Dedicated to ZabuzasGirl, because her command of "Update immediately, please!" cheered me up when I really fecking needed it yesterday. Thank you so much sweetie, and I'm sorry it's not immediate (though to be fair I was up pretty late last night trying to)!
Chapter Two: To Protect
I pace the carpet nervously, glancing at the clock repeatedly. They should be here, right? The trip shouldn't take this long. Florida to New York by the CIA jets - they should have been here twenty minutes ago.
I shake my head and try to wrap my head around, yet again, the news of the latest addition to our much-smaller family unit. Anya. Sean had described her over the phone, but I doubted that without actually meeting the young girl, I wouldn't be able to completely visualize "Erik as a girl" without getting some disturbing results. Erik's daughter. That part is even stranger. Erik and kids? That is so completely foreign that it makes my thoughts reel. I always got the impression that Erik barely tolerated us; how in the hell did he manage to have a daughter?!
Actually, does he even know she exists?
The questions in my head are derailed as the door opens and Charles appears in a wheelchair.
My heart stops.
Charles gives a rueful little smile as Sean wheels him into the foyer. "How have you been Dr. McCoy?" he asks lightly. I swallow hard around the lump in my throat and brush my claws through the thick blue fur on my head before pushing my glasses up my nose. Charles waits patiently for me to compose himself, something sad in his expression.
"Y'know, worried," I mumble eventually.
I knew. I knew before I was forced to come back up to New York or risk being exposed that Charles had been hurt extremely badly. I knew that he was paralyzed because Sean and Alex had called to tell me he was. But seeing the reality is somehow so much worse. It makes that devastating news real in a way a phone call can't.
Alex comes through the door with a tightly wrapped bundle in his arms. The sorrow in Charles' eyes becomes a companion to something else, something fierce and protective. It's that expression he had in his eyes when we flew in the jet to stop Shaw, gracing us each in turn. Love and worry. Fear and hope. Protectiveness and pride. "Ah yes. I'm afraid that was my fault. Anya is not as used to December weather in New York as she would've liked us to believe." A little smile tugs at his mouth. "I may have asked we pull over so we could outfit her properly."
"Squirt thought shorts were appropriate for snow," Alex snorts, shifting the bundle in his arms. It's only then that I make out the lump is one of Alex's jackets, wrapped around a tiny person with a shock of dark hair and pale skin dotted with golden freckles. Her eyes are hidden, as is most of her face, but it's quite obvious that she's sleeping. Sean comes in moments later, followed by Agent MacTaggert, huffing as he hauls a bright purple suitcase behind him.
"Why do I have to bring in her luggage?" the redhead whines. Alex shrugs and shifts the young girl in his arms. She mumbles in her sleep before burrowing into his chest.
"'Cause I got her."
"You've got two hands!"
"So do you."
"Boys," Charles admonishes gently, but with a smile. Sean and Alex relent with traded smiles and a few laughs. "Hank would you be so kind as to help us with the bags?"
"Sure," I say, and am about to head out the door when a thought occurs to me. "The room across from Alex's is cleaned out, if you want to put her in there."
Charles' eyes gleam and he nods, a hint of a smile playing around his lips. "Thank you so much Hank."
It's easy enough to grab the last few bags they brought with them - barely enough to fill two duffel bags with, really - and head back inside. Alex is in the kitchen with Sean, arguing over whether they use the kettle or a pot to boil milk for hot chocolate. Briefly I wonder if there's a fire extinguisher in there but decide against checking when the sound of the stove turning on reaches me. Frankly, I haven't been around them in the kitchen with fur yet, and it is not an experience I am looking forward to.
I head into the hall and follow the sound of voices to where Moira and Charles are talking in quiet tones, mindful of listening ears. I know he must know I'm here, but I slow my steps anyway, and listen into the conversation. "What if she turns out like her father, Charles? 'Mutant supremacy' and all? If she has powers anything like his -"
"I fear the opposite might be more capable of happening." Charles' response is subdued and sounding worn. "Her parents were killed by mutants, Moira. Would she really support a cause that would result in other children going through the same pain she is currently battling?" I can tell he's shaking his head. "No, if anything she will believe mutants are something to be abhorred, to be feared, and once that hatred has taken root there will be very little we can do to dissuade it."
"So you want to get her used to mutants, show her you aren't all bad?" Moira's voice is skeptical.
