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"Usually, terrible things that are done with the excuse that progress requires them are not really progress at all, but just terrible things."
-Russell Baker
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Chapter Forty-Eight: Terrible Things
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Kurt's eyes flashed with indignance and flickered anxiously toward Nat at the mention of a visitor, but he recovered quickly. His hand tightened around hers, drawing her slightly closer to his side. Nat, stumbling on the edge of a nearby seat at the sudden change in momentum, felt her limbs go slightly leaden, and stared down at Ms. Darkholme with unease straining within her chest. Her heart thudded noisily behind her ribs, and she took several slow, measured breaths, embarrassed at the thought that Mystique might be able to hear it.
Carefully dosed irritation was apparent on the older woman's voice when she spoke, dripping tartly as she ascended the stairs on clacking heels. A breeze stirred up her hair, and the sunlight that filtered through the slats overhead picked up just enough of the auburn glassiness beneath to make the locks look vaguely familiar to their natural shade. "Mr. Wagner, Miss Fairbanks, have you forgotten how to respond when you are spoken to? I don't believe hall passes apply to leaving the building to chat on the athletics field, now do they?" A smile played on her lips, and she stood with her hands perched on her angular hips. "And you, I think I said to get moving down to my office. Are you as deaf as you are dumb, or are you just stupid enough to ignore me?"
Nat swallowed, and Kurt's hand tightened around her fingers almost enough to hurt, making her wince. She quivered internally as she turned to him with a question in her face, dreading the reaction he might give, but was greeted only with a tiny, stiff nod. Better to play along for the time being, his gaze said, and she tended to agree. Giving his wrist a squeeze, she dragged herself away from his comforting proximity and entered the chilly circle around Mystique just as the shapeshifter arrived at their level. Nat's throat went hard as she began to slowly move down the steps with her new "mentor" close behind, Mystique's stern attention stinging at the back of her neck.
Even beyond the cold eyes, she could feel his attention on her disappearing shape, and her eyes tingled. Her skin felt papery-dry, and ready to ignite. The urge was almost unbearable, but she knew what the result of that might be. The flames she could handle, but what about the emotions that sometimes brought them on? There was no telling what might happen if she got out of hand again. And what if someone, a passing student who was skipping an unwanted class, or a groundskeeper working on the fields, were to wander past at the wrong moment? Nat shivered, and not entirely because of the guilt that lay on her heart or the discomforting presence that lingered over her shoulder.
A sudden, aching inspiration overtook her, somehow beyond even that which told her to succumb to her flames, and she swung away from her path down the steps, dashing up the stairs again and taking hold of Kurt's hand. She let the impetus of her own spontaneity drive her, using the thrust of her upward climb to propel her forward and against him for a kiss. The look of astonishment on his olive-toned holographic face and those artificial dark eyes didn't hide the delight beneath, and she felt the familiar, comforting warmth of his chest against hers. His presence momentarily overwhelmed her very senses, filling her with the taste of his lips and the heart-fluttering feeling of his breath mingling with hers.
A hiss of crass annoyance was uttered on the steps below, breaking their attention, and Nat turned her eyes back toward Mystique, giving a sheepish little shrug. "I, uh…forgot something." Nat gazed back at Kurt apologetically, but his grasp on her hip kept her firmly in place when she went to turn away.
"She'll be down in just a moment, ma'am."
Fury flared in their direction, and Nat leaped away from Kurt, taking just long enough for him to peck her again on the cheek. She came slowly toward Mystique, unable to fully suppress the grin blooming on her face. Her pale skin was colored crimson, and she glanced back over her shoulder in time to see him wink at her. Mystique's deceptively strong hand wrapped tightly around her charge's forearm and gave a hard tug, jerking Nat nearly off of her feet as they marched down the steps and along the path back toward the school.
