Author's note: On the fact of dear Mort's name; I prefer to use the names originally given to characters in the comics--- but thank you for suggestions! Heh...the name isn't to pretty, but it's kinda grown on me.

Chapter Five- A Bitter Repute

The green man laying on the table snorted. "Again with this 'fear' person. If she wants to get me, fine. To hell with it!" his muscles tensed. "I'll personally greet the executioner! I'll send her a bloody Christmas card! Whatever it takes for you people to leave me alone!"

"I'm afraid you don't know who you're dealing with, Mortimer."

"Stop calling me that," he hissed. Charles ignored him.

"She's the leader of an underground terrorist operation, quite like the Brotherhood." Toad didn't even bother to respond. He was too angered to say a word. "Except their leader is...mentally unsound."

"If I've never heard of them before, she must be mentally unsound in the right ways, baldy." He grunted.

"You don't understand. By no means should you go near her." Toad let a small grin tease his face.

"Scouts honour." he twisted his wrist inside his manacles. "Now, would there be any chance of you letting little old me out of here?"

"I'm afraid I can't, Mortimer." Said the Professor sadly.

"You can't, or you won't?" retorted the young man. Beyond the resentfulness and irritation, Charles could see raw fear behind the man's eyes. It gave him a little bit of hope. Perhaps there would be a chance of reasoning with him.

"I'd like it if you'd stay here for the time being and..."

"Turn me in to one of those cronies you have waiting for you upstairs? No thanks." Out of the shadows came the wiry frame of Ororo Munroe. She was carrying a small syringe, tapping the bubbles out of the solution.

"How is he doing Professor?"

"I'm afraid he is suffering long-range injury from the incident at Liberty island. As you can see, he still has burns all over his chest and arms... not to mention his tongue."

"I am still in the room." Toad informed them bitterly. "And at the moment, I am overtaken by the irony of this situation. Being healed by someone who inflects an injury is quite..." he felt a prick in his arm, and he immediately felt woozy once more.

"You talk to much, Toad." Said the weather witch. His vision blurred, and he watched the woman turn to the professor.

"He is still quite frightened of you, Storm, although he tries his hardest not to show it. I would discourage you from approaching him like that again." He said, the slightest bit of amusement reflecting in his voice. The professor couldn't help but smile as he saw the very befuddled, almost unconscious form of Mortimer looking back at him.

"You wish." He mumbled, before falling completely in to oblivion.

Charles stayed with the green skinned mutant, hoping to talk with him again when he awoke. He was most startled when he heard a pained yell reverberate around the room. His eyes snapped over to the man on the medical table. His eyes were screwed up in anguish, his muscles tensed, webbed fingers grabbing the edges of the table.

"L-leave me alone," he muttered softly. Charles immediately entered Mortimer's mind. A small, hooded child was cowering in a corner as adults and children alike hurled objects at him, kicking him, until they grew tired of the huddled mass. The scene changed, now he laid wet and cold, his skin blackened by burns all over his body- his eyes rolled back in his head on a reedy shore. Now he was in a cold, damp room, all alone. Rats scuttled across the room, but he wasn't afraid. This was the best home he'd had in years. He was surrounded again, but this time, he was fighting back. His tongue lashed out, striking several members of the mob down.

Suddenly, a blow was sent to his stomach. Toad hunched over, coughing. When he righted himself, his face was blue, he opened his mouth, and a shot of green goo latched itself over one of his assaulter's faces. The suffocating man doubled over in silent screams, his companions fled, and Mort was left there, trying to pry the muck from his enemy's face. The solution from his fingers started to degrade it, but not quickly enough. The man was dead. He stood there staring for awhile, then fled, thinking to himself that what they said was true.

He really was a monster.

Oooh...angst.