Erik rubbed his eyes. He hadn't been asleep, he'd just been closing his eyes, trying to rationalize that his best friend in all the world had lived him a lie. Dried tears had glued his eyes shut hours ago, but he hadn't been asleep. He couldn't sleep.
Erik, unlike Emma, could maintain his power while he slept, as long as he wasn't changing something.
Telepathy required fluidity in thoughts, action and reaction to maintain surveillance or control. Erik's power did not. He needed willpower to keep something the same, like the magnetic field Charles' mind was trapped in, and willpower was the one thing which he was never short of.
The idea to trap Charles in the magnetic field had come to him almost too easily, as if his subconscious had known that Charles had been a traitor all along. Erik was thankful that the mansion had a convenient underground metal bunker, although he'd never imagined that he'd end up using it as a prison.
Downstairs, Hank and Emma were arguing. Probably about what happened last night, Erik thought idly, picking out some sleep from his eyelashes.
What the fuck am I going to do? Erik wondered, sitting up. He was still shaking. Erik looked over to his bedside table, where he'd lain the psion-helmet.
There was one way to find out the answers, but he was determined not to take it for as long as possible.
Erik went downstairs, already making preparations for the true mission at hand.
Alex spent the next few weeks training for the impending invasion of Cuba. Charles' capture had taken him by surprise, but now it seemed like old news. They would take turns feeding him. Every morning, either Alex, Emma or Raven would don a helmet, make sure it was on, then unlock the door to Charles' room. Hank wasn't allowed to, and Erik started shaking every time Charles was mentioned. Erik had assured them that the magnetic field would still be in place even if the door was open, and that none of Charles' telepathic waves would be able to escape.
The first few times, Charles had tried to attack them, but he was so shaken that he could barely stand. Emma had backhanded him into the wall once, but Alex had had a hard time fending off Charles. It wasn't a physical problem, it was more that he was still in shock and didn't understand why the man who had promised to buy him a car would be a traitor.
Over the first few days however, Charles had hardened like a shell, not moving or talking, simply sitting up against the steel walls like a sad man's stone carving. Maybe he was only like that when his captors came by, or maybe he just sat in silence all day, thinking.
Twice a day, someone would slide a bucket into the room for Charles to relieve himself in. Charles wouldn't make a move on it until they left. Once every three days, someone would come in with a long hose. Charles refused to take his clothes off, so he would sit shivering in a corner for hours after his 'shower' in cold and wet clothes.
To everyone's eyes, Charles Xavier was waiting to die.
Erik levitated a couple discs into the air, flinging them like sideways frisbees. Alex took a breath and let his power loose. A bright burst of energy erupted from his chest. Alex aimed the beam into the frisbees' flight paths, grinning in satisfaction when they practically blew apart.
Erik launched another couple, calling out, "Burst!"
Alex cut the stream, then shot a contained burst at each of the disks. One hit a disk dead center, the other hit an edge, causing the disk to spin and flip around in the air.
"Again! Burst!"
Emma was glaring down the barrel of a rifle. She took a breath and fired. The bullet hissed out of the gun and sunk itself deeply into a thick block of wood marked with a target ring. Nearly dead center. Emma reloaded quickly, taking barely a second before firing again.
On the other side of the circular training room, Raven was snapping kicks from a dozen martial arts onto a practice dummy suspended from a makeshift hangman platform.
The straw dummy hung pitifully by its neck. Someone had scrawled Professor X onto its chest.
Hank sat outside, overlooking the grounds. Spring was just about to set in along with mild breezes and blossoming flowers. The grass had never been greener. Hank sipped on something that tasted mildly alcoholic. He'd completed his daily training routine hours ago, and now he had all the time in the world to reflect and think.
Time to think about Charles, who everyone said was actually a Soviet, a lying bastard and possibly the worst scum of the earth. Time to think about what the others had said, that he had been brainwashed, that his memory had been altered, that Charles had attacked him.
Perhaps the scariest thing was that Hank knew that it hadn't happened, there was no way that that could have happened. Hank remembered that he'd gone downstairs for water, seen Charles eating cake, laughed a bit while trying not to remember how handsome the other could be, and walked up to Hank's room with him and had a nice chat about the Lockheed Hank would be working on.
If everyone was saying that Hank was wrong and that they had proof of it because Charles had admitted to being the telepath, why was Hank so sure that it wasn't the case?