Ms. Darkholme paused halfway down the path, planting her pointed heels on the pavement and reeling around. Lifting her head back toward the stadium, where Kurt's form had becoming smaller but was still easily recognizable, she called his name despite already having his rapt attention. "Regarding your apparent disregard of class schedules, Mr. Wagner: I think you ought to report to detention immediately after school this afternoon. I'll phone your professor. Oh, wait. That won't do anything…"
Her eyes gleamed with an unpleasant light that made Nat want to instinctively rub her palms together, but her arm was still in Mystique's vice-like grip. She heard herself gasp, but an intense and overriding fear of the daunting woman beside her kept her from commenting on the cruel remark. She turned in time to see Kurt flash an awkward, apparently two-fingered version of the "bird" in Mystique's general direction, and Nat tried to call out to him that she was sorry, but was stopped by her own apprehension.
Guilt and irritation warred within the young mutant's being, and she turned her gaze down to the ground as she was roughly pulled along, trying to ignore the gnawing at her gut.
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"Nothing, and I mean nothing, pardons this kind of blatant disregard for my rules, young lady!" Ferocity blazed thick and heavy around her, and her eyes were slits behind the shield of her glasses. Her voice, low and quiet with vehemence and the desire not to be heard as she hauled Nat gracelessly through the hallway, Mystique's words were nearing a growl. Nat swallowed tightly, feeling a hard lump stop up her throat, and averted her gaze. Her fingertips were numb in Ms. Darkholme's grasp.
"I never meant—"
"Oh, of course, you didn't!" Here, she paused to open a door and released Nat momentarily, taking hold again and practically hurling her into the principal's office, slamming the door behind her. Nat stood near the entrance, rubbing her sore wrist and waiting for the inundation of rage to subside. "You wouldn't dare act so irresponsibly if you had an ounce of a brain in that big hollow head of yours! Do you realize the amount of difficulty you're adding to this situation, you little fool?"
Her mouth dry with fear, Nat wasn't quite able to keep the words from tumbling past her lips. The comment about Xavier had fueled an already fierce dislike for this woman, and her continued ranting wasn't helping her along. "What situation? There's no rule that I can't talk to people from the Institute! Lance does it all the time, and I don't see you dragging him through the school for a lecture." She folded her arms across her chest, feeling annoyance slowly win out over intimidation.
"Well, you aren't Lance, halfwit. If you think for a moment that you've been around long enough to gain some sort of privilege, you are sorely mistaken!" Her hand shot out, and Nat winced, sure that she was about to be struck, and was surprised when she found herself landing sharply but unhurt in a high-backed office chair. Ms. Darkholme swung the chair about so it faced the desk and stood across from her "student", balancing herself on her fingertips on the desktop and leaning forward menacingly. Nat steeled herself for the torrent of Mystique's irate sermon and well-spaced insults.
Mystique's fair-skinned, dark-haired form slithered away, and she stood before her charge in her true form, complete with turquoise skin and bright red locks so glassy that they mirrored the light almost perfectly. She continued, her voice unwavering and her oddly translucent eyes slightly watery as she glared happily down at Nat. "You are not to be seen anywhere near that boy, from here on out." She smiled, and Nat's eyes widened.
Nat leapt to her feet, swearing loudly, but she was knocked quickly back down. "You can't make that kind of order!"
"I can, I will and I already have."
Clasping her fists tightly, Nat shook with barely contained passion. Her teeth chattered and her face was hot with bubbling fury. "I'll see whomever I please, and there's nothing you can do about it, you wretched shadow of a woman! How dare you consider yourself his mother! All you do is thrust everything you can in his direction to make his life more difficult, and to hurt him! You haven't changed at all since you abandoned him, have you?"
Mystique began to tremble with ire, but she continued, mostly unabated, her eyes narrower and her voice a shade lower. "You will see him nowhere. Not here on school grounds, not at home, and not anywhere else you might be able to cook up. You might think that I won't harm you, him or any of his feeble friends out of some sort of misguided pity or allegiance. I would recommend rethinking this. I promise you, you will regret not cooperating if your connection with him is not be severed immediately. If you meet the little bastard in hell, I am not to hear of it lest you suffer the consequences. Is that absolutely clear?"
