Bobby Drake's door beeped. He jerked. His door was about to open. This happened from time to time. He hadn't seen another living person since he'd arrived here, not even heard a voice. He felt like he was going slowly insane. He'd shouted questions at the walls. No one had answered.
He stood up. The door swung open towards him. He picked up the bucket from the corner of the room, which he kept frozen to kill the smell, and took it with him through the door. He knew the drill. The room beyond the door was small and empty, with an airlock-like door at the far end that gave him electric shocks if he touched it. The floor was metal, so his attempts to short out the door had been rewarded with shocks to his feet. There was still nothing plastic in the room for him to stand on as an insulator while he tried to force the door. They knew what his power was, he'd shown them pretty well when he'd tried to stop them taking him and Rogue. They'd put him in a cell that was very well waterproofed, but he'd found a place the sealant was weak. He'd spat on it, frozen it, let it thaw out, added more moisture, then frozen again. Rinse and repeat. Freeze-thaw will destroy almost anything eventually.
Bobby looked around. There was an empty bucket for him to swap in for his, and a metal tray with food and water. Everything was metal. He went over to the tray. Two sandwiches, an apple, and a radio. A radio. They'd never given him a radio before. He ignored it. He started eating. He'd thrown the first food they'd given him on the floor in protest. Then he'd just got too hungry to care if it was drugged, and it didn't seem to be. He was about half way through the food when the radio buzzed.
"This is Lieutenant Colonel Fredricks. Are you receiving me?" A woman's voice. Bobby stared at the radio. Should he pick up? Should he ignore it? Should he smash the radio? He wasn't going to give them anything.
These people, whoever they were, had complete control over him. Maybe it would be smart to at least see what they wanted. He picked the radio up.
"You have to press the button on the side to talk back to me." The radio said. Bobby knew that. He'd been a scout for seven years. He could use a standard radio.
"Receiving you five by five." He said, almost automatically. "Over."
"Please identify. Over."
"You first. Over."
"Callsign is Lieutenant Colonel Fredricks. Over."
"Callsign is Iceman." He'd give them John's nickname for him, sure. He would not give them his real name. "Over."
"Iceman, I am going to offer you a way to earn your freedom. Over."
"Arbeit macht frei." Bobby said coldly. "Over."
"Don't be glib. Long Message. You're clearly a very brave man. It wasn't you we wanted that night. If you'd just run, we'd have let you go. But now you're here, there are things you can do for us. Break."
"Copy so far." That felt like a very poor answer to them. They'd come bursting in to a school with guns, darted him and Rogue, then…
"There are two things we want from you. The first is to let our medics examine you and take samples under a peace flag, we can do this by force if you don't give samples willingly." Like they had the others, Logan and that skinny little kid Doctor Grey had had to resuscitate. "Also, tell us where we can find other mutants. You lead us to three females, we let you go. Over."
"What about R-" Bobby stopped himself. "The girl I was with when you caught me. Over."
"We're keeping her. That's non-negotiable. You can earn your own freedom. She can earn hers. Over."
"And you want me to sell you three other mutants so you can do all this stuff to them." Bobby said. If he got free, could he lead The X-men back here and free the others, and Rogue. He could make all of them free. "Over."
"Affirmative. They do their time, we let them go when we're done. What's your decision? Over."
What would The Professor do? What would Mr Summers do?
There was only one answer.
"Go to hell. Over and out."
,
Logan shifted. The back of his head was throbbing. His ears were ringing.
"Logan." A voice said beside him. A woman's voice. Jean's voice. The Phoenix. He started to scramble up. "No, Logan, wait. Keep still." He seemed to have healed okay. But she could just – "Logan, stop moving." For some reason, he obeyed. He looked up at her. Her eyes were red rimmed again. If she was crying, she was probably Jean.
"Who are you?" He asked.
"I'm Jean." She said. "Jean Grey. I'm so sorry Logan. I…" She broke off, tucking her head down. She was shaking.
"How long was I out?"
"About ten minutes? Long enough that in anybody else I'd be really worried."
"I think I'm fine." His ears had stopped ringing, everything felt like it worked. He pushed himself half way up.
"I'm so sorry. I couldn't… I couldn't hold her. I was fighting, but-"
"Hey." He cut her off. "I'm not so easy to kill."
"It's not just that, it's… Before."
"None of that was you, was it?"