If Charles had altered him in any way, was he still Henry McCoy?
How can I trust myself if everyone is telling me I can't?
Hank took another long sip of his drink, then stood up. The birds were too loud, too happy.
He sauntered inside through the glass door that led to the kitchen. Erik was pouring out a glass of wine.
"You know Erik, I think I'll go to the warehouse tomorrow."
Erik nodded in understanding. "It's because of the Professor, right?"
No one called Charles by his real name anymore.
"Yeah," Hank replied.
April
Erik was shaking again. It wasn't that the strain of maintaining the magnetic field was finally getting to him, it only made him tire slightly faster. He couldn't take all the stress from inside anymore. He needed answers- he needed someone to blame. Whenever he had gone down to feed Charles, which he had started doing, Charles had stared at him accusingly, as if he were the one responsible.
Charles hadn't spoken a word.
Erik found himself down in the basement just outside Charles' cell. He peered in through the window, comforted by the cool metal of the helmet against his head. Charles was lying on his side in a corner, turning a page of one of the books they'd let him have. He must have read them at least ten times by now. In the opposite corner was a plastic bag. It held three sets of clothes, ten books, a notebook and some pens. There was also a towel that Charles was using as a pillow.
Charles twitched when Erik opened the door, but otherwise did nothing.
"I've come for answers," Erik said.
Charles appeared not to have heard him.
"Why are you with the Soviets?" Erik demanded, stalking over so he was looming over the professor. "They're the…" Erik faltered, words failing to describe the horrendous things they'd done.
The professor's face hardened, but he still didn't look up from his book, The Fourth Agent.
"Tell me the truth, Professor, or I swear I'll-"
"Professor?" Xavier coughed, his voice hoarse with disuse.
Erik didn't realize he'd kicked the professor until the man on the floor roared in pain. "The truth," Erik insisted.
Charles looked up, his eyes flaming. He set a finger to his temple, then frowned as if he'd lost something precious, which he had. "Damn it, I seem to keep on forgetting that I don't have my powers," he said. "In fact," he continued sarcastically, "the only thing I do remember is that I have no reason to tell you a single thing." Charles plastered a false grin over his face, knowing how it unnerved Erik.
Erik's lips tightened, and he kicked Charles again, this time in the stomach. He reached down and pulled Charles up by the collar. "The truth," he repeated.
"The whole truth?"
Erik nodded.
"No thanks."
Erik flung Charles across the room, pulling out a coin from his pocket. He was so angry, he could have sunk it into his body a hundred different times. Then he remembered himself and settled for a hard kick in the groin. Charles, already pitiful, whimpered as he clutched himself on the floor.
Seeing the professor like this, so different from the Charles from before pushed Erik over the edge. He began mercilessly beating at the telepath's ribs, somehow taking pleasure in the small screams of pain he heard. Charles deserved all of it for what he had done.
After only a few hits, Erik realized what he was doing. I came here for answers, not a punching bag, he thought. He let go of Charles, who was curled into a protective ball.
"Control is a flighty thing," Charles groaned, uncurling. "And don't bother saying sorry. Even without," his voice faltered, "my power," he continued, "I know you don't mean it." Charles cleared his throat. "Besides. However bad you think you are, the… Komitet- the KGB are worse. Much worse."
"Answers."
"I'll feed it to you in crumbs."
Charles sat up slowly as if cold had seeped into his bones. He glared Erik in the eyes. As much as he hated to tell the truth, he couldn't stand not talking to someone- not getting emotional feedback from someone.
"I have a mission. I could have completed it a long time ago, you would have been under my thumb as easy as flicking a switch," Charles began in a low, monotone voice. "I would have had everything. Your thoughts, your mind… your body," Charles paused, pinching his lips in a smirk. "But you know what?" Charles' voice rose in self-depreciation. "I wanted more." He took a long breath. "And it's just so unfair," he finished with a sigh.
"But that's not the whole story I suppose," he said, "You wanted to know why I'm with the Soviets?" he coughed. "Because when the war ended, they were the ones that had suffered the most-"
"Stalin was a murderer."
"I know. I infiltrated the KGB to try and 'change his mind' or so to speak. I climbed their ranks easily, made 'friends' with the right people, but by the time I was at the top, Stalin was gone." Charles laughed dryly. "Khrushchev… he's better. And he believes in equality- something you Americans can't understand," he said bitterly.
