Title: Spoiled Goods

Author: Lexx Ishi

Disclaimer: X-Men: Evolution and all characters are owned by Marvel Studios. No profit is being earned from this fan piece.

Summary: Captured by Trask forces, Pietro is brutalized while Lance is forced to watch. After their escape, the two have only each other to rely on to heal from wounds both emotional and physical, and maybe explore a budding relationship.

Pairings: L x P

Warnings/Ratings: Rated M for rape, M/M, minor violence, and strong language.

. ~ . . ~ . . ~ .

His first conscious thought was that he had a splitting headache. A gigantic headache. A piercing migraine the likes of which he hadn't experienced since before Mystique put him through training and he got better control of his powers.

With a groan of misery Lance rolled over, trying to wake up and recall what the hell he had been doing before that would have lead to waking up with such bodily pain. He almost fell off whatever it was he was lying on, having to catch himself with a hand on the hard surface under his shoulder. It was cold metal. He didn't make a habit of sleeping on metal.

Lance's eyes popped open.

Bright lights overhead. Immediately stabbing pain shot from his eyes to the inside of his skull. He shut them again, let go of the 'bed' to sit up and grab his forehead with both hands. "Rrg!" he groaned wordlessly, trying to crush out the pain with the pressure of his fingertips against his temples.

"Oh you finally awake?" a voice chattered quickly from nearby. "'Bout damn time."

Lance gave a growl in response to Pietro's condescending tone. With one hand moving down to shade his eyes from the bright overhead light, the teen cautiously opened them again and took in his surroundings.

It was the sight of the cell bars in front of him that brought his memories blasting back to the front of his mind. Late night food run with Pietro, someone ramming the jeep from behind, no headlights behind to warn them. There was a shallow ditch beside the road; they bounced down the incline. Pietro flipped over the passenger door, hadn't been wearing his seat belt. Lance worried as he wrestled with control of the steering wheel, but the slide into the ditch had killed a lot of their momentum already and the speedy teen always had quick enough reflexes to catch himself.

He remembered grinding the jeep to a halt in the ditch, jumping out to face their attackers. Memories were hazy after that, but he remembered hearing Pietro cursing nearby at one point, which was one less thing to worry about. Unlike the silhouettes of men with guns—soldiers with guns—lined up just beyond the glow of the jeep's headlights. That was the worry. He lifted his hands to shake the earth and then froze when he heard the sound of guns cocking.

There wasn't anything after that but a memory of sharp pain.

The cell was small, not much bigger than a place to stand and pace next to the metal shelf bolted to the wall that had been the 'bed' he woke up on. Across the hall, Pietro stood in a similar cell, leaning against the bars, studying Lance with a frown. His foot was tapping with impatience, but he looked to be in one piece.

"You didn't run?" Lance grumbled, rubbing at his pounding head. Why the hell wouldn't this headache go away?

Pietro rolled his eyes at the comment. "There were two SUV's tailing us, the second one came in after the first one hit us. We were surrounded." Pause. "Otherwise I would have."

Lance ignored that, puzzling over the new information. He didn't get it. Two cars of trained men, going after the two of them in the middle of the night. That meant planning. That meant someone with power had ordered them to be tracked down. Someone wanted them captured alive. That took a lot of effort. But what for? And how had they found them?

"This was planned," Lance muttered. "By who?"

Pietro's voice was hard. "The side of the trucks said Trask Industries."

Lance lifted his head. "Trask?" His stomach flipped unpleasantly. "He was arrested after the Sentinel thing. It was all over the news. They shut down the program."

Pietro leaned against the bars of his cell. "Sure they did. Obviously."

Uncomfortable silence fell over the two youths. 'The Sentinel thing' was still a sore subject in the Brotherhood household, so by unspoken agreement it wasn't brought up. Lance didn't like being played, and Magneto had been playing them all. With Pietro's help.

Lance didn't have time to dwell on that now. He stood up from the cot bolted to the wall. "Whatever. We're getting out of here. Stand back." It was a mostly useless order, since there wasn't a whole lot of room to move in the small cells, but Pietro took a step away from the bars. He limped slightly with the movement when his left leg came down on the floor; the brief motion didn't go unnoticed by Lance, who figured that was the real reason why the quick teen hadn't bolted after the jeep went off the road. He was usually very good at saving his own skin.

Lance raised both hands and tried to command the ground to shake, but his headache spiked to blinding agony, stabbing him behind the eyes. He groaned and, dizzy, grabbed the bars to steady himself. One hand came up to rub his head and he touched something small and hard in his hair, just behind his ear.

Across from his cell, Pietro snorted. "Yeah, that's what I figured would happen," he declared. "I didn't think they'd just let you shake things up."

"What the hell is it!?" Lance tried to pull it off, but it was embedded in his skin. It felt flat and rectangular. "What the fuck!?"

"Looks like a microchip or something," remarked the shorter male.

Lance fought down panic. "It won't come off!" The concept of not being able to use his powers was very unpleasant. He hadn't felt this helpless since before he discovered he was a mutant. Lance didn't like feeling helpless. He tried to dig his fingernails under the chip and pry it off, even though it hurt like hell.

"Hey hey wait!" insisted the other teen, watching what he was doing. "That thing could be connected to your brain or something. You want to give yourself a lobotomy yanking it off?"

Lance groaned and let it go, rubbing his forehead.

. ~ . . ~ . . ~ .

TBC...