"Anya's young, her ideologies are only just forming. She is already quite close to Alex. I am hopeful that it shouldn't take too much effort to convince her of that." There's definitely amusement in his voice. But there's a note of sadness in Moira's when she reads the subtext to Charles' intentions.
"There's no guarantee that he will stay - or even come - if he knows he has a daughter here," she chides him gently. Silence. "Charles…"
"We'll have to find him to tell him she's here." There's a note of stubbornness in Charles' voice that is reminiscent of Erik's own bullheaded nature. I sigh to myself. How things will work with those two…
"Whoa." I startle, not having heard anyone approach, and turn to stare down at a little girl no more than five feet tall, with wild dark red curls that must be at least four inches of that height, and a face that reminds me vividly of the father figure that abandoned us on a beach.
She really does look like Erik as a girl.
Big green eyes analyze me from the bottom of my furry toes to the the blue fur cresting the top of my head. Her skin is pale beneath golden freckles, but as a slow smile creeps over those peachy lips, I realize that that's her normal skin color. "You're a bear," she says in awe. I shrug and wish desperately to be anywhere else. I'm still not used to this, being a huge beast. But Anya doesn't look afraid - if anything, she looks intrigued. "Am I going to look like you?" she asks in a chipper voice.
What?
"Alex says I'm going to be a… a… a mutant like them. But am I going to look like you? They don't." Oh. Her face is eager, a smile so bright it could power New York City stealing across her lips.
Eventually I regain the use of my voice. "I don't know. Probably not. I um… I did this to myself." Embarrassment leaks into my voice. Anya tilts her head and purses her lips in confusion.
"Why?" I shake my head. How do you explain to an eleven-year-old still figuring out her own personality and body that someone can hate who they are enough to risk a procedure to possibly change?
"Long story. C'mon. Alex and Sean were going to make hot chocolate, last I saw." The smile is back. She skips along beside me - and oh my God Erik Lehnsherr's daughter skips! - and begins chattering.
"So this is a school?"
"Hopefully soon." I guide the young girl through twisting hallways back to the kitchen. She bounces a little, curls flying, before grabbing my furry hand and leaning on my side. The contact is foreign and very warm, more than I've had really since I turned into this. She's not afraid though, running her fingers through my fur in bewildered excitement, and then leaning her curly head against my arm. I don't really know what to do; they didn't exactly teach "how to deal with eleven-year-old girls" at Harvard.
"Does that mean I have to go to regular school too? Or am I going here?" That question stumps me for a second. Eventually I shrug and gesture with me free hand for her to go into the kitchen first. She forgets her question when she sees Alex. Her smile widens, if possible, and she races into the kitchen. The usually stoic and "manly" blonde teen drops what he's doing to scoop her up in a bear hug before letting her wrap her arms around his neck and hang on his back like a monkey.
"Hey squirt! Awake already?" he teases. She nods and looks around at the kitchen.
"You didn't say you lived in a mansion!" she shrieks. Alex winces and rubs an ear but doesn't tell her to get off. He shrugs and Sean laughs, pouring out the hot chocolate for everyone. Anya scrambles down from Alex's back and takes a seat at the table, reaching for one glass with her small hands. Alex hovers right over her shoulder, the protective big brother that is waiting for a moment to jump in and save his baby sister.
The sight makes me chuckle. Sean catches my eye and laughs.
"So, kid, you like your room?" he volunteers. Anya nods and takes a sip of her hot chocolate, watching all of us.
"S'big," she finally says through a chocolate mustache. Sean laughs and Alex hands her a napkin. Sheepishly she takes it and wipes her face. "Bigger than my old room. Can I paint the walls purple? Mutti made my walls pink but I don't really like pink." Of course she doesn't.
"Sure. I'll even help you," Alex tells her, ruffling her curls. She gives him a look that has the mug of hot chocolate in my hands sliding down the table. Sean catches it and slides it back with a smirk.
"Yeah that's how we figured it out," he laughs at my expression. Alex simply smiles and ruffles her hair some more, making her scowl just like her father and bat at his hands.
I have no idea what to expect from Anya. She's literally being set up just like her father was - pain and anger lingering in a face too young to know how to deal, how to be more than her rage. She could just as easily head down the same path if no one stops her; Charles is right to worry about what'll happen if distaste for mutants sets up this early in her mind. Even now, as she laughs with Alex and scrambles to get her hot chocolate back, there's a viciousness in her swipes and punches that makes me cringe and remember a man as harsh as he was protective. I can see how she might become if we let her. And if she inherits anything remotely like her father's abilities we could all be in a very large amount of trouble very soon. It's a lot to think about after only just meeting the young girl.