"So you don't believe in freedom."
Charles burst out laughing. It sounded eerie, going from a soft chuckle to an outright laugh. It echoed around the cold room for longer than it should have.
"I've spent nearly my whole life twisting people around my finger, Erik."
Erik flinched when the professor said his name.
"And I know that every single person I've touched with my powers never missed their freedom."
"You're a control freak!" Erik accused.
Charles tilted his head to the side as if it were obvious. "You know the saying, 'bystanders are guilty'?" Charles asked dryly. "I grew up in a world where I heard everyone's problems. I could…" Charles made a gripping motion with his fists. "Make it right, just by thinking."
Erik locked his jaw.
"And you! Oh...you…" Charles rasped. "You know I blamed myself for your leaving. We were so rich. I could have helped you. My powers set in almost immediately after you left. I could have convinced mother to help you. And yet…"
Erik felt a heavy stone of dread drop on his shoulders. Was it really all his fault that Charles had turned out this way?
Charles paused. "And yet, I didn't." He brushed his long hair out of his eyes. "Nothing happens if I don't let it."
There was no response from Erik.
"Talk, damnit!" Charles shouted, lashing out with a foot. He calmed down quickly. "Do you know what it's like? To not have your powers? It's like I know I'm missing something- I'm missing EVERYTHING- but I can't tell what it is!"
Erik didn't speak.
Charles' rage was back. He pushed himself up the wall. "One day, when I escape and track you down, I will kick you down into the dirt. I will walk up to you. I will kneel beside you and run my fingers up your neck until they reach that worthless piece of metal you think will protect you." Charles sighed, sliding down the wall with his eyes closed, smiling. "I'll crouch and whisper into your ear something you don't understand, and you'll be so afraid, you will cry. Then I'll pull off that helmet…" Charles stopped.
"And you'll be unhappy," Erik realized.
Charles said nothing.
Erik waited for a minute, and when Charles made no attempt to continue the conversation, he made his way out of the room silently.
Their meeting had raised questions, but also provided answers.
"You still haven't given the reason you're still with the Soviets. Stalin died almost ten years ago, you would've been what, twenty? What made you stay? " Erik asked. He was back in the cellar again, helmet firmly on his head, and the question of what had made Charles 'go Soviet', as Raven had put it, had been eating at his stomach. It had been a week since Erik had kicked Charles' balls in, and he'd convinced himself through the bitterness and dread settling in his heart that he was calm enough to go in for another round of verbal abuse in search of the truth.
Charles was sitting with his back against the wall, arms crossed. "The system, I suppose. Communism is a rather fine idea, and you could say it fits with me."
A smile broke across Erik's face and he laughed. "You're joking, right? You don't really think that that's the best way to… whatever it is you want, do you?"
The eyes that had gone wide at the sight of Erik's smile narrowed again. "I'm serious. Everyone does their fair share, everyone gets their fair share, no exploitation and pure equality."
"Tell that to the people who are dead because of it," Erik said, his face falling.
"And I suppose you think capitalism is the mutants' diamonds in the pig trough," Charles said.
Erik's eyes were like cold steel again. "We can show other people that mutants are just as good as regular humans. We can show them that we can be better."
Charles took a moment to digest this. "You know the saying, 'the tallest nail gets hammered down first'? These powerful mutants, they'll generate fear. 'That's not fair,' the people will say. 'John Smith can create fire from his hands, no wonder his steam line is the fastest.' 'He'll steal your jobs,' they'll say, 'We'll have to work for him!' and 'What if he doesn't have our best interests at heart?' 'he's not a normal human like us, is he?' 'What if he goes crazy?." Charles shook his head. "Pretty soon they'll start saying things like, 'He'll come for your children.' 'He'll burn them up.' 'We can't let anyone like him do anything like that,' they'll say, and then the humans will kill them all. That's how the Holocaust started; people were afraid that 'those rich Jews' were a world apart from the 'regular folk'- they stopped believing that they were actually humans, and it only took a little convincing for people to start believing they were monsters. Is that what you want, Erik?"
Erik was at a loss for words. Memories were flooding back to him, unsweeping from under the rug of time. What Charles was saying made a twisted sort of sense, but Erik just knew that he himself couldn't be wrong.
"Just because it happened in the past, doesn't mean we'll just sit by and let it happen in the future," he countered finally.
