A/N: Here, have some vague backgrounds on two of the AU characters! Also, the beginnings of relationships~ ;D
Musical motivators this time: "Hello" by Evanescence, along with the rest of the Fallen CD. Also: "Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine" by The Killers, along with a few of my Placebo songs (like their rendition of "Running Up That Hill," which is the only version of that song I like, because if you listen to anyone else but them sing it, it sounds awful and annoying, but when they do it, it's beautiful and haunting).
Three.
"Who let Mr. Summers out yesterday? It took us an hour to calm him down after screaming at Mr. Cassidy for ten minutes to speak to him, when we all know that Sean is mute and going through vocal coaching and therapy to get him to speak! And then Mr. Lehnsherr says he met with Mr. Xavier against the warden's wishes? –Honestly, who brought about this outrage? The warden is not happy!" Emma scolds all of the guards, janitors, and nurses assigned to the D-Wing.
"Why are you bitching at us instead of in line with us? You're one of the nurses in his division," Angel sneers, her arms folded tightly over her defined chest, her Latina skin contrasting beautifully with her dark grey serving uniform.
Emma lifts her nose into the air ever so slightly. "Because I have an alibi. I was in the warden's office, helping him with paperwork –"
"I did not know that was what they were callingk blowjobs these days," Azazel smirks in his Russian accent, his icy blue eyes piercing, even the milky one peering from under the long scar running vertically along the left side of his face. "Really, Miss Frost, if you were not so preoccupied –"
"Quiet!" she shrieks, and the line goes silent, but not without a few of the people in line smiling to themselves behind their hands, or quite openly, because Emma's telltale blush is enough. "Now, is anyone going to confess or rat someone out, or am I going to have to fire all of you for the patients getting out of their wards when they weren't supposed to? This is an organized mental institute, everyone. There needs to be order, and that order needs to be maintained," Emma continues to scold after her outburst.
Moira is awful at lying. She is good at keeping secrets, not saying anything, but she is awful at directly lying to someone's face. So she chooses to instead look at Emma's hair; it's close to her face, so the direction is the same, and it is rather neat and perfect, and Moira is almost jealous, but not quite. She uses this as an excusing thought to keep her mind off of the guilt she already feels for going so blatantly against orders, all on account of her loyalty to the patients and not the head of the facility.
"Moira? Sugar, you look pretty nervous," Emma just about purrs like a cat who caught the canary, and she smirks a little as she paces down the line to touch Moira's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "Is there something you'd like to tell me about this catastrophe?"
Moira bats Emma's hand away and shakes her head, frown settling into place. "It's hardly a catastrophe, Emma. And it won't happened again, so do you honestly need to do this?"
The blonde's face falls. "Mr. Shaw's orders. But you know what? You're right. How silly of me. You should all just speak to Mr. Shaw one by one and give your explanations and excuses while I tend to the patients before lunch. Ta," she sniggers, and with a wave of her delicate hand, she leaves the room.
Everyone goes into the warden's office one at a time, consuming an hour of the day altogether. They all tell the truth except Moira. And Sebastian can tell, but he doesn't fire her or inform her at all that he knows what she did. Instead, he waits to see how this will play out, and for that, he needs her around.
"Don't worry about patients 214657 and 214782. Sure, they met earlier than I would have liked, but I trust it was for the best, don't you?" He turns around and faces away from Moira, and she swallows nervously. "Do you know why we give patients numbers, Miss MacTaggert?"
"To keep a file record of all of the in and out patients that have passed through this clinic over the years?" she answers docilely.
Sebastian nods and smiles. He glances over his shoulder at her, his hands clasped behind his back. "Precisely. Since this facility opened up in the early nineteen hundreds and has been fully operational – not to mention adaptational to the times – over the years, being constructed on and redone time and time again. And through that time, we have had over two hundred thousand patients come and go for days, weeks, months, and years, depending on their severity, and some still live here. We have a pleasant system, and one little slip up here and there won't harm a thing, now, will it?"
The nurse nods, speechless. Sebastian's smile grows, and he dismisses her. When Miss MacTaggert exits his office, she thinks she's off the hook.
"But this is only the start of something life-altering," Shaw grins devilishly, and as he turns back into his office, he pours himself a cup of coffee and bird-watches out his smeary window. He chuckles to himself, watching a cardinal, starkly red against the dismal grey color of the sky, fly in view of the window. "I only hope things go according to my plan for this place, and not according to the plan of someone like Xavier."
