The lock on the bathroom door was flimsy, but it would have to do. Fern shuffled over to the sink and flinched at the sight she made in the mirror. The ink of her poison was a stark contrast to the white of her tunic, making the sheer amount of it, all the more evident. Panic welled in her. It had been a while since she'd had such a severe flare up of her mutation.
Swallowing, she carefully pulled the neck hole of her tunic away from her scaled skin. The young woman cringed when it stuck to the thin glands at the hollow of her throat. The poisonous ooze had dried, embedding itself into the scales around the glands and bonding the cotton to it. It wouldn't be long before the others went looking for her, or worse, the agents did. It wouldn't do her any favor to be seen like this.
Frantic, she ignored the sting as she yanked it back. With a grimace, Fern buried her claws into the thin material and tried to tear it away from her throat. Maybe they wouldn't quarantine her if she could get rid of the evidence.
Sinking her sharp teeth into the seam that circled her neck, the mutant ignored the bitter, acidic taste of her poison as she tore the neck hole from the rest of the tunic. She spat the remains into the sink and began to pull at the bottom of the tunic. Her movements shaky and rough, she ignored the odd scale that scattered to the floor as she fought to keep quiet. Each pull of her tunic burned as if she was trying to rip the flesh from her body, but she couldn't risk being seen as a threat. Not by the government. Not by her so-called friends. Not with Shaw so close and her mother so far away.
The thin membrane flickered over her eyes as her tunic gave way. Fern sighed with relief. Quickly tearing away any bit of fabric that was so much as tinged black (by her stupid defense mechanism or by Oreos), the mutant threw the stained cotton in the sink. Bracing her hands on either side of the sink, Fern bit her lip and tried to ignore the odd trickle of blood as a few of her scales tried to heal themselves.
Her blue eyes rose to the mirror. Her skin was an inky black, making them and the intricate patterns that swirled over her flesh seem all the more startling. Her unsteady pants and wild black hair made her look like a wild animal. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and took a few deep, calming breaths. Bowing her head, Fern dug her nails into the white porcelain sink.
She thought of her mother and Bruno and her bedroom and tried to imagine being back at home. She thought of the lake and its calm, tepid waters. Of how cold it got in the winter and how it smelled. Mostly, she tried to think of anything but the ache in her body as the adrenaline waned. The soothing thoughts didn't work; not with the sound of agents rushing around the other side of the bathroom door.
Slowly, the young woman peeked her eyes open. Her scaled hands were no longer quite so dark. Her skin flickered in an anxious, intricate manner she was familiar with and Fern let out a sigh of relief. Her body understood what her mind was unable to comprehend; the danger was gone, at least for now, and with her stress levels slowly going down, her glands had stopped pulsing. Stopped preparing themselves for the next fight.
Tentatively, she touched the two at the base of her throat. They were a bit rougher than usual, but dry and still. A good sign. She eased away from the sink and gathered some paper towels from the dispenser. She wet them with hot water and carefully wet the outside of her sleeve. Slowly but surely, the cotton pulled away from her skin as she rehydrated the black ooze. It would still take a bit of force to remove, it wouldn't result in the loss of any of her scales. Sinking her claws into the seam of her sleeve, Fern bit into the shoulder of the tunic and quickly yanked. The cotton gave way with ease in a clean break. After she rolled it down her wrist, she threw it in the sink and repeated the method on her other arm. Vaguely, she considered doing the same to her back; she knew several parts of it were coated in the black ooze, but she couldn't see them and didn't want to strip down, even in the isolated bathroom.
The young mutant clenched her jaw as her fingers slid down to the button of her jeans. She tapped it with a sharp tipped nail and briefly considered stripping out of them. She knew the glands along the outside of her thighs and calves had been stimulated, but faltered at the thought of cutting the denim away. It was bad enough she'd be walking back to the girls' room with so much skin exposed. What was left of her shirt barely covered her breasts and she really didn't want to have to risk destroying her pants with so many strange men around. Her hands braced the sink once more.
