AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you so much, remysgame, S.W.H, and dragonlady sakura
for the reviews. Those of you who were annoyed by the cliffhanger last
time (sorry, SWH) you'll be even more so now. But I promise it's worth it.
She went to the edge of the bed, trying to get as close to him as possible, though this went strictly against every instinct in her body. "Okay, your father was a priest. Do you remember the year that you were born?"
Victor paused for quiet a while before answering. "That's not the question I had expected. Why do you want to know?"
"I am going to know everything before I leave. Then I will get down to what I originally came here for."
"No." Ororo was disappointed, until he added, "But it was sometime during the sixteenth century."
"Why were you so furious when you found out that I was a mutant?" she went along quickly.
"Aren't you here about Senator Kelly?"
"Answer the question," she bellowed.
He was silent for another few seconds. "Look, I grew up believing that anyone who was in any way out of the ordinary was automatically evil. After time, I figured out that my father was wrong, but I always resented the mutant race, because, in a way, it was my mutant parents' fault that I went through everything I did."
Ororo found herself lost in thought, searching for some sort of appropriate response, but found none. It was a moment before she realized that he was awaiting her next question, and she awkwardly tried to recollect her thoughts. "Wait, if both your parents were mutants, why was your dad so cruel to you?"
He obviously realized that every question was going to be personal, and he sped through the answer, trying to hurry the process. "He isn't my biological dad. Or maybe he is, and he just made up some bullshit story to keep his sanity, I don't know. But he always told me that I was left upon a pew one night with a note about how my parents would love to but couldn't, blah, blah, blah. So, he took me in, not realizing that I'd turn out to be a complete freak, and by that time, he felt it was his responsibility to rid me of the demon that he thought was possessing me." He stopped his speed-talk for a second. "I dunno," he stated quietly. "He just always felt like a dad, ya know? Even with all the shit he pulled, sometimes, he wasn't so bad."
Ororo balked. "Wasn't so bad, like, told the monks to slap you around a bit, rather than perform Spanish Inquisition torture methods?" He growled from the back of his throat, and she continued. "So, what was the worst thing he ever did to you?"
Victor hastily drew in a breath of air, and he fell silent for a few seconds. "I guess the most painful treatment was starvation. Probably the most humiliating, too. After a couple of days, when I was really desperate, he'd allow me feces for food. And just on the glimpse of death, he'd have his henchmen force saltwater down my throat. It gives your esophagus and intestines vital minerals to keep you alive longer, but it hurts like hell."
"Did he ever try to kill you?"
"He actually did. Several times." Ororo felt her throat tighten as he spoke. "My body would have to regenerate itself from scratch."
"Why do you kill?" she asked quickly, trying to remind herself that this man didn't deserve her sympathy.
Victor was thinking very hard. "We're getting off track. Don't you want to prevent Senator Kelly's death?"
"By allowing yourself to become a psychopathic killer, you're giving into SHIELD."
"Aren't you here to save the entire mutant race?"
"You're giving into your father!"
He stopped his ploy, furious. "What the fuck do you know about it?"
"I know he thought that, because you were different, you were evil and therefore needed to be punished. He was wrong. But you keep giving evidence to his case!"
"Don't you get it?" Victor screamed at her. "He wasn't wrong!"
Ororo shook her head, frustrated. "What?"
"Why is it that everyone in this world understands but you? I *am* evil. Not because I'm a mutant, but because that's the way I was born! Maybe it's in my blood, maybe I'm a product of my environment but in the end, the reason doesn't matter. You don't become a 'psychopathic killer' because you're not thinking straight. You become a methodical murderer because that's who you are." The whole time he spoke, she continued shaking her head, and, by the time he finished, she had her hands over her ears. He came lurching forward and grasped her arms from her head. "Listen to me, damnit! I'm sorry that you can't bear the fact that you loved an evil person, but that's your problem, not mine. Someday, you'll have to face the facts."
"I still love you, bastard!" Ororo cried. She looked up at him and tried to slap his face, but he held her wrists firmly. She almost gasped when she noticed the skin around his eye was charred. His face was covered in deep scars, and his left ear was severely burnt. She suddenly realized that, of the hours she'd spent in his mind, he'd never allowed her to actually see him.
Victor tried to pull back from the light, but adrenaline gave her strength, and she held him still. He kept his eyes downcast, avoiding her concerned gaze. She took one of his arms in her hands and saw a muscular forearm riddled with bruises, scars, and burns. She slowly peeled his wifebeater off to look at his torso. His chest was in the same condition, and he had a gunshot wound in his stomach.
