So, um, this chapter. Didn't exactly want to be written… and thus needed a TON of encouragement, cajoling, and some bitching to be written. Then, Raven was like… I want a chapter posted before The Hunger Games premieres that has me in it. This was the result. She's not exactly in it for more than like… three paragraphs, but it does do some vital setting up for the next chapter, where she will play a hopefully bigger role.
Though, in consolation, I did give you lots of sarcastic, albeit slightly damaged, handsome, smirking Charles. And some foreshadowing… And some very, very, very extreme artistic liberties.
And since I didn't have time to respond to everyone's reviews via PM… here are my responses.
Special thanks to hachoo for your really awesome review and for giving up on doing homework to read this story. I understand where you're coming from, both in the homework corner, and in the decent story corner. I'm glad you consider this to be one of the good ones. Also, to Luthien Potter—you made me really happy. The fact that you only got three hours of sleep before doing a rather dangerous job because you were reading my story means the world to me. And I'm glad to hear we have similar interests! : ). It's always nice to find a fellow fandom lover. To TristeAlma—thank you for reviewing! Sorry for not updating sooner… life got in the way.
And to the ever faithful Haylia Jones and The Singing Duck, who have been here since the beginning: You two are amazing. I love you dearly. I'm glad you're enjoying the chapters I am sporadically giving you. You make my life. : ). And The Singing Duck, you're right not to be as hopeful as Raven, as you soon will see.
Now, for the moment you all have been waiting for…
The Perks of Being a Telepath
Chapter 30: Emma
Despite the fact that Raven hadn't truly spoken to her brother in over two months, she still knew him well enough to figure out that there was something very wrong with him. It wasn't the way Charles ignored Erik—which was so completely out of character for him that Raven couldn't even begin to understand what the hell was going through his mind. It wasn't the way Charles used his powers to heavily influence the doctors and nurses to get his way in the hospital, which again, was ridiculously abnormal for him. Hell, it wasn't even the cold, uncaring way in which he acted toward Sean.
It was simply the way Charles didn't look at her. Charles had this look he used only for Raven. It was a soft, tender expression, filled with love and brotherly admiration, often tinged with a hint of exasperation, and occasionally pity and guilt and other emotions Raven couldn't even begin to guess at. The look was visible every time he looked at Raven, no matter what. Even when he had been bleeding in the sand on that cursed beach in Cuba, Charles still gave her that look.
Call her shallow, but the absence of that look was the only thing that really alerted Raven to the fact that something was wrong with him. In fact, with the time she spent split between the hospital and with Hank in the hotel room, Raven barely even noticed the other signs.
It took Raven three weeks to realize that the person inhabiting Charles' body was no longer her brother.
By that time, it was far too late.
Honestly, Charles should have known better than to go wandering off in the middle of a crowd by himself, especially with his defenses practically gone, and his ability null in the middle of such an event. The last time he had done something this momentously stupid, he had wound up with a bullet in his back.
He had gone maybe thirty yards away from Erik when his mind locked on to Emma's. It helped that she was broadcasting her thoughts so loudly that anyone with even a tenth of Charles' ability could read her mind loud and clear.
Run away, little telepath. It's not safe for you here.
As if he hadn't already guessed that, and more, from the thoughts in Erik's mind about the caliber of mutants here in Texas. They weren't exactly Shaws-in-training—they were far too simple-minded for that—but they weren't human-friendly, either.
Emma, dear, don't you know that I never do what's safe?
Charles sent her a mental smile that contained much more bravado than he felt. While he couldn't read exactly what was happening here—there was something far more powerful than telepathic abilities blocking Emma's memory cortex—he was intelligent enough to guess.
The CIA has plans to capture you and kill our mutual friend.
And why, pray tell, would they ever want me?
Sarcasm was an art form Charles had perfected long before he had ever met Erik, but the metal bender had done little to hinder its progress.
Because they know that if they capture you, then they would successfully end the mutant rebellion. You've made some pretty powerful enemies, sugar.
Charles sighed.
You really do give me too much credit, darling.
He had walked—okay, stumbled—a few more yards during their conversation, far enough that he could easily spot her amongst the scores of other people pushing against each other, searching for a spot that would give them an easy view of the President.
Emma turned, a smile gracing her stunning face as she locked eyes with him.
Do I? From what I've seen, your little ducklings don't fare too well without you to guide them. Honestly, you should have seen Magneto struggling to get by without you. It was like watching a fish out of water.
Memories, sharp and pointed, from the time after Cuba, forced their way into Charles' mind. Bitterness and hatred darkened and twisted every single one of them, though it wasn't always Emma's emotions coloring the haunting images.
Erik, naturally, starred in all of them. He was cruel and cold, quick to anger, and quicker to turn to violence. More than once, Emma's projected memories replayed a fight he and Raven had had, which had ended in punches and death threats.
It was nothing Charles hadn't already seen in Erik's mind, despite how hard the latter man tried to conceal them. It was near impossible to hide things from a telepath.