"But it seems to be keeping you from seeing a better option."
"You mean communism."
"Well, yes."
Erik shook his head. "It hasn't exactly worked out so far has it?"
"Neither have America's civil rights."
Erik was struck with an odd sense of clarity. Before Charles had been unmasked, Erik would never have been able to talk with him like this. But now, they were talking about real things, real problems.
Erik didn't notice that he'd drifted into silence, and was startled out of it when Charles asked bitterly, "How did you catch me?"
"Huh?"
Charles gave Erik a scathing look. "I've been racking my brains wondering how you've created this… electromagnetic field around me. The mansion generator wouldn't be able to produce this much power, and no one's powers can do it."
"Oh." Erik smiled, suddenly brimming with pride and confidence. "I did. My powers," he finished, intending to leave it there and to have Charles go mad from guessing what it was. Although they were now technically talking again, Erik felt only the tiniest flicker of pity for the man who was working against the freedom of the western world, and that was because he'd thought he'd known him.
Charles was brighter than he'd thought. After a moment, his frown melted into a smile. "Oh," he said, laughing. "Of course. You aren't a telekinetic. You control magnetism." Charles' smile grew wilder and more unhinged as he saw shock flit across Erik's eyes and mouth.
"There's a reason the Soviets sent me instead of some other telepath, Erik."
"They didn't know we were-?"
Charles laughed. "They had no idea we were friends," he said.
"Then…" Erik puzzled, "why did you accept the job?"
Charles cocked an eyebrow. "Sneaky," he said, "trying to get me to reveal what my mission was. Let's just say that I didn't want to have to deal with a Russian fuck-up halfway across the world when another telepath took the job."
"So you're saying Russia hires mutants?" Erik said incredulously. Charles had suggested something similar before, but Erik had to be sure.
"The Americans are behind in the race, I'm afraid. Last I checked, the government is keeping your department under tight wraps. Practically no one knows it exists- you only have seven real employees, the smallest little office, and the government doesn't recognize mutants at all. Only a select few in the Executive Branch actually know of your existence." Charles pulled his towel pillow close, as if he were suddenly cold. "Soviets have had their mutant task-force for a long time."
"You're not on it?" Erik asked, having noticed Charles' use of "their", now more intrigued than angry.
"I work better alone. Less messy."
Erik thought he heard a different connotation under Charles' words. Not less messy, Erik thought, Fewer people get hurt.
For the first time in nearly a month of Charles' incarceration, Erik felt a twinge of guilt, which quickly became a struggle to control his battling emotions.
On the one hand, Charles was evil, or as close to evil as Charles could get to Schmidt without murdering his family. He'd betrayed them, lied countless times and attacked Erik and Hank. On the other hand, they'd been friends once, and Erik couldn't believe that Charles had completely abandoned that part of himself- after all, he'd had time to act, and yet here Erik was. Safe, for the most part.
Charles chuckled quietly on the floor, as if he knew that even without his powers, he still held too much sway over Erik's emotions.
Erik looked back into Charles' eyes and sighed. A fierce fire still burned behind his eyes, and the telepath's face was one of pure malice.
Charles was always cold. His mind felt constantly numb and alone. The few humans he saw lacked a sort of colour of character, and it was hard to tell what people were thinking. Of course it was.
Charles could usually tell a lot from a person's facial expression, but without his power it felt as if people had just stopped smiling or frowning. It took extra effort to decipher people's meanings.
Having no human contact wasn't helping either. Everyone who came in had a face that was hard. They never spoke.
He thought he was going mad. Charles hadn't been alone in his head since that one winter in deepest darkest Russia, and even then, he'd felt minds just out of his reach- he hadn't been alone. It had been calming, not to have to listen to everyone's' worries, but as Charles reflected on his experiences in Siberia, he knew for certain that this kind of silence, the silence of his mind breaking itself on the walls of his steel cell, was too eerie and empty.
Would he go mad? Charles knew that it was a distinct possibility. Without other minds to anchor his moral compass, Charles' could easily deviate from what could be called 'sane'.
He enjoyed his little talks with Erik. It was simultaneously calming and amusing to lead him around on an emotional leash and watch him chase his tail in frustration. Part of him felt a little empty at it, but he couldn't deny that it was comforting to regain a small measure of control over the world around him.
All the same, he thought, deprivation was a kind of torture that he hadn't dabbled with before. He wasn't sure how long it would be until he spilled everything.
