There was a fire in the common room fireplace, but Anne couldn't see why. It was still a blazing summer outside and hardly warranting a fire. But Mortimer said that chess needed a fire and good coffee. So there they were, Anne and her captor (who had become more of a companion than anyone before him), playing chess before a quietly smoking blaze and drinking coffee out of delicate little china cups and saucers. Anne never liked coffee, it always tasted like burnt toast to her, but he had been so adamant about the "only right way to play chess", that she had to give in. The coffee, actually, wasn't bad.
He was winning. Most of her pieces lay lifeless by his side, her few remaining pawns circling the king, useless against his veritable army of pieces. Anne sighed and shoved her cheek onto her fist, staring bleakly at the board.
"This is pointless. Why don't we just call it a game and end this."
Then she noticed it, the pin prick of red on that white skin. She sat up and pulled her palm to her face for closer inspection and found, just as she suspected, a small scratch and a small trickle of blood running along the inside of her hand. She hadn't remembered scratching herself, and furrowed her brow at the cut. Or maybe it was the pain in her head that was making her forehead crinkle. "That's strange, when did I..." She closed her eyes, and the pain only grew duller and pounded harder against her skull. Her hands flew to her temples, trying to squeeze the pain away, but nothing worked. She finally let out a scream, but the vibrations only made the pain worse. She fell off the cot, she could feel the floor cold beneath her quickly fevering body, and began to whimper, her body curled up in a tight ball.
The flashes started then, bright flashes of light at first, but then they became longer, showing colors, smells, images, faces. She saw the school for a flash, could smell the pine and wisteria, could feel the wind against her skin. She saw the kids walking to classes, books in their hands. She heard their footsteps, their voices, their laughter. Somewhere inside of her, in the places where this new pain couldn't get her, her heart broke at the sight of the only home she never had, the sound of Bobby's laugh, the smell of Logan's cigars, of Scott's voice telling the professor that Anne was missing... Her mind kept flashing forward, even though her conscious was screaming at her to pause, to rewind, to make sure she had seen what she thought she had. Next came a collage of black leather suits, jets and big round rooms. It all went so fast she wasn't exactly sure what she was seeing. Then it was gone.
She lay shivering on the floor, her mind suddenly clear and fine, except for the buzz of images that quickly sorted themselves into her memory. Her whole body was shaking terribly and she felt numb all over. She became aware of fingers, palms, forearms pressed against her body, and she knew that they were his. He lifted her up and onto his chest. She could feel it rise and fall with every breath, could feel his heart beating.
"Anne, Annie, can you hear me?" His voice echoed through her fogged-brain, and she meant to answer but she couldn't get her mouth to work. She could see him, clearly, his face aching with worrying, those yellow eyes of his boring into her face. His eyes, she couldn't stop staring at them. The yellow drew her, calmed her pounding head. Her wounded hand floated, lifted through the air seemingly of its own accord. Her fingertips grazed along the hollow of his cheek. His skin was wet, misted almost, and so soft. "Annie, Annie no..." He placed his hand over hers, trying to pry her hand away from his face. She turned her hand over and laced her fingers in between his, squeezing until her knuckles went white and she caught him wincing slightly under her grip.
It was as though she was trapped behind the buzzing in her head, being carried through the halls by a worried Mortimer. She finally let go, and let her mind dull into blackness, and she enjoyed the soundest sleep she had had in four days.
* * *
"What's wrong with her, Man?" Mortimer stared down at the sleeping form of Anne, while Magneto scanned over her unconscious body with various electrodes.
"She's sleeping, my good Toad. Nothing more for you to worry about." He cooed, never taking his eyes off of the girl on the medical slab. His steel eyes were twinkling with something, mischief maybe, and Toad knew better than to trust him with that look.
"She was screamin', Magneto. She was in pain. I held her, I could feel it." He grew quiet with the memory of her shivering in his arms. It almost radiated off of her, her hurt, it sank into the very marrow of him. And the memory of her hand on his cheek was burned into his skin like a brand. He was sure Magneto could see it, could see that she had touched him, that she hadn't shied away like his mother had. Magneto looked at him for a moment and Mortimer was sure he knew.
"Excellent. This is going better than I could've hoped for."
"What are you talking about?" Mortimer asked, suddenly embarrassed, wanting nothing more than to pull her off the med table and back to her room, to watch her sleep and let his memories play over and over in his head like a tactile movie.
"She has proven her usefulness, and you have as well." He replied, his grin growing more and more malicious. "Perhaps we should wait until she wakes, and then we'll all have a friendly little chat." He said, lifting the girl up in his arms and then passing her off to Mortimer, who took her, pulling her up into his chest, letting her limp head rest on his shoulder.
