Bear with me. This chapter is about 7,000 words. The most I've written for this arc. I know you're not going to like this next part that I'm about to write, but in all seriousness, I think this is going to be broken up into three pieces. This particular arc is about a third to half-way through.
I don't know.
Anyway, time is my plaything.
The characters are not mine.
Shit gets real.
This is your last warning.
Present day 1963 - Langley, Virginia
Moira had not felt well in weeks (In months, actually). She felt nauseous, vomiting at what seemed like the most inappropriate times. She felt tired constantly and just generally moody.Family, friends and colleagues commented on Moira's recent shift in behavior. But after a rather shocking outburst followed by a hysterical crying jag, no one dared ask Moira about her behavior.
She spent the holidays alone thinking about Charles and Erik and what happened. She took to staring out the window trying to catch a glimpse of the person she knew was still watching her. Moira passed a hand over her stomach unconsciously.
Moira refused, absolutely refused to acknowledge what it could possibly signify.
But the proof was staring her in the face. Or rather in the reflection of her mirror.
She stared numbly at herself and wondered how she got to this point in her life.
Moira stepped out of her apartment, letter of resignation in her hand. She could not deny the truth anymore. In a few short months, Moira would have been forced out of the CIA anyway. There was no way she could be a field agent in her impending condition and there was no way that Moira MacTaggert would willingly take a desk job while everyone around her gossiped like old housewives.
What Moira did not expect was to find outside her door was a glimpse of Erik Lehnsherr lurking in the alley across the street from her house. Moira thought she had glimpsed him a few times after that night, but she chalked it up to wishful thinking. She thought she was done with Lehnsherr after finding the hastily scribbled letter stuffed unceremoniously in her mailbox. But no, it turned out that she was not.
Moira suddenly snapped and began to chase after Lehnsherr across the street. She had a thing or two tell that mad German. What Moira did not see, however, the car.
Mid 1962 - Westchester, New York
Charles put Cerebro's helmet on again. He glanced at Hank and Alex sitting in the monitor room and gave them a small, but reassuring smile. Alex smiled back weakly, while Hank did not give him a reaction at all. Charles had a feeling that Hank knew what was happening between Moira and himself. (I'll have to speak to him about it later on.)Charles nodded once signaling to Hank to turn on the massive machine.
Bright lights filled his vision as the smooth, metallic walls of Cerebro was replaced by the cloudy whiteness that came when using Cerebro. Charles felt like he was flying – he always felt like he was flying - as he cast about searching for other mutants. But this time, Charles Xavier was looking for a specific mutant. He ignored all the multiplying bright shiny lights that represented the number of mutants across the country and went straight to Omaha, Nebraska.
Scott? Charles easily found him again. He had specifically told Scott to keep an open mind and to be on the look-out for possible exit strategies, bits of useful information and most of all to try and keep himself in line. Charles was pleased to see that Scott Summers had taken his suggestions seriously. Scott had not been furthered abused, but Charles could feel the powