imprisoned in the camps. Part of her wanted to ask, wanted to know, while another part of her refused to ask. She would never tell him what she’d gone through in Auschwitz, and she could not possibly expect him to be so forthcoming. If he ever wanted to tell her, then it would be his own choice.

“Strange by what? Societal standards?” Ruth paused in her work at his inquiry. Perhaps ‘strange-looking’ hadn’t been the right combination of words to use, but it wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence to see a blue skinned lady outside of Hindu paintings and sculpture. “Using such words to describe a mutant is precisely what is wrong with society’s perception of us.”

Ruth nodded a bit in comprehension; she understood the sentiment very well. Society was often at fault for the prejudices they bore and the horrors that spawned from them, she was perfectly able to admit that. She’d witnessed firsthand what such horrors could occur, and the idea of such events occurring again—especially ones that would threaten Erik’s life—was enough to make Ruth’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Are any of your children mutants,” Erik asked. “Do they bear a physical mark of their mutation? And if so, would you refer to them as strange as well?”

“It wasn’t right of me to use ‘strange,’” Ruth admitted. “‘Striking’ may have fit better, or perhaps ‘memorable’. And no, I would not call my children strange—but I’ve taken care of them ever since the Soviets reached Auschwitz. Perhaps I would have gained a sort of blindness to it if that were the case.”

She paused for a moment before continuing. “Two of my children are mutants: Alicja and Mirek. Neither of them bear physical markers of their mutations, but I would not love them any less if they did.” But would they have even survived Auschwitz if they did?

Erik asked her how long she’d had her own clinic as Ruth returned her attention to patching the wounds. “It hasn’t been all that long. We opened in 1962, after a long and ridiculous argument with the former landlord. Apparently he was of the belief that a woman couldn’t possibly manage an entire clinic on her own.”

Ruth had immediately set to work proving him wrong and within six months of opening, she was operating one of the most successful clinics in the county—a status she had maintained with staunch conviction.

“I think it best not to answer that to ensure you have deniability should the authorities ever question you,” he told her when she asked about his own life. “I am a wanted man, after all.”

She laughed a little at that. “Well, I am certain that dropping a baseball stadium on the White House is a situation the Secret Service never had to deal with before, but really, it was a bit over the top. I see you haven’t lost your flair for the dramatic,” she teased in return, finishing up the stitches and grabbing a gauze pad and medical tape.

[Erik Lehnsherr]

She admitted that her choice of words were not correct. Though she may admit that now, it was the fact that he had to point it out. And she of course was not the only one who used such words without thought; ones that were less than flattering and the narrow mindedness that those within this oppressive society held. Strange was reserved for those who looked different from a 'normal' person. And what was normal? Someone who looked like everyone else? It was these such mutants who were joining the Brotherhood now, realizing that there was a place for them where they could fight against the persecution they faced every day. He however remained silent and she proceeded to answer his questions, her words suggesting that her children were adopted as she had stated that she'd taken care of them since the Soviets reached Auschwitz. And then confirmed that two of them were mutants. That still did not answer the question as to whether she was or not, as he still avoided asking the question . . . though knew with the way their conversation was progressing, he knew it was soon coming.

"You should not have to develop a blindness to mutants who bare physical marks. They are no less beautiful than others." They were often more beautiful in how they looked. "But as you have two children who are mutants, I would hope that you are able to imagine the other mutant children out there who are in far less accepting families and environments." Because if one was aware of it, then that person should be willing to do something about it. As was Magneto's belief of course; that fighting against this oppression was the only way to gain mutant freedom. Otherwise, nothing would be done and their kind would continue to suffer. He then listened to her speak a little more of her clinic, not having opened all too long ago; a little more than a decade. "It is good then, that you are able to keep it functioning." Considering all that had occurred in the past ten years -- even if Magneto had been sheltered from most of it due to his imprisonment. Her laughter helped ease some of the, awkwardness -- if that was even the proper word to use -- under these circumstances. Those being the ones that had made him realize that his sister was alive after all these years. While he did enjoy histrionics, there was a reason he had done it all, apart from the basic and logistical reason of keeping the President and others in an enclosed area. "The President was making a grand statement with the Sentinel project. I had to make my own grand statement." And it was done not only through his actions, but also, with his words.

[ruth]

“You should not have to develop a blindness to mutants who bare physical marks,” Erik pointed out. “They are no less beautiful than others. But as you have two children who are mutants, I would hope that you are able to imagine the other mutant children out there who are in far less accepting families and environments.”

Ruth hummed in acknowledgement as she worked. She thought of Silvie, of the scarring around her eyes from Mengele’s chemicals. She remembered all of those years when Silvie would come home in tears because of what others said of them, before she’d figured out her own key to self-confidence. When Silvie was young and still adjusting to a world she couldn’t see, and Ruth had had no idea how to help her aside from patience and holding her when she cried. No, the beauty did not come from the physical differences. The beauty came from self-acceptance and hard won inner strength.