"Crystal," Nat hissed through clenched teeth, glowering up at Mystique and biting her tongue to keep from spitting directly between the pale indigo eyes. It was easier, and infinitely safer, to go along with her demands, at least for the time being. A long-fingered hand came arching toward her cheek and landed with a walloping slap, surprising a little shriek out of her, and leaving her too stunned to respond immediately.
"Well, I'm certainly glad the two of you got that messiness cleared up," said a gruff voice at the door, and Nat whipped around to face the intruder. The sight with which she was greeted nearly floored her, and made her stomach begin to roil with a peculiar mixture of excitement and terrified perplexity. She had forgotten about the stinging pain in her cheek, and stared, wide-eyed.
Standing stiffly beside the entrance was a broad-chested, middle-aged man in conservative garb. His slacks were neatly pressed over his long, slim legs, and his sweater was thick, made of some dark, knotty material despite the growing heat of early summer. An angular face heralded stern eyes and a forehead graced with hoary, pointed brows. Sleek white hair offset the olive hue of his skin, and made him appear all the more startling against his dark clothing. Despite the efficiency and precision of his dress, however, his face was weathered, yet startlingly ardent.
Nat's heart nearly choked out her breath, and her pulse began to race with overwhelming intensity. He was older than the most recent photographs in Cerebro's database by several years, and he looked far less menacing sans cape and regal, wine-colored helmet, but he was recognizable all the same. There was something about the gleam in the zealous eyes, and the guardedly reserved way that he carried himself, that would have been familiar had he been dressed in rags and dumped on the street. His voice was deep and commanding, but he spoke with an odd note of neutrality, a cold undercurrent that both demanded authority and lulled a person's alertness to sleep. His was an oddly comfortable presence, unlike she might have expected it to be, but it seemed to make sense in retrospect. The silver hair, too, was not new to his older years, and was a prominent feature for identification, even to Nat's tired and somewhat overloaded brain.
"Y-you…"
"So you recognize me, then?" came his softly spoken reply. He walked around to the other side of the desk and elegantly lowered himself into the seat, tilting the power level in the room ever so slightly. Mystique looked momentarily confused, but remained at his side like a waiting servant with the notable exception of her irritated expression and her position on the edge of the desk. He went on as if he were shaking her hand, but in reality he kept his fingers twined delicately in his lap, unmoving. "My name is Eric Lensherr. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Fairbanks."
"Yes, I…I'm delighted to meet you, too, Mr. Lensherr."
"I had hoped it might be sooner, but…things have gotten in the way. I'm sure you understand," he said, lifting an eyebrow with a questioning lilt. "You were expecting me, were you not?" His gaze flickered accusatorily in Ms. Darkholme's direction, apparently angered that news of his visit might not have been correctly conveyed.
Nat shivered at the glare, and, despite her anger at Raven's barefaced meddling and officiousness, jumped in to save the principal from that frighteningly concentrated glare. "Oh, yes sir, I was told that you'd be coming. I just…lost track of time, that's all. I'm very sorry. Sir." She bit her tongue on the last word, feeling somehow obligated to utter it in his company.
He turned back to face her, nodding and steepling his hands. "Yes, alright then." He glanced again at Mystique. "Leave us, if you will."
Shock overtook the woman's expression, and her mouth opened and closed in a little circle as she searched for the appropriate words of indignant rebuttal. Her gaze was wounded but edged with resentment, a clearly evident note of antagonism in her eyes.
"Now, Raven."
Mystique's brows lowered, and she crossly glared at Nat, who was hardly able to quash a merry grin at the prospect of Darkholme being so humiliated. Huffing angrily, the red-headed shape-shifter was once again replaced by her human-looking counterpart, who stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Nat's smile finally escaped, but withered just as quickly when she realized that Mystique's dismissal had left her alone in the room with Magneto.