Without thinking, she lightly touched it, and his abdominals quivered to the touch. It was the bullet he'd taken for her. He pushed her hand away and said in a flat voice, "I don't need your pity, bitch."
She went to the edge of the bed, trying to get as close to him as possible, though this went strictly against every instinct in her body. "Okay, your father was a priest. Do you remember the year that you were born?"
Victor paused for quiet a while before answering. "That's not the question I had expected. Why do you want to know?"
"I am going to know everything before I leave. Then I will get down to what I originally came here for."
"No." Ororo was disappointed, until he added, "But it was sometime during the sixteenth century."
"Why were you so furious when you found out that I was a mutant?" she went along quickly.
"Aren't you here about Senator Kelly?"
"Answer the question," she bellowed.
He was silent for another few seconds. "Look, I grew up believing that anyone who was in any way out of the ordinary was automatically evil. After time, I figured out that my father was wrong, but I always resented the mutant race, because, in a way, it was my mutant parents' fault that I went through everything I did."
Ororo found herself lost in thought, searching for some sort of appropriate response, but found none. It was a moment before she realized that he was awaiting her next question, and she awkwardly tried to recollect her thoughts. "Wait, if both your parents were mutants, why was your dad so cruel to you?"
He obviously realized that every question was going to be personal, and he sped through the answer, trying to hurry the process. "He isn't my biological dad. Or maybe he is, and he just made up some bullshit story to keep his sanity, I don't know. But he always told me that I was left upon a pew one night with a note about how my parents would love to but couldn't, blah, blah, blah. So, he took me in, not realizing that I'd turn out to be a complete freak, and by that time, he felt it was his responsibility to rid me of the demon that he thought was possessing me." He stopped his speed-talk for a second. "I dunno," he stated quietly. "He just always felt like a dad, ya know? Even with all the shit he pulled, sometimes, he wasn't so bad."
Ororo balked. "Wasn't so bad, like, told the monks to slap you around a bit, rather than perform Spanish Inquisition torture methods?" He growled from the back of his throat, and she continued. "So, what was the worst thing he ever did to you?"
Victor hastily drew in a breath of air, and he fell silent for a few seconds. "I guess the most painful treatment was starvation. Probably the most humiliating, too. After a couple of days, when I was really desperate, he'd allow me feces for food. And just on the glimpse of death, he'd have his henchmen force saltwater down my throat. It gives your esophagus and intestines vital minerals to keep you alive longer, but it hurts like hell."
"Did he ever try to kill you?"
"He actually did. Several times." Ororo felt her throat tighten as he spoke. "My body would have to regenerate itself from scratch."
"Why do you kill?" she asked quickly, trying to remind herself that this man didn't deserve her sympathy.
Victor was thinking very hard. "We're getting off track. Don't you want to prevent Senator Kelly's death?"
"By allowing yourself to become a psychopathic killer, you're giving into SHIELD."
"Aren't you here to save the entire mutant race?"
"You're giving into your father!"
He stopped his ploy, furious. "What the fuck do you know about it?"
"I know he thought that, because you were different, you were evil and therefore needed to be punished. He was wrong. But you keep giving evidence to his case!"
"Don't you get it?" Victor screamed at her. "He wasn't wrong!"
Ororo shook her head, frustrated. "What?"
"Why is it that everyone in this world understands but you? I *am* evil. Not because I'm a mutant, but because that's the way I was born! Maybe it's in my blood, maybe I'm a product of my environment but in the end, the reason doesn't matter. You don't become a 'psychopathic killer' because you're not thinking straight. You become a methodical murderer because that's who you are." The whole time he spoke, she continued shaking her head, and, by the time he finished, she had her hands over her ears. He came lurching forward and grasped her arms from her head. "Listen to me, damnit! I'm sorry that you can't bear the fact that you loved an evil person, but that's your problem, not mine. Someday, you'll have to face the facts."
"I still love you, bastard!" Ororo cried. She looked up at him and tried to slap his face, but he held her wrists firmly. She almost gasped when she noticed the skin around his eye was charred. His face was covered in deep scars, and his left ear was severely burnt. She suddenly realized that, of the hours she'd spent in his mind, he'd never allowed her to actually see him.
Victor tried to pull back from the light, but adrenaline gave her strength, and she held him still. He kept his eyes downcast, avoiding her concerned gaze. She took one of his arms in her hands and saw a muscular forearm riddled with bruises, scars, and burns. She slowly peeled his wifebeater off to look at his torso. His chest was in the same condition, and he had a gunshot wound in his stomach.
Without thinking, she lightly touched it, and his abdominals quivered to the touch. It was the bullet he'd taken for her. He pushed her hand away and said in a flat voice, "I don't need your pity, bitch."