Erik commented on her clinic and her ability to keep it going. Ruth smiled again, albeit less than before. There was an underlying awkwardness to the whole conversation, one that hadn’t existed when they were children. A small flash of pain crossed through her as she mourned a bit for the relationship they’d once had. The years had taken her dear little brother and replaced him with a man Ruth did not know, and one she feared she never would again.

“The President was making a grand statement with the Sentinel project,” Erik replied, defending his actions. “I had to make my own grand statement.”

“So you uprooted a stadium,” Ruth clarified, her tone dry as she secured the gauze. “Grand statements aside, wasn’t that a bit reckless? You could have seriously harmed a lot of people, and you were going to commit murder on national television! Whoever that blue woman is, I want to thank her for stopping you from doing something incredibly foolish.”

She took a moment to inspect her work before deeming it satisfactory. So long as he didn’t do anything too strenuous and kept the gauze dry and clean, the wound would heal up nicely with only minimal scarring. Ruth tucked her supplies away before returning the kit to her purse.

“Now, I want you to promise me that you’ll keep the gauze clean and dry for at least a week. Preferably two. And don’t raise any stadiums, either. I don’t want you to tear your stitches.”

[Erik Lehnsherr]

The more they spoke about his actions, the more he felt the shock slip away and be replaced with the same guarded demeanor he often showed to the world. Her words of saying he was reckless and foolish . . . she clearly did not understand, nor wished to for she did not ask. She merely assumed. And he knew that while he could not explain all of it, he could explain some of it. Not to justify his actions, but so that she knew that he was not some amateur mutant who wanted to show off to the world. It was far greater than that. "You wish to speak of a great number of people being harmed, deeming me responsible for that? Yet you do not consider the millions of mutants who would have died due to the Sentinel project. I had my specific target and it was to save the millions of our kind in the future. People do not speak of that though. They speak of how a single mutant threatened the life of a homo sapien President. Not a single human who is responsible for approving a machine with the sole purpose of eliminating mutants from this world." It was always a mutant who would be a bad guy. The other point of view would never be expressed . . . unless Magneto did so himself.

Hence, the televised speech, reaching out to all his brothers and sisters and urging them not to hide any longer, assuring them that they were not alone, and convincing them to join the fight that humans had proclaimed on their race. "Your judgments are alike to all those who do not believe that mutants are being oppressed or threatened on a daily basis. And it is most disappointing." Because, well . . . she was his sister. Yet, if she was human -- IF -- then that would certainly explain a lot. For it showed that her mind was like all the other homo sapiens. She then seemed to finish stitching his wound and as soon as she did, he rose from his seated position, not even touching it . . . nor making any promise to keep it clean and dry. "Why were you searching for me, Ruth?" He asked, his voice holding that same guarded tone he had with the rest of the world. Had she come to tell him how wrong he was in his actions? What was it that she now expected of him? "For even you must realize that the brother you once had, was not the one you witnessed on the television." That Erik Lehnsherr was dead, and she was right to mourn him when she had. Had he met her at another time . . . perhaps things would be different. But thus far, their conflicting views were not helping, and building a familiar tension that existed among those who Magneto encountered that did not share his views. Not only that, but they criticized them.

[ruth]

“You wish to speak of a great number of people being harmed, deeming me responsible for that? Yet you do not consider the millions of mutants who would have died due to the Sentinel Project.”

Ruth pursed her lips a bit in disagreement. She had worried very much about how the Sentinel Project would affect the future—but when Erik showed up on the screen with a massive stadium and turned the robots on the crowd, she’d had other things to worry about.

“I had my specific target and it was to save the millions of our kind in the future,” Erik continued. “People do not speak of that, though. They speak of how a single mutant threatened the life of a homo sapien President. Not a single human who is responsible for approving a machine with the sole purpose of eliminating mutants from this world.”

“I’m afraid that’s just our nature, Erik,” Ruth replied. “Mutants and humans alike tend to focus on the one negative rather than anything else. Don’t you remember what Papa would tell us? Our oppressors will always expect the worst of us—we must do all that we can to prove them wrong. To be beyond reproach.”

She thought of the room in the ghetto that they’d shared with other families. When they had to huddle together for warmth, and either she or Erik would make a disparaging comment, he would urge them to be the better ones, to show love and tolerance even in the face of adversity. Ruth had been bitter about it when she was younger, about how kind words and inner strength did not protect them from bullets and toxic gas. But as she’d grown older, tasked with the raising of five young children, she’d begun to see the wisdom in her father’s words.

“It isn’t right, of course,” Ruth conceded. “But there must be a better way than violence.”

“Your judgments are alike to all those who do not believe that mutants are being oppressed or threatened on a daily basis. And it is most disappointing.”

“I’m not judging your actions based on mutants and humans,” Ruth said, her tone a bit snappish. “I’m judging you as someone who knows you were raised better than that.”