Worse, she knew there'd be no way to get the poison off her actual skin; not with the hand soap the bathroom provided. She'd need something more severe, like dish soap or laundry detergent.
As she stared down at the torn fabric, Fern drummed her nails on the sink's edge. She hesitated. There was no way she could leave them- she didn't want the government studying her poison without her consent. Her eyes drifted to the toilet and she briefly considered flushing them, but there was no way she'd be able to get rid of it all. Not without a clog. Biting her bottom lip, she quickly gathered the shredded remains of her tunic and began to tie them into a rope. Shaky hands wrapped it around her stomach and she forced the waistband of her jeans to cover it. It wasn't pretty, but it was practical and that was good enough for her.
After collecting every scale she could find off the bathroom's tiled floor, Fern stood. Her eyes darted around, making sure she hadn't missed anything as she brushed her hands on the seat of her pants. She froze as her fingers brushed the lenses of Blake's glasses. Fern slowly pulled them out of her back pocket.
She had liked Agent Sullivan. It was rare for her to meet anyone who treated her with respect, much less immediately and so warmly. She licked her thumb and ebbed away a bit of the dried blood on one of the lenses. It hadn't been fair for him to die that way. Such a violent death for such a kind man wasn't right. She thought of his office. How sterile and void of any sentimentality and felt an ache in her chest. Fern swallowed and ignored the flicker of her membrane over her eyes as she thumbed the glass.
Squaring her shoulders, she slid them back into her pocket and crossed back to the door. Fern poked her head out of it. None of the agents paid her any mind as she slipped out of the bathroom and all but sprinted back to the room they had given the girls. Pulling the rope of stained cotton from her waist, she snatched Angel's purse off the upper bunk. Anger bubbled in her chest and a malicious sneer crossed her lips as she emptied the contents out. Fuck Angel. She was dead to her- and not in the way Darwin and Blake were. Angel was gone and to be forgotten. Fern wouldn't do that to Armando or Agent Sullivan. She wouldn't let that happen to them.
Shoving the stained cotton into the purse, Fern stalked over to her bunk and dropped to her knees. Pulling a sweater out of her suitcase, she put it on to cover her bare skin and then put her long coat over that to cover her legs. Sliding the purse inside, she carefully wrapped Blake's glasses in one of her other sweaters for safe keeping.
A thought struck her and she stood and left the room just as Charles was jogging toward Raven in the courtyard.
Slipping through the troves of agents (most of which gave her a wide berth), Fern all but ran to the boys' sleeping area. She had just about made it when a man stepped in front of her. A familiar face peered down at her, red with rage and grimly set.
"This is all your damn fault."
"Me?" Fern asked with mock innocence, stepping back from the Agent who had hassled her two nights prior.
"You mutants," the Agent spat at her. Dark eyes hard, he swept his gaze over her form. "Freaks like you have caused nothing but trouble since you got here."
"You mean like asking to use the bathroom? Or did you mean the window thing?" The girl chuckled anxiously, her eyes darting around the busy hallway. No one paid them any mind, too focused on getting back to basics to care that one of their agents was harassing her. "Because I had nothing to do with that. I was just an innocent bystander."
He didn't find her disrespect the least bit charming. "Listen here you little bitch-"
With a sneer, he reached to grab her arm. Too surprised to stop him, the man managed to reach out and grip the wrist of her wool coat. He gave her a rough jerk toward him, effectively snapping Fern from her stupor. Quick to use his momentum against him, Fern slipped under his arm and effectively body checked him as she threw all her weight into his back. The man stumbled and the mutant took off running.
She had managed to reach the boy's room without another incident, but she still made sure to lock the door behind her. For a long moment, Fern stood stock-still at the door. She kept her ear pressed to it, listening for any sign of the angry agent. When there was none, the young woman moved toward the further bunk. She had absolutely no qualms about rifling through other people's belongings; perhaps if she'd had siblings or if Josie hadn't been so lenient with Fern's somewhat invasive tendencies, she might have. But she didn't and Josie hadn't, so the suitcase got dumped out onto the bed without a second thought.