She shook her head. He'd known. It had never felt right. She was Scott's woman to the core. "I'm so sorry. I know how… It's not fair on you."
"Wasn't you doing it. It was the other one."
"I'm so, so sorry."
"Just… Stop now. Concentrate on keeping her from doing it again. I'm fine."
,
It just went on. Logan lost track of time completely, Hank later told him it was fifty hours. Fifty hours, never sleeping, eating in five-minute breaks, barely taking his eyes off Jean. She went for him four times in total, throwing him hard in to whichever wall he was furthest from. But it was draining her too. She was getting less coherent, whether she was The Phoenix or Jean. She was exhausted. So was he.
,
By the time Hank came in for the second time, Jean's eyes were starting to sink and go dull and she was panting again. She hadn't been given much water. The last time The Phoenix had surfaced, she'd threatened to drink Logan's blood. She'd not done it. She'd not even thrown him that hard. It had been more of a protest than a genuine attack.
Like before, Hank didn't explain what he was doing, he just walked over to Jean, syringe in hand. Logan got up. This hadn't ended well last time. Jean raised her head, but didn't get up. Hank grabbed her by the arm and drove the needle in to her. And she didn't flip out. She just flinched as he injected her.
"Tell me that wasn't methadone." She said softly.
"Of course it wasn't." Hank said. "Midazolam's the main sedative in there."
Jean nodded. "Can I have something for pain?" Hank tilted his head at her. "My head is killing me." She said.
"There's one mig of butorphanol in that. Against point three five mig of midazolam, that won't make you seizure, but-"
"Thank you."
Hank turned to Logan. "Logan, go to the infirmary and sleep."
"What about-?"
"Point three five mig of midazolam, even without the torb, even if she weren't exhausted, she won't be able to stand up pretty soon, let alone throw me around. It's about half an hour to maximal effect. Go and get some sleep." He heard Jean swearing violently at Hank as he left, but no more than that. He'd take any sleep he could get right now.
,
Kurt heard movement. It was early, very early. Was it now? He jumped up and scampered to his door. He heard another door close. He opened his. He looked left and right. Scott was walking towards the stairs, head down, wearing his visor, not his glasses.
"Is it now?" Kurt asked. Scott stopped and turned his head.
"What?"
"The Professor is going to try to defeat The Phoenix, is it now?"
"Yeah." Scott turned his head forwards again and started walking.
"I will follow." Kurt said. Scott stopped and looked round again. "I will pray for her."
Scott huffed. "As you like." He started walking again. Kurt couldn't hold his abruptness against him. The poor man was in a great deal of pain, the greater part of it deeper than his ribs.
,
Charles was sitting outside the danger room, waiting. Hank was with Jean, he'd let them know when she was weak enough to approach. Scott was sitting on the floor about six feet away. Either his eyes were closed or he was staring at the wall. He needed to shield himself from Scott more strongly. He could do without Scott's pain on top of his own. Charles had, in the past, felt a remarkable ability in Scott to push past physical pain, to force himself to focus on something else. Now he seemed to be doing the reverse. He was focusing on that spot in his back that jarred and throbbed with every breath, to the exclusion of all else. Obviously he'd decided that hurt less than what he was facing. Today, he might have to kill Jean. And that clearly terrified him. He understood the need. If Charles couldn't subdue her, if she killed Charles when he attempted to enter her mind, in spite of starvation, sleep deprivation, dehydration and sedatives, there would be no hope for her. They would then have no choice, so Scott and Logan, the two X-men with the best chance of killing Jean in a single blow, would stand ready. It would have been a dreadful thing to ask of them if they hadn't both been in love with her.
She was his daughter in all but name. He'd been overjoyed to find her, another telepath, someone he really understood, someone he'd been so sure he could help, even when he'd first found The Phoenix, hiding behind the blocks he'd put in her mind to keep her sane. But apparently not. He'd greatly underestimated it. He had to try. He had to try to save her, even if it cost him his life.
"Scott?" Hank opened the door and stuck his head out. Scott looked up. "She wants to talk to you."
Scott breathed out. "Tell her I'll talk to her after."
"Scott," Hank pressed.
"I'm not doing it." Scott was staring dead ahead again. "I'll talk to her when this is done."
Hank sighed and retreated. Charles understood. To let Jean talk now, to let her say goodbye, was to give her permission to die.