Nat smiled, coughing quietly to cover up her growing discomfort. Magneto seemed uninterested in returning the small gesture of compassion, but stared intently at her, his bright eyes boring into her interior.
"I-is there some reason in particular that you wanted to speak to me about, sir?" she asked, smiling wider and trying to appear accommodating. The last thing I need, she thought, is to have both of them angry with me.
"Actually, there is." There was a long pause, and Nat almost yelped when the metallic teapot on the desk in front of her lifted apparently of its own will, and filled the two waiting teacups with steaming brown liquid. He smiled this time, but it wasn't a warm smile, and handed her one of the small porcelain vessels, which she accepted with rickety hands and held tightly. She lifted it to her lips and pretended to drink, not quite trusting her stomach to hold anything down.
"And…that is?"
He took a sip of his tea, gazing at her fixedly over the rim of the cup. "I want you to show me."
Nat blinked. Magneto's eyes were still. Nat blinked again. "I'm…sorry?"
"Show me what you can do." He placed his cup back down on the desktop, making a small clattering noise against the saucer. He rose from his seat and came to stand behind Nat, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Boil it."
"I—"
"Boil it."
Biting her lip, Nat concentrated for a moment, slowly rising the temperature of the tea. It came to a steady boil within moments, small brown bubbles rising and popping at the surface. She heard Magneto chuckle softly, and he patted her shoulder, coming around back to the desk to pick up a pencil. He held the narrow wooden cylinder a few inches in front of her nose, waving it back and forth a bit. "Now this."
Her eyes met his for a moment before she complied by reaching forward and tapping it lightly, and he dropped the flaming pencil just as it burned itself out. He glanced down at the desktop, where the pencil had been reduced to ash and a small metal ring, and the varnish on the desk had begun to discolor under the heat.
"Interesting, but unremarkable," he said under his breath, just loudly enough for her to hear.
She smiled and hiked up her sleeves, and within a moment her arms were engulfed by flames that stayed just far enough from her torso to keep from igniting her clothing. A strange smoke hovered around her, draping her in a golden haze. It was different than wood smoke, which was the signal of a substance being tortured and destroyed by fire, and smelled oddly sweet. At the sight, Magneto let out a hearty laugh. "Well, that's a little better."
"I don't think it's a very good idea to do much more, alright? Not here, at least. It's dangerous to play with fire while you're indoors, you know." She shrugged as her arms began to cool, and the flames extinguished themselves. He paused for a moment, giving a small half-smile, and nodded, examining the unblemished white skin that remained as the flames vanished.
"A fascinating display, I'll give you that, but it's not exactly what I'd come to see." He folded his hands across his lap again, and watched her closely as she fidgeted in her seat.
Nat frowned, and shrugged again. "I'm not sure what to tell you, in that case."
"Make me think it."
She gawked at him while at the same time trying valiantly to avert her stare. She had been hoping that he wouldn't ask for that kind of a display. "I…I'm not quite sure what you mean, sir."
"Yes, you are." He leaned forward, his unblinking stare meeting her panicky one. "Show me."
"Please, don't ask me to do it." Nat blinked back a sudden flush of moisture in her eyes, biting her lip and trying to keep from crying. "I don't think I can do it on command, just like that." She snapped her fingers. "It…it's too new."
"I don't care how 'new' it is. You were apparently capable enough to use it in self-defense back at the Institute."
Nat's eyes popped open wide, and she stared across the desktop at him, her heart pounding and her brain urging her to leap to her feet and flee. "I don't know w-what you mean." She gulped, and he noted it with a satisfied glance.
"It must have been an extraordinary exhibition. The technique that you employed to deal with Xavier's red-haired telepath-in-training, and the old man himself, was something that he was doubtlessly unprepared for. I know how you did it, and I think you do, too, but you seem rather determined not to allow me a better look at your abilities." He smiled, content with his conclusion, and eyed her cagily. "Pyrokinesis is, supposedly, a difficult mutation to master. I suppose it's a little frightening to be the first proven case of a mutant with not only pyrokinesis but pyrotelepathy as well."