Erik was dreaming. He must be dreaming. Charles was on the lawn in front of him, the light was clear and golden in his hair. Then the ground at his feet began to freeze. The blades of grass frosted over underfoot and Erik shivered. A snowflake blew into his eye, and as he closed his them to blink it out, the world tilted. When Erik opened his eyes again, he was in Congress. The President was in front of him, talking about something, probably important. Then, agony.
He'd heard about torture techniques- he knew more about torture than half the CIA, but this was like something from an intelligence report- the kind that described torture techniques with vague and complicated words that came with black and white photos that, once looked at, explained the wistful vagueness of the report. He felt as if he were the mess on the floor in each of those pictures- horrifying, painful and only just recognizable. It was like pulling a rope of thorns through his thoughts. Everything hurt.
And that was Charles.
Erik woke up. He hadn't been down to talk to Charles for nearly two weeks. He was outside on a deck chair. The sky had shifted from a brilliant blue to a malicious and vengeful grey. Raven and Emma were sparring each other on the lawn. Alex was fiddling with some grass on another chair further down the hill. Hank had left to work on the plane a week and a half ago. Erik looked down at his lap.
There was a pad of paper and several precisely sharpened pencils. There were plans and maps of Cuban fields and facilities and beaches that the Oval Office had had sent down two days ago.
The plans of the facilities were crisscrossed with arrows and lines. Eraser dust had gotten all over Erik's trousers.
There was a month to go until they had to return to Washington for their final briefing, then another two weeks to start the infiltration.
One day, about a week later, Emma called Erik downstairs. "I think he's gone crazy," she said briefly. "He started talking in his sleep. Crying even. I went to wake him up but he won't...not fully anyway. He's still… shaken."
Erik felt a swell of pity for Charles, but then he remembered that the telepath was in a cell for a reason.
Making sure his helmet was well adjusted, he opened the door to Charles' cell. The lights were off.
"Is that you Erik?" came a shaky voice from the corner.
Something fell away from Erik. He was certain that this was the Charles he knew- had known. He knelt next to the figure in the corner.
"Am I dead?" Came the wail. There was a small tap-tap-tapping of Charles' fingers against his temple.
"No."
"I can't feel anyone. I must be dead," he cried.
"You aren't. You're just trapped so you can't hurt anyone," Erik felt like he was talking to a dog. The meaning didn't matter, but his tone did.
"You did this?" Charles whispered. He'd rested his head on Erik's shoulder. Something hot and wet was already soaking through the fabric of his shirt.
"I had to."
"I hate you."
Erik had no reply.
Charles' rushed breathing calmed and became quiet. "No one can win this," he muttered, half asleep. "Not unless they let themselves lose. And no one would let themselves get blown to bits even if they could blow the others to bits afterwards."
Erik didn't move. He felt as if he was invading something personal and private, but he didn't have the courage to move his shoulder out from under Charles' head. The British man seemed so peaceful.
"So many people died… used as goddamn cannon fodder in that war. And I could make it all better, right?"
Erik felt like he should say something, but he held firm. It wasn't his job to play mother for a Soviet assassin.
Then Charles shifted in his half-sleep. His head slipped off of Erik's shoulder. Then Charles' breathing became deadly quiet. "Erik. What are you doing here?" It was a command.
"You were shouting in your sleep, but you seemed to have calmed down before I got here."
"What did I say?"
"Nothing."
"WHAT DID I SAY?" Charles roared, leaping to his feet. He couldn't have talked in his sleep- revealed secrets in his sleep. Erik scrambled to his as well.
"Nothing! Just rambling about the war-"
"How dare you! Don't you see you've ruined enough already?" Charles threw himself at Erik, desperate hands reaching for the helmet. Erik was ready, but still taken by surprise at the darting fingers. It was as if Charles had twelve arms.
"ENOUGH!" Erik commanded. A layer of metal tore itself from the wall and slammed into Charles, pinning him against the back wall. Erik saw red and twisted his hand, metal bending and melding around Charles like liquid silver. Bands formed around his wrists and ankles, tightening until Charles cried out in pain, flailing like a drowning snake. Erik clenched his fist, and the mass of steel that had thrown Charles into the wall tightened, threatening to crush the air from Charles' lungs. The professor let out a strangled gasp, fingers curling and uncurling like the legs of a dying spider.