-0-
"Hi, I'm Raven, but everyone calls me Mystique. The Professor – oh, that's Charles, you know – tells me that we should call you Magneto. Is that right?" the wavy-haired blonde says, her eyes full of life. She scoots closer to Erik on the bench in the Roaming Room, and timidly reaches out to touch one of the visible scars on his forearm. "He also said that you've been here for just about two weeks, but they haven't let you out of your room. Why haven't they let you out of your room?" And she grips his arm almost painfully, her lengthy nails scraping his skin, but it doesn't seem to affect him in the least. His expression is as deadpan as ever.
Erik pretends not to have heard the M-word fall from her lips. He changes the topic by jerking his head in the freckled, orange-haired boy's direction not too far away. "What is his name? He didn't answer me when I spoke to him, and he is always staring off into space."
Raven glances over, and then her face takes on a sorrowful pouts as she returns to gaze once again to Erik's handsomely angular face. "Aww, that's Sean. We call him Banshee out of irony. They give him a lot of meds, you see, to keep him calm. He goes into fits, and has nightmares when he sleeps. He's a mute."
"Why is he mute? Does anyone know? It takes a lot to drive someone into absolutely silence," Erik growls, already furious with whoever traumatized the boy enough to scare away his voice. Erik despises injustices; if he could he would serve his own justice on all of those who fucked up others through any means.
Raven sighs. "Professor X won't tell me. He says that he only knows because he's snuck into the File Room before. Have you seen the File Room? It's at the front of D-Wing, near the Warden's office in the center. It has so many filing cabinets and papers and manila folders everywhere that it's like a maze!"
"No, but I will have to check that out sometime," Erik grunts in reply. "Where is Charles?"
"Hmm? Oh, he's probably in his room. He likes to write a lot. He has a typewriter! It's so pretty. They wouldn't let him have a computer, so they got him a nice, shiny typewriter. It's black. I like tot touch its smooth, round keys," she whispers, bringing her legs up to her chest and hugging them. She hums and smiles, closing her eyes to rub her cheek against one of her knees. "Sometimes they let me stay in Charles' room for the day, so I don't get as lonely. They say that he helps me stay one person, although I don't know what they mean."
Erik nods, not paying much attention after receiving the answer he wanted to hear. He lightly touches her on the shoulder and tells her to stay put while he goes and sees Charles.
"Wait, I'll come with you! One of the guards likes me, thinks I'm pretty. We can get past him and to Charles' room if we ask for the key," Raven says with a smile, dropping her legs and hopping up. She wraps her arms around one of Erik's, but he shrugs her off. She frowns, but doesn't say anything.
Raven bounds right up to Azazel and plays a cute act, laying on in giggling girlish charm to make the Russian man blush and agree to let Erik through.
"Oh, thank you so much, Azazel! My friend Magneto really does like to talk to the Professor. He might even play chess with him sometime, if you guys get us a board and pieces! Cardboard and plastic, so none of us hurt each other or break something, right? But someone might try to eat the pieces or gnaw on the cardboard," she rattles on, and she glances back at Erik, winking, and he takes it as a sign to slip past Azazel – the man handing him a ring of keys on the way – and down the hall.
Erik doesn't knock, doesn't need to, as he unlocks the door and enters.
Charles isn't at his typewriter. He's instead napping on his bed, curled on one side with a hand tucked under his pillow.
If Erik were more polite and considerate of others, he would leave. But he's been looking for an excuse to speak to Charles again for days now, and asking him about Sean Cassidy as a start is the best excuse he has going at the moment.
He moves near the bed, but just as he's about to reach out and nudge the brunet awake, Charles' eyes open and he rolls onto his back, peering up at a suddenly very wide-eyed Erik.
"Sorry, did I startle you?" Charles yawns, sitting up and scratching an arm as he moves to rubs his eyes clean. "That lock is very noisy. It stirred me from sleep before I heard you come in." He blinks, pans his eyes over to Erik's face, and Erik honestly feels something shift within him, and it's unsettling to have such an effect occur when, in the past, no one has ever made Erik feel anything except rage. "May I help you with something?"
"Raven told me that you know about Sean Cassidy. I like knowing what I can about those around me, so I was hoping you would tell me what his case is," Erik says as he recovers and pulls up Charles' writing chair, sitting in it and crossing his legs as he awaits a response.
Charles nods sadly. "Ah, poor, poor Banshee… Yes, his tale is rather tragic. You know, at the very least, that he is mute, yes?"