Nat gulped again, staring down at her lap. "'Pyrotelepathy', huh? So…that's what it's called?"
Magneto nodded. "It's a term rarely used, due to an evident scarcity of applicable candidates. In fact, you may be the only genuine article."
"I didn't know there was an entire name reserved just for…it," Nat whispered.
"Yes, well, there is," he spat out impatiently. "Now, would you care to give a demonstration?" She glanced up at him, warily gauging the expression in his eyes, and nodded slowly. He raised his hand to her shoulder again, and patted her there. "Natalie. Come now. Make me think it."
Clearing her throat, she pressed her lips together and nodded again. "Close your eyes. I think I can f-focus better that way." He complied, his jaw firmly set and his mind prepared for the worst, but still not entirely equipped for what she had to dish out. "Relax. It'll make it easier. I'm still new at this, after all."
There was a moment of chill in Nat's mind, as the barriers she had erected days earlier at the mansion slowly, painstakingly melted away, leaving her mentally bare and vulnerable. She could still feel the echoes of Jean's mind rattling at the edges of her own consciousness, fighting to get through a blockade that neither of the girls had understood at the time, and she shivered. Then, gently, she let the tendrils creep outward, singing the pathway that they took.
She entered his mind for only a moment, and his thoughts whirled back, shrieking with pain. She could not read his thoughts, or tell him anything the way that Jean or Xavier might be able to, but she could recognize the paths of cognition, and could sort them out better than most would be able to. All she could do, with a shockingly powerful strength, was send in her flames.
Nat hadn't seen many thoughts before and, with the exception of Lily and the professor, her intimate knowledge of the core of another's mind was relatively nonexistent. Magneto's mind was different than Xavier's. He of course lacked the professor's powerful mental skills, but his passionate thoughts, and his aching rage, were far stronger and more orderly than anything she had experienced in the mild-mannered millionaire's brain. Lily's mind, too, had been different, if only because it had been so much younger and had had so many fewer superfluous interjections of reality to alter its flow.
Here, for barely a moment, she was exposed to the thoughts of a dangerous man, one whom she could never fully understand. It was now, in this frightening glimpse, that she sent forth her fire, and scorched at the edge his mind.
The connection was severed almost as quickly as it had been made, and he fell backward in his chair, his cheeks pallid and sweating, his hands shaking and the whites of his eyes showing all around each iris. There was a look of bright fear in his expression, and fantastically glowing excitement.
Slowly, a grin spread across his face.
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*Sigh*…Okay, okay, lesson learned! I will try to avoid writing chapters while falling asleep next time, okay? ^_^ In response to some concerns raised by my wonderfully response-prone readers, here's some info on my story that I neglected to tell everyone:
"BlackWido13" pointed out my first area lacking explanation: Doug and Kurt's thumb-wrestling without Doug freaking out about Kurt's fuzzy, three-digit hands. There is an explanation folks, I just haven't shared it! Doug Ramsey is a mutant codenamed "Cypher", and a canon creation from the comics. He's not in the show as a confidante of the Institute kiddies, but it's fiction, nein? I allowed him, in my story which is always liable to editing, to play a character who does know about Kurt's mutation (hence, the thumb-war capability). "Graymalkin" apparently knows his/her stuff, and shared this tidbit with the readers in the review section (thanks, BTW). But, to avoid confusion, I have updated this part of the story to reflect the fact that Kurt can't be touched.
"K" pointed out a timeline "error": the Evo universe does not officially include the Friends of Humanity group. For those ever-diligent people who were aggravated by this, here's the deal: I am completely aware that the F.O.H. were not Evo canon during season one, but if you haven't yet noticed, I tend to blend universes slightly to take advantage of plot turns that might otherwise not be possible. Hence the appearance of Hank McCoy in his earlier, non-Beastie form on Muir Island and the slight tweaking of ages amongst the students. Oh, that pesky "creative license"… ^_~