“Why were you searching for me, Ruth? For even you must realize that the brother you once had was not the one you witnessed on the television.” Erik’s tone was guarded, shuttered, and Ruth’s previous irritation crumbled with a sigh.

“Because you’re still my brother,” she replied. “And I love you. You’re family, no matter what your beliefs and opinions are, no matter what you have done or what you will do. And I’m so happy to know that you’re alive, after so many years of thinking you were dead.”

She stood up from the bench, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Even if you see me as the enemy, you’re my brother. I don’t know what the future holds for us, for mutants and humans—no matter what I told Rigby, I can’t see the future. I can guess, I can hope, but I can’t know until it’s here. But I do know that what happened here will have implications, both good and bad, for us all.” She offered him her hand, and smiled a bit. “And I hope that you’ll still care about your big sister, even though she’s just another human.”

[Erik Lehnsherr]

Just their nature. Justification for the way people perceived things, but that was unacceptable. Erik would not just easily accept that it was the way things were, and that was that. If he was so passive, then what chance did mutants have to live in a safe environment? She went on, speaking of how both mutants and humans focused on the negative rather than anything else . . . and then she brought up their father. Recalling what they had once told him. They had been raised a certain way, however the unforeseen circumstances that they were forced to endure, changed them. "And how do you propose we do that? By remaining inactive and allow ourselves to be oppressed?" No. That was not an option. Too many were suffering; too many were dying. "I would have thought that someone who fought against oppression would understand that we can not just idly sit by to prove them wrong." She of all people should understand that. "We fight to survive." Just as she once had; just as he now did. Only for very different reasons. They didn't have a choice. Erik had not had one when Shaw created a monster within him . . . and he did not have a choice now when his kind were targeted for being different; for being more powerful than humans could ever understand. They had a right to live free from persecution, yet humans did not seem to regard it that way.

A better way than violence she suggested. "That message is best preached to humans, for it is them who time and time again make the first attack against mutants." In Cuba, with the Sentinels . . . it was humans who used violence. Magneto merely had to react in such for it was the only way to protect those mutants that were being threatened. She seemed to be losing her composure as her tone became a little snippy which, he was hardly surprised by. While his voice remained calm, he knew their conversation was a tense one. After all, they had not seen each other for so many years . . . and here they were, faced with very opposing point of views. "You may know how I was raised, but you do not know what I have become." What Shaw had made him to be. He was not the man he would have been, had they not been subject to war. Their lives would have been -- could have been -- very different. But that was not the path that fate laid out for them. And there was no use lamenting in the what ifs and what could have beens. Though seeing her now, she seemed to be a woman that their parent's would have been proud to call their daughter. Magneto . . . well, he was capable of far more than he ever thought possible. Which was both a good and bad thing. Her answer to his question made him pause all other thought. She loved him as her brother. Those words were so foreign to his ears, as he had not heard them for many years and had never expected to ever hear them again. Yet here she was, his sister, standing before him and trying to sustain their sibling relationship.

He felt his heart twinge with emotions he did not know how to describe or classify. His sister. Deep down . . . he knew he was happy that she too was alive. To see that she had survived the war, unlike their family and friends . . . she fought all odds and survived. "While I too share the joy in seeing you are alive, I fear that the brother you once knew, did indeed die." He was not going to deny that. She was right. This was not how he was raised . . . but he could not return to being that man. "And that what is left of him, is not someone you would be proud to call your brother." Because just based on this conversation, she was in disagreement of his actions. And he would not change them. There was far too much at risk. The very future of mutants was at risk! She spoke of the uncertainty of the future, and offered her hand to him. And then her next words answered the nagging question -- and confirmed his fear -- of her being human. His jaw slightly clenched at this revelation. She was a human. She was one of them, yet they shared the same blood. They were family, but the Brotherhood was his family. This conflict caused that twinge in his heart to turn into a strange sort of pain as he considered what this meant.

She would never be part of the Brotherhood. She would not fight for mutant rights the same way that mutants did. Even if her children were mutants, it was not the same thing. But he dare not voice any of this. Because right now, all he could focus on was the fact that she was his sister. And even if they never saw each other after this, he found a strange -- and undeserved -- solace and comfort in this thought. He shouldn't though. He should be trying to create a distance, knowing there was no possible way he could maintain a relationship with a human. He had tried with Magda so many years ago, but that had ended horribly. Although, there were other reasons for that. "You are my sister and I will always care for you as such." But he could not just embrace her family and be a brother in law, an uncle, or even a decent brother. Far too much had happened. Far too much had changed. He did however take her hand in his, and gave an ever so slight smile, though it lacked the joviality it should have otherwise held. "Come. I will take you home," he told her. Because despite their differences -- which seemed to be growing miles now that it was revealed that they were of opposing races -- he still wanted to ensure she was safe. Perhaps it was a bit ironic though, considering her safety would be compromised in his presence but she did not seem to mind as she willingly sought him out. And quite honestly, though he may not admit it, he wasn't sure he was able to let her go just yet. Not so soon after reuniting with her.