It was filled with khakis. Pristinely folded khakis. It clearly didn't belong to Darwin, so she had no interest in it. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Fern shoved Hank's clothes back inside. She then hopped up to the top bunk and was met with a familiar red button down, so she assumed it to be Sean's.
The mutant dropped from the bunk bed and moved over to the other. Only the top had any luggage, if a paper bag could be counted as such. She frowned at it, but pulled it and the lone pair of jeans next to it, closer. A quick glance inside confirmed it as Armando's, and Fern felt a pang of sadness as she emptied it out on the mattress. His whole life summed up in a few sparse articles of clothes and a pair of beat up sneakers stared back at her.
Fern bit her lip and shoved the shirts back. She had no use for clothing. When she checked his jeans, however, she found something she could keep. A wallet. Flipping it open, the young woman smiled softly at the sight of Darwin's driver's license. Her textured thumb slid it out.
The young woman pursed her lips at the sight of Darwin's muted expression. It wasn't the best photo of him, but it would do. The thin membrane flickered over her large eyes. Sniffing absently, Fern considered sliding it into her back pocket, but thought better of it. It would just get ruined if she did. Instead, she put it in the inside pocket to her wool coat. After tightening the belt around her waist, Fern squared her shoulders and slowly eased open the door.
With no angry agents in sight, Fern slipped back into the hall. Hands in her pockets, she kept her posture lax and casual as she moved toward Agent Sullivan's office. When she arrived to it, she was unsurprised to find it unlocked and vacant and the young woman wasted no time going inside.
Once again, Fern was surprised and a little disappointed by the lack of personal items. There were no family photos or knickknacks. Nothing remotely personal in any sense of the word. Mouth tight, she ran her finger nail along the edge of Blake's desk. Circling it, she moved to look over the few military medals and the odd photograph. The one that stuck out to her the most was one of him shaking hands with the current president, John F. Kennedy. Fern hadn't been old enough to vote for him, but Josie had.
A smile pulled at her thin lips at how excited the Agent looked and without second thought, Fern slid the photo, frame and all, into her shirt. Pulling her collar up, she turned and let out a sharp gasp when she realized she wasn't alone.
"Damn it, Summers!"
Alex remained in the doorway. His hands clenched and unclenched, anxious about being in a dead man's office. "Where've you been?"
Fern crossed her arms. "Around. Is Charles back yet?"
"Yeah." The blond swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. "He said he can take you home whenever."
"You headed back to prison?" She asked. Keeping her back straight and hoping he didn't notice the odd lump on her chest, the young woman sauntered toward him.
"No."
Fern lifted a near invisible brow as they moved into the hall. "Why not?"
"Me and Sean are going with him to New York." Alex spared her a glance. His cheeks flushed with rage, the young man swallowed and explained, "He's gonna help us hone our mutations so we can go after Shaw."
"Great." Fern nodded and spun to stand in front of him. Expression serious and grim, she asked, "When do we leave?"
"I think he wants you home."
Fern stared at him. Irritated and a bit sarcastic, she said, "I think my friends are dead and I'm not going to stand for it." Bright eyes surprisingly stoic, she reminded him, "And he promised to help me with my mutation."
Alex stared at her a long moment. "Erik says we can avenge him."
Eying his frown and the seemingly genuine sadness in his pale features, Fern reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Making sure to keep her hands off his skin, she offered him a tense smile. "I guess vengeance is easier to cope with than grief, huh?"
Alex nodded and dropped his gaze. "Yeah."
"Come on." She gave his shoulder a light clap and jerked her head behind her. "Let's go break the news to Charles that his little team has one more member."
A/N: Shout out to my beta, the lovely Linda Ku! I wasn't sure if you guys liked Fern enough to read such a long chapter devoted to her, so bear with me guys.