"That would be the reason why I'm interested in him," Erik retorts. "I hate it when people don't talk to me when I speak to them, so it made me wonder why he wouldn't answer. And then Raven tells me he's mute, and I needed to know why."
"And I can't very well deny a man knowledge! It would be a sin," Charles relays. He smiles. "Although I do keep it from the others, because they wouldn't understand. But I think you might."
"So tell me, then," Erik snaps.
"Impatient, aren't you? Just like I remember," Charles says softly. Erik is about to question that as well when Charles cuts him off by diving into Sean's story. "You see, dear friend, Sean is mute all because, they said in his file, he screamed too much when he say his parents were slaughtered in front of him. It was a serial killer, they said; one who steals away into homes, waits to pounce, and kills the parents, but leaves the children. The serial killer was brought to justice, given a death sentence, his motive was along the lines of, 'I didn't have loving parents, so no one else should have them, either.' And he always targeted red-haired couples, because his own parents had had red hair. And thus, our poor boy was one of this man's victims."
Erik nods, making sense of it all. "So the patients here, in the D-Wing… they aren't all criminally insane like me? Some are the aftermath of crimes instead?"
"Oh, very much so," Charles nods in agreement. "I'd like to think many of us aren't insane at all, but we're feared for the way we now look at the world, since it's harsher than what normal people see. Darwin, for example –"
"Who?" Erik frowns.
"Ah, Armando, you might have heard him be called by the unknowing guards. He's the African American gentleman, tall and lean, who often chats with Miss Angel, the cafeteria hand. Surely you know her," Charles clarifies, his tone forever friendly and open like the branches of the trees Erik would climb as a child.
"Yes, I know her, and I know him, too. Why do all of you have these nicknames? They confuse me. I'd rather call people by their names," Erik grunts, folding his arms over his chest.
"Not all of us are who we used to be. Our nicknames suit us much better than our birth names, and they sound more personal than our patient numbers," Charles explains gently, and moves to the edge of his bed to face Erik. "You've seen it, haven't you? The number they put on all your clothes, and stuck a sticker of on your door."
The taller man has indeed seen it. He's already memorized it: 214782. He is the two hundred fourteen thousand, seven hundred eighty-second patient to walk through those front doors, and whenever he gets out of here, he doesn't know what number he will be, because some of the patients have never left this place since arrival.
(But he will get out of here, even if he has to do so illegally. Erik can't be condemned to this sort of place for long.)
Charles clears his throat. "Anyhow, Darwin, for example, was another victim, although his case is more unique. He used to be a taxi driver, but he was dragged into a runaway robbery, forced at gunpoint to be the getaway car. The experience mentally ruined him because he ran over someone on the street in his haste and nervousness, and was arrested for manslaughter. They labeled him as an accomplice, despite being unwilling, and his lawyer was able to argue insanity to let him off with a gentler sentence. He should be out of here in another few months, if we can work his way out of D-Wing."
"Why is he still in D-Wing, then? Wouldn't he want to leave?" Erik demands, his brows clouding with an even deeper frown than his usual. "Why would anyone want to stay here?"
"Some of us, unfortunately, have no home to return to. This is our home now. And if you show no sign of progress, you never have to leave," is all Charles says in reply.
"All right, that I can understand, but why is 'Darwin' his nickname, then? Some of your names are a mystery to me," he remarks as he leans back in the chair and observes Charles with a keen eye, taking in every last detail of the man, someone so familiar, someone from his dreams…
Charles crosses his legs as well and rests his hands atop his knees. "'Darwin' was chosen by Armando himself. He liked the thought that he could adapt to most anywhere, like every major city he moved to and became a taxi cab driver for. He even has adapted quite well here, and knows his way around the system enough to remain with us. But Darwin is of the C-Wing, not the D-Wing, to clarify. Our wings share a socializing room. He chooses to be a neutral party, one that is neither in the bottom with us troublemakers, nor at the top of the list, with the nearly-reformed."
Erik is silent for a moment. He doesn't care much about this information; he only wanted to hear Charles speak with that light British accent, and listen to the sound of his voice to try and catch the familiar tones he hears woven into it. Finally, the twenty-seven-year-old replies in a grave tone, "Then why are you in the D-Wing, Charles? You seem just as sane as the people who work here. You haven't killed people like I have in bouts of rage; you just seem to be known as the delusional lunatic, not the violent one. So what's your story?"