"No. How dare you!" Erik said, stepping forward, bits of metal shrapnel floating around him like the halo of a vengeful angel. "You go around listening to people's private thoughts all the time! How dare you have the nerve to tell me to not listen to you- especially when I'm trying to help!"
"Help?" Charles shrieked. "Last time I checked, I was the one locked away without my powers! It's like being Goddamn blind!" Charles choked as metal clenched tighter around him, spreading up to his neck. This was it, Charles was sure. Erik was going crazy, and he was going to die.
"DON'T lecture me about pain," Erik roared, leaning in close until Charles could smell the honey tea in his breath. "You don't know a thing about real pain!"
Charles' head felt light- as if it were a champagne cork about to pop off under extreme pressure. He heard the door bang open, and the room flooded with light.
"Erik! Erik no! We need him alive!" someone was shouting. It was a girl. Her voice sounded like it was coming through a long tube. The light seared Charles's eyes and he shut them. People were still shouting. All of a sudden, he felt that same sliding feeling from before as the metal slithered away from his chest and throat. Charles dropped to the floor, retching. His ribs ached. Then all the blood rushed to his head and suddenly all the sounds got louder but he still felt so empty and cold.
The air felt like ice down his throat as he gasped. He rolled into his back just in time to see Erik being pulled from the room by Emma.
"Come on," she said, "there's nothing for you here."
Erik beamed as Hank walked through the mansion doors. Hank looked tired, but pleased as he embraced Erik.
"It's good to be back," he said.
Erik nodded, his face turning serious for a moment. "Did you remember anything?" he asked.
Hank immediately knew what he was talking about and shook his head. "No, I just remember coming downstairs and seeing him stuff his face with cake, but I suppose that's fake." Hank shrugged. "It doesn't really bother me too much anymore. Emma wrote me a few weeks back that it's impossible for a memory to be lost- only taken or hidden, so there are still ways for me to get it back. It's just annoying that I don't know which experiences are the fake ones."
Erik nodded solemnly, then brightened. "Come see our progress. We've really hammered Alex into shape- I think he could even beat you in a fistfight."
"I doubt that."
The others were delighted to have Hank back after his month spent working on the spy plane. The sun was still out, although it glowed orange, low in the sky. Erik made everyone show Hank all the maneuvers they'd been practicing, just like a kindergarten show-and-tell. As night began to fall, Alex challenged Hank to a fight.
"I've gotten better," he protested when Hank laughed.
"Alright then, let's go."
Alex had indeed gotten better, but Hank was still the master, and he floored Alex after two minutes.
As Alex brushed the grass off his hair he said, "Well, I nearly got you with that one kick."
Hank rolled his eyes. "I was feinting," Hank replied with a laugh. Alex seemed to offense for a moment, then he broke into a grin. "Good to have you back, Beast."
While the group was off finishing their final preparations, Charles was being fed through a slot in the door like an animal. Emma never came in to wash him anymore. He found it appropriate. After all, he'd been reduced to little more than a rabid dog. All he could think about was Erik. How Erik had ruined his plans. How Erik had made him suffer. How Erik was going to pay.
"Erik, Erik, Erik," Charles hissed under his breath.
Charles still remembered his mission. It burned at his conscience to know that he'd fucked it up royally, and he was doggedly determined to fulfill it, no matter the cost. Erik wouldn't hurt him or his ideals any more.
Charles curled up into a tight ball. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been so caring for Erik, then he could have gotten the whole job done in an instant. Oh, the mistakes we all make.
The day came when everyone left for Washington. Charles didn't see them leave- he couldn't even feel them leave, but now, the meals that were shoved through his door were from Mrs. Anne.
Charles was filled with fury the first time her wrinkly hand peeked through the slot. So Frost had brainwashed his staff?
A nervous laugh escaped his lips. He would have fun exacting his revenge on her… If he ever escaped this cell.
Then the emptiness returned.
Hank looked backwards at the retreating mansion. "You sure you can maintain this field thing from Cuba?" he asked doubtfully as they sped across the New York countryside.
"Yes!" Erik shouted from the front seat. He was having trouble talking since Alex seemed to be going at about a hundred miles an hour down the country lane. "Don't worry Hank, that backstabber won't be getting away anytime soon!"
Hank sighed. No one heard it over the wind. He supposed if Erik couldn't protect them, then no one could, so there was no point worrying. Still.