The question lingers on my mind, clouding my thoughts and seeding doubt even as I laugh at her antics: will she be like us… or like him?
XXX-XXX
Two days later, I'm working in the lab. It's closing in on midnight and my eyes are getting bleary, the test-tube in my hands coming in and out of focus. I set it down and sigh. Another failure. I'm hoping that maybe, just maybe, there's a way to bring back Charles' legs. But already I'm losing hope on that one. Nothing, not a single thing in this lab, is enough to mend a spinal cord shattered by a bullet.
It's depressing that as smart as I supposedly am, I can't do anything to help.
A timid knock sounds on the door, startling me back to full awareness, and then it squeaks open a crack. "Can I come in?" Anya's timid - Erik's daughter, timid? - voice asks. I groan and nod.
"Sure, just be careful, okay?" I tell her. The door cautiously opens and then Anya steps in, swaddled in a thick white nightgown and clutching her stuffed owl to her chest. Big eyes look up at me, harshened by the dark smudges and the bags sagging below the socket. "You should be sleeping," I chastise gently. She nods and stumble-steps into the room.
"I know. Just… don't want to." Honesty. That's one thing you can count on Anya for - if you can get her to talk about what's bothering her at all, she'll be honest. And every concern I have of the young girl ebbs away for a moment as the heartbreak sets in. With a sigh I get up and cross the room towards her. As soon as I'm close enough she grabs at my arm and buries her head into the fur. I falter for only a second at the gesture that's quickly becoming a habit for her before tugging her along.
"Want some hot chocolate? Would that help?" I ask with as little growl to my voice as possible. She nods but won't let my arm go.
In two days Anya has squealed over Alex's laser beams, demanded to see more of Charles' telepathy, and attempted to jump off a roof so Sean will take her flying. She sees us as mutants - people. But she's also gotten maybe three hours of sleep total in the two days she's been here. She just… can't. She dreams of the "freaks" every night, of her parents, and of blood. What little sleep the poor girl gets usually ends in screams.
So Anya won't. She certainly inherited her stubbornness from her father.
I lead her to the kitchen and practically have to rip my arm from her so I can make her the hot chocolate. Immediately she curls up around her stuffed animal and buries her head in her arms so her unruly curls are splayed all over the place. I sigh. They really should make more accurate books on how to deal with traumatized children…
I put a saucepan of milk on the stove and rip into a packet of chocolate, pouring it into the mug I have set out for her. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask quietly. I glance behind me to see the curls moving in a definitive headshake. No, of course not. Only with Alex or Charles. "Okay then. Let's see about getting you some hot chocolate and some sleep, yeah?" Another headshake. "Anya you need to sleep."
She lifts her head and juts her chin and we are in for some long teenage years. "No," she says bluntly and with the flippant petulance only preteens seem to carry. The milk starts to boil, so with a groan I pull the saucepan off and pour a hearty amount into the mug.
Alex is so much better at this.
A knock sounds at the door. Curious, I hand Anya her mug and pull her into the foyer. "Who could that be?" I wonder aloud. She shrugs and blows on her hot chocolate, but the way her green eyes flicker over the door betray her.
"Answer it and see," she says with that tone half-curious and half-determined, and for one wild second I think it's Erik standing next to me. I have to check and make sure that it is in fact a four-foot-nine eleven-year-old girl and not a genocidal maniac I used to look up to.
It takes me far too long to find my voice. "Anya I can't," I tell her. She cocks her head and looks me over.
"Why not?"
Does she really not understand?
"Sweetie I'm blue." It's the first time I will use the endearment. She blinks and tilts her head the other way.
"So?"
With the single syllable she assuages many of my worries about her.
"I'll get it!" And with those three words she brings up a whole new set.
"Anya wait -!" But she's already tugging her hand from mine and sprinting to the door, opening it just enough to peer out. In retrospect, that was probably for the best. Because she was so tiny when she was eleven, so small, that she could look up without anyone seeing her against the backdrop of shadows in the foyer. The perfect height to see their pale faces in the darkness while being only a part of the scenery.
They can't see her.
But she can see them.
Anya's scream can rival Sean's sonic screech.