"What are you going to do to her?" He asked. Magneto simply smiled and glided out of the lab, leaving Toad to follow, clutching Anne to him like a lost child with a teddy bear.
He was winning. Most of her pieces lay lifeless by his side, her few remaining pawns circling the king, useless against his veritable army of pieces. Anne sighed and shoved her cheek onto her fist, staring bleakly at the board.
"This is pointless. Why don't we just call it a game and end this."
Then she noticed it, the pin prick of red on that white skin. She sat up and pulled her palm to her face for closer inspection and found, just as she suspected, a small scratch and a small trickle of blood running along the inside of her hand. She hadn't remembered scratching herself, and furrowed her brow at the cut. Or maybe it was the pain in her head that was making her forehead crinkle. "That's strange, when did I..." She closed her eyes, and the pain only grew duller and pounded harder against her skull. Her hands flew to her temples, trying to squeeze the pain away, but nothing worked. She finally let out a scream, but the vibrations only made the pain worse. She fell off the cot, she could feel the floor cold beneath her quickly fevering body, and began to whimper, her body curled up in a tight ball.
The flashes started then, bright flashes of light at first, but then they became longer, showing colors, smells, images, faces. She saw the school for a flash, could smell the pine and wisteria, could feel the wind against her skin. She saw the kids walking to classes, books in their hands. She heard their footsteps, their voices, their laughter. Somewhere inside of her, in the places where this new pain couldn't get her, her heart broke at the sight of the only home she never had, the sound of Bobby's laugh, the smell of Logan's cigars, of Scott's voice telling the professor that Anne was missing... Her mind kept flashing forward, even though her conscious was screaming at her to pause, to rewind, to make sure she had seen what she thought she had. Next came a collage of black leather suits, jets and big round rooms. It all went so fast she wasn't exactly sure what she was seeing. Then it was gone.
She lay shivering on the floor, her mind suddenly clear and fine, except for the buzz of images that quickly sorted themselves into her memory. Her whole body was shaking terribly and she felt numb all over. She became aware of fingers, palms, forearms pressed against her body, and she knew that they were his. He lifted her up and onto his chest. She could feel it rise and fall with every breath, could feel his heart beating.
"Anne, Annie, can you hear me?" His voice echoed through her fogged-brain, and she meant to answer but she couldn't get her mouth to work. She could see him, clearly, his face aching with worrying, those yellow eyes of his boring into her face. His eyes, she couldn't stop staring at them. The yellow drew her, calmed her pounding head. Her wounded hand floated, lifted through the air seemingly of its own accord. Her fingertips grazed along the hollow of his cheek. His skin was wet, misted almost, and so soft. "Annie, Annie no..." He placed his hand over hers, trying to pry her hand away from his face. She turned her hand over and laced her fingers in between his, squeezing until her knuckles went white and she caught him wincing slightly under her grip.
It was as though she was trapped behind the buzzing in her head, being carried through the halls by a worried Mortimer. She finally let go, and let her mind dull into blackness, and she enjoyed the soundest sleep she had had in four days.
* * *
"What's wrong with her, Man?" Mortimer stared down at the sleeping form of Anne, while Magneto scanned over her unconscious body with various electrodes.
"She's sleeping, my good Toad. Nothing more for you to worry about." He cooed, never taking his eyes off of the girl on the medical slab. His steel eyes were twinkling with something, mischief maybe, and Toad knew better than to trust him with that look.
"She was screamin', Magneto. She was in pain. I held her, I could feel it." He grew quiet with the memory of her shivering in his arms. It almost radiated off of her, her hurt, it sank into the very marrow of him. And the memory of her hand on his cheek was burned into his skin like a brand. He was sure Magneto could see it, could see that she had touched him, that she hadn't shied away like his mother had. Magneto looked at him for a moment and Mortimer was sure he knew.
"Excellent. This is going better than I could've hoped for."
"What are you talking about?" Mortimer asked, suddenly embarrassed, wanting nothing more than to pull her off the med table and back to her room, to watch her sleep and let his memories play over and over in his head like a tactile movie.
"She has proven her usefulness, and you have as well." He replied, his grin growing more and more malicious. "Perhaps we should wait until she wakes, and then we'll all have a friendly little chat." He said, lifting the girl up in his arms and then passing her off to Mortimer, who took her, pulling her up into his chest, letting her limp head rest on his shoulder.
"What are you going to do to her?" He asked. Magneto simply smiled and glided out of the lab, leaving Toad to follow, clutching Anne to him like a lost child with a teddy bear.