"…I'm afraid now isn't the time for that, my friend," Charles replies sweetly, a kind smile faintly touching his lips, but his eyes are dark, the blue looking less innocent than his smile. "Only know that I always have good intentions, Erik. I always want what's best for others in the long run. Now then, shouldn't you be going before you're caught? I think Janos might be coming down the hall as we speak."
And he rises, moving to usher Erik out of his room.
"Wait a damn second!" Erik barks, sharply turning and grabbing Charles' wrist, squeezing tightly.
Pain flickers across Charles' face. "Please, Erik, you're hurting me."
"Who are you, really? You seem to know plenty about me –"
"I know everything about you," Charles whispers. "And none of it scares me. I feel for you, Erik. My heart weeps with empathy at what you've gone through." And he doesn't mention that he stole Erik's file and read it as well, like he does with every D-Wing patients' when they first arrive.
"Shut up! Just tell me how, then; how do you know me? How do I know you? Asking and talking about others is all deflection and denial on both parts. We both know that we need to discuss ourselves," Erik growls, and he leans in close enough to smell Charles. Charles doesn't smell like the rest of the asylum; he smells like polished oak and fall leaves and dusty libraries. He smells like how a castle might smell, or a study within the castle, perched somewhere northern and chilly…
Stunned, Erik releases Charles and backs away. His hand feels cold without the warmth of Charles' flesh under his fingers. He doesn't miss the way his heart picks up its beating as Charles looks intently at him, and suddenly Erik knows that he really does need to leave.
"Another time, Magneto." (Erik shivers at the title given to him.) "Now go, before Janos catches you."
The taller brunet is all too happy to leave. Out in the hallway, sure enough, the Hispanic guard is making his way down the corridor. He snatches the keys from Erik's hand, handing them back to Azazel, and he shoots a glare Erik's way, but doesn't say a word. Erik prays to a God he stopped believing in after his parents became one of the deceased that Janos doesn't report his actions.
Back in the Roaming Room, Erik sits down near a jumpy, rocking boy of his late teens with messy brown hair and skewed, black-rimmed glasses. His eyes are a watery blue, and when he peers over at Erik, he mumbles, "Who are you?"
"I'm Erik," he grunts. "But everyone seems to call me Magneto."
"Oh," the boy says, and he fixes his glasses and tugs at his hair, but doesn't pull it out. "I'm Hank. B-but I'm not human, you know."
"No?" Erik questions, raising a brow. He snorts, thinking to what Charles once said to him. "Then what are you, a mutant?"
Hank laughs bitterly and buries his head in his hands. "No, no. N-no, nothing as nice as that. No. I'm a monster. A menace. A beast." He lifts his head. "Where's Alex? I m-miss him. He's the only person who makes me feel like less of a beast, no matter how much he teases me. He at least pays attention to me, besides Charles. But Charles always has people to talk to, other people who need him, and I can't… I can't keep him from helping them." He peers anxiously over at Erik. "Do you know Charles?"
"Yes, I know him," Erik mutters under his breath. He swallows to wet his dry throat. "Why is it you don't call everyone by their nicknames?"
Hank makes an almost animalistic, snarling sound, as he reverts back to holding himself and rocking. "I hate those nicknames. I hate them, hate them! I'm might be a beast, but I'm not Beast, with a capitol B. I'm a monster, but I'm not labeled as a monster. There's a difference. There's a huge difference," he relays swiftly. He glances at Erik again. "Do you know Alex? Or where he is? I miss him…"
"He's the one in solitary confinement all the time, isn't he?" Erik comments idly. "If that answers your questions."
"It does. It does, thank you," Hank whispers. He hiccups, but doesn't cry. "Too bad. Too bad… Guess a monster like me doesn't deserve his company. That's okay. It's really okay. I'll go back to my room, now." And just like that, Erik is left alone on the bench.
He looks around the room, finding Darwin talking to Angel from over a counter while she hands him a pudding cup. He sees a man smoking a cigar, hair wild and gaze cold, in the corner; he decides not to speak to him. And then he spies Raven flirting with Azazel, and Janos near them looking on the scene with jealousy, but who toward for what reason, Erik can't tell; he can only tell by the particular scowl and miserable expression that Janos is indeed quite jealous.
Erik sighs and rubs his eyes. He feels tired. He stands, slips out of the room, moving past Janos (raising his hands as he goes to show that he doesn't have any keys this time), and asking to be let back into his room. His prison.
Janos grunts, nods once, and follows Erik down the hall.
Back in his room, utterly alone, Erik does the only thing he can: he stares off into space until sleep claims him.