She's throwing the still hot liquid in her hands out the door and then slamming it as hard as she can with her eleven year old strength. I race forward and help her close it even as confusion and panic whirls in my mind. Whoever is on the other side is pushing back, hard. A set of fingers curls around the door, dark claws digging ominously into the wood. I slam hard and there's a howl as the fingers are viciously broken, before they recede. I bolt the door and Anya yanks on my arm. "C'mon c'mon!" We're barely around the corner before there's the sound of wood shattering behind us. Anya yelps before catching herself and clapping her hands over her mouth.
And then we're running. At one point I scoop her up and put her on my shoulders before tearing down the hall with her. But one of them is just as fast as me. Maybe faster. I skid to a halt in front of a spare room and dive inside, closing the door so gently there's barely a creak from the wood.
The thing that chased us stops seconds after, sniffing hard. He cradles two of his clawed fingers in his hand.
He's tall, much taller than a man should be, with thick blonde hair that hits about mid chest and dark eyes that seem to swallow up his pupils. He curls his lip to reveal fangs about as long as my pinky finger - which considering my mutation is pretty damn long. He inhales again, growling all the while, dark eyes checking every door. Beside me Anya trembles, keeping her hands firmly over her mouth in case of any noise that could possibly leak out. Tears streak down her face unchecked. Gently I press her closer to my side, but never take my eyes off the mutant outside.
Another man - mutant - silently appears. This one is pale as the moon, with black veins scrawling across his skin in a morbid pattern. Eyes like the first mutant's appraise the hallway before he runs his hands through hair that is midnight blue. "Damn it, Saber, you sure your cop buddy told you the right house?" There's thick frustration in his unnaturally high voice. The man called Saber simply growls at him through his fangs before skulking further down the hall. "That even the Lehnsherr brat or just some rich twat?" I pull Anya closer and wish I could cover her ears.
"It's her. Can smell her." Saber's voice is low and intimidating, more noise than actual vocal cords at work. The blue-haired man snorts.
"Yeah, 'cause that helped us fuckin' find her the first time."
"If you had killed her instead of playing with that mother, we wouldn't be here in the first place."
"I thought I did!" The blue-haired man whined. "I shoved her through a goddamn window on the top floor! Amount of blood she was trailing… Hold up." His cold eyes move over our door and down the hallway, narrowing at something. My thoughts are in a roundabout, flickering with thoughts that won't settle. He pushed her? How could she… I know she's Erik's kid, but how could anyone…
How could these sick bastards do that to an eleven year old girl?
Saber growls suddenly, drawing in a harsh breath. "What the fu-"
Sean's sonic scream drops them to the ground.
Anya cries out and claps her hands over her ears. I curl over her and growl, wincing at the noise but more worried about the young girl pressed into my side. Suddenly the blue-haired man shoots to his feet and levels his hands where the noise is coming from, black tipped and wicked spikes shooting out of his wrist and coming to a stop four feet from his hands. He screams and darts down the hallway, wiping his hands around to slash at Sean. Distantly I hear his sonic screech tapers off and I hear the blue-haired mutant chase after my brother. Saber is growling and stumbling to his feet, spinning on the spot and angrily hissing through his fangs. And still blocking the damn door. Maybe I could take him as I am now, but there's no goddamn way I can risk it when I've got Anya trembling like a leaf in a storm beside me. I almost growl in annoyance before I catch myself. Abruptly Saber spins on the spot and slams open a door. "WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT?!" he roars. Anya buries her face into my fur and quakes. He slams into another door, ripping it off its hinges. A third one follows. Then, "WHERE ARE YOU?!"
"Behind you," Alex's voice responds, hard and lethal. Saber turns in surprise milliseconds before a plasma beam to slam into the big man's chest and shoot him out of sight. "Anya? Anya where are you?" His voice is panicked and protective, a whisper that is meant for her ears only. The little girl goes pelting out the door before I can snatch her back, and when I open the door and shamble into the hall, he's clutching Anya tightly to him, rocking back and forth and whispering words meant only for her ears. Anya sobs into his shoulder and I place a hand on her back.
"How'd they find me why why why…" Alex hushes her and I rub her back soothingly. We all cringe as Sean's scream rips through the hallways, even louder than before. I'm not sure, but I'm leaning towards that particular one being fatal.
"You're going to go stay with Moira, okay? Yeah? She'll take care of you while we deal with the other one." Alex's eyes are tight as he bolts from the room, and I rush after him. Up a flight of stairs and down a twisting hallway to where Moira is anxiously pacing, her gun in hand. "Alex," she says when she sees the blonde teen. "What's going on? I heard Sean scream -"
"I need you to take her," he says, spitting the words out as if they physically pain him. Moira doesn't ask, her eyes snapping to the young girl. She holsters her gun and reaches out for Anya, who goes willingly enough.