However, the blow Emma delivered was still harsh and left Charles reeling. He stumbled a few feet backward, his fingers going to his temple in effort to block his mind.
Emma retreated from his mind with a bitter smile.
Sorry, sugar, but it's for your own good. The sooner you develop a sense of self-preservation and get the hell out of here, the better off you and your little flock will be.
Charles shook his head, vainly attempting to clear his mind of the memories, and failing admirably. The image of Erik's face, twisted in anger and self-hatred, was seared onto the back of his eyes, so that every time he blinked, he saw it.
He swallowed heavily and attempted to recover some form of confidence, no matter how forced.
Why are you trying so hard to save me?
Emma's bitter smile disappeared, leaving her expression carefully blank.
A Magneto with a dead telepath is like a planet without the sun—spinning violently out of control and crushing everything in it's path. Honestly, it's not you I'm trying to save. If you die, then I'm first on Magneto's list of people to kill, simply because I'm here today.
Emma's ability to think only of herself had to be some strange, bizarre mutation of her telepathy. Like Charles' sarcasm, it was an art form she had developed to perfection.
Your vanity will get you killed one day, dear.
And your save-the-world complex will kill you today, sugar, if you don't leave.
They stood stock still for a minute, staring each other down.
Charles pressed his fingers a little harder into his temple, attempting to focus his telepathy on her mind, to read her true intentions. For all of her concern about him—even if, in the end, it was just for herself—there was still something not quite true about the way her voice rang in his mind.
I wouldn't do that if I were you, sugar. I have strict orders to wipe your mind if you probe too deep.
I wouldn't do that if I were you, dear. I am much more powerful than you remember.
It was an almost blatant lie—Charles couldn't remember a time in recent memory that he ever felt weaker.
Rescuing Erik and Raven from the CIA had taken a lot more out of him than he would have liked to admit. It was startling evident in the way he could barely focus in the large crowd, something he had been able to do with ease since he was eleven. Her mind, which Charles had been in on multiple occasions and thus should have had an easier time accessing, was almost impossible to enter. It was almost as though there was a large, glass barrier, smooth and impenetrable, that separated her mind from his.
There is.
Charles blinked at Emma's sudden thought projection, which broke his concentration entirely. He mentally growled at himself for being so weak.
What do you mean?
His desperation leaked into her mind, which caused the smirk on her face to widen considerably, into a feral grin.
Stryker has paid me a good deal of money to test a telepathic drug designed not to limit my powers, but to keep others from breaking into my mind. As you can see, it works fairly well.
It was impossible, but it would explain a great deal, especially about how Charles was entirely unable to read Stryker's mind. At first, he had thought it was some genetic mutation, but now, it made perfect sense.
So did something else, Charles realized with stunning clarity.
And the side effects?
Emma blinked, her smirk faltering ever so slightly.
Charles pressed on, not giving Emma the chance to reply.
Stryker enhanced the drug so he can control mutants, didn't he? Of course he did. He wouldn't want his precious pet telepath running amok with all of those important matters of national security you undoubtedly uncovered in the minds of the CIA agents you work with.
Emma's face darkened and her smirk turned into a scowl.
You don't know anything.
Charles shook his head.
I know enough, sweetie.
She stepped forward, anger radiating off her in such strong waves that Charles was nearly thrown backward.
He held up his free hand to stop her.
Look around.
Emma froze, blinking once more, and coming back to herself as she realized the same thing Charles had.
They were surrounded by humans, all of whom were openly staring at the telepaths. There was a young girl, barely over the age of ten, who was wide-eyed and fearful as she gazed at Emma.
While the humans didn't concern Emma in the same way they did Charles, they were enough of a deterrent for her to stop an outright physical attack. It would have drawn too much attention to her, and to the facts that mutants existed, two things that she obviously was trying to hide at the moment.
Emma glared.
The CIA is going to kill Magneto.
Why do you care so much? You've changed sides, which to Erik, means that you're nothing more than Shaw. And you saw how well that turned out.
Charles wasn't cruel by nature, but he couldn't help but project the image of a coin digging through Shaw's skull into Emma's mind, because he couldn't stop it either.
Emma remained motionless, though her blue eyes widened ever so slightly.
I don't care, sugar.
A snort pushed passed Charles' lips before he could contain it, drawing more curious glances, and more than one reproachful, from the humans around him.
You do. Maybe not about me or Erik, but about being labeled a traitor. Because you know, if you do this, then that's what others of our kind will call you. You will be an outcast.
Emma shook her head.
I don't care about that. Being a rebel doesn't mean anything. There's no power in that. You and your precious Magneto showed me that. All it ever gets you is enemies.
And you think the CIA is going to gain you friends?
It already has, Xavier.
Her wide-eyed look had disappeared, replaced by the smirk Charles knew all too well. It was her bold, daring expression, that usually preceded something very bad for Charles.
At that moment, three things happened simultaneously. One, was the sudden appearance of eight men in black suits, all carrying guns. Second, was Erik, who was standing beside Angel. And third, the presidential parade had begun.