Chapter 26 - The Last Supper
The dining hall felt too small for so many bodies, and too quiet for so many hearts.
At the head of the table sat Professor Charles Xavier, hands folded, expression calm in that carefully constructed way that meant he was anything but. To his right and left, the table split like a river with two currents flowing in opposite directions.
On one side, the old X-Men:
Cyclops, upright as ever, shoulders taut, eyes hidden behind that visor.
Jean Grey, graceful and warm, though tonight her smile faltered.
Angel, wings folded in tight against the chair, but every inch of him radiated restless energy.
Iceman, trying too hard to act like nothing was wrong.
Havok, silent, but his jaw worked as though chewing unspoken words.
Polaris, eyes darting, caught between.
On the other side, the new blood:
Storm, calm and dignified, hands resting in her lap.
Colossus, straight-backed, uncomfortable in the tension.
Thunderbird, arms crossed, suspicious of everyone in the room.
Nightcrawler, tail twitching nervously, trying to smile but failing.
Sunfire, aloof, gaze fixed on his plate.
And Wolverine, one hand on his fork, the other wrapped around a beer bottle he'd smuggled in despite Charles's raised eyebrow.
For a long while, the only sounds were cutlery and the occasional cough.
Then, Angel cleared his throat. "Professor... we've talked about this. The old team-we're leaving."
Charles looked up sharply, the tremor in his fingers betraying him as the words landed. "Leaving? Warren... why now?"
"Because it's time," Jean said softly, though her voice carried in the silence. "We came here as children, unsure of ourselves, of our powers. You gave us a home, Charles. A family. But we're not children anymore. We've grown. We want to... to live our lives."
The words hit like a crack through glass.
Iceman stared at his plate, stabbing at potatoes he didn't eat. Polaris reached under the table and squeezed Havok's hand. Thunderbird muttered something under his breath, but Wolverine silenced him with a look.
Charles's lips trembled before he steadied them. "But after everything we've faced together-after all we've survived-you would abandon this cause?"
Angel's jaw tightened. "Not abandon,
Professor. Just... step away. You've got your new team now." He glanced at Storm, at Colossus, at Wolverine, as if handing over a torch he wanted no part of.
The silence afterward was unbearable.
When the old X-Men pushed back their chairs, the sound of legs scraping wood was louder than any argument. They stood together, almost ceremonially. Not storming out. Not angry. Just... done.
As they filed out, Havok slowed, his shoulder brushing his brother's. "Scott," he murmured, voice low, "are you coming with us?"
Cyclops didn't look at him. His jaw worked, throat tight, visor tilted toward the table. Finally, in a voice hoarse as if dragged over gravel, he said, "I don't know."
Havok lingered a second, then left.
The room was emptier than it should've been, and the new X-Men sat in uneasy silence, watching Charles stare down at his untouched plate as if it might hold the answers.