At least until we turn away.
"NO!" she screams, grabbing a chunk of my fur and a good portion of Alex's shirt. "No don't!" Tears run down her face and she refuses to unclench her fingers. It hurts but I don't make her let go. Both of us turn simultaneously and put soothing hands on her - Alex her cheek, me her head.
"Hey, hey, squirt we'll be okay," Alex tells her gently.
"We'll be right back sweetie," I plead with her. "Okay? Promise. Ten minutes."
She doesn't want to. Really doesn't want to. Later, when things have calmed down, I'll ask her why. But Anya Lehnsherr is as closed mouthed as her father; she'll say she was worried, but about what, she'll change the subject or simply not speak. Maybe she was afraid we wouldn't come back, maybe she was worried about being left with a woman she had barely spoken to for more than five minutes, or maybe she was terrified about being without us (because I don't think she's gone more than five minutes without one of us in two days). I don't know.
All I know is that it physically hurt to pry her fingers off of me and leave her behind like that.
Alex and I run back down the stairs to the Professor's room. He's there, a frown on his face as he regards a silent body. Sean paces nervously beside his chair, skin ashen below his freckles. Charles looks up and regards us silently. There's something about his eyes that scares me more than a little, that has the hairs on my neck standing straight up in a silent whine of fear. He ducks his head but the firm set of his lips does not waver. Then: "Where's Anya?" And I realize it's a mixture of fury and fear, clouding his features into an unreadable mask. It's an expression that I often saw on Erik's face.
It makes me uneasy to see it on Charles' usually gentle features.
"Safe with Moira," Alex says tightly, glaring down at the mutant who is most decidedly dead. Sean glances at the body and suddenly claps a hand over his mouth as if he's going to vomit. Sometimes I forget that he's only sixteen, and I'm not much older. We've never killed before.
Though Alex doesn't look particularly bothered by the corpse.
"Prof, how did you not -"
"They weren't thinking," he interrupts, as if he knew the question. Maybe he did. "They weren't blocked, they just weren't thinking." He rubs a hand over his face and then over the arms of his chair in agitation. "It was like they were there but… not. I've never felt anything like that before."
"Were they in anyway telepathic?" I ask tightly. He shakes his head and I can hear the collective breath being drawn.
"They weren't there," Charles mutters in frustration. "They were walking and talking and obviously their minds worked but they were not there. It was like they…" A look of shock graces his face and my wariness increases.
"What?" Sean whispers. He's gotten control over his need to throw up but he's still too pale. Seeing this, the Professor frowns and reaches for him. Sean hastily moves over and the man we see as a father wraps an arm around him in a comforting embrace. With a sigh Charles sags back into his chair.
"Like they were controlled," he says flatly.
XXX-XXX
"Anya, you need to eat," Alex chides her gently. Anya scrapes her cereal around in the bowl half-heartedly but I notice she doesn't eat anything. She keeps looking at the door and cringing every time it creaks. It's oddly warm and bright, the outside world vibrant and alive for a single day in December. It's at odds with what happened only last night. Sean shambles into the kitchen, bags under his eyes, and for once avoids the fridge.
Anya scrambles out of her chair to throw her arms around him in a hug. He stumbles back but accepts the embrace easily enough. "Easy, kid, I'm alright," he mumbles. Anya only squeezes him tighter.
"Stay okay," she whimpers into his stomach, in that too-knowing-for-her-age voice.
If we could only promise her we would.
Charles eventually reappears after seeing Moira to her car, looking weary and withdrawn. When I ask when we'll see her again, he just says, "I don't think we will."
I don't want to ask.
I examine the bodies, testing tissue and blood, and get some disturbing results from the blood tests but otherwise can't tell what was wrong with them. The results match nothing I've ever seen before. Whatever was wrong with them is nearly untraceable and is certainly unknown.
We all take shifts sleeping with Anya at night, until she finally goes eight hours without a nightmare. By that point December rolls into January. Belatedly, I realize we missed both Christmas and New Years.
It would be another four weeks before we all started to laugh and smile again.
For Anya to become a beloved and bright nuisance with a penchant for frequent explosions.
For her to go to a public school while we waited for the documents to go through on Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters.
For our training to resume.
For the whole in our hearts over our missing family members to stitch itself a little, though easily torn.
For our lives to resume.
We found Anya Lehnsherr in November of 1972.
But our lives with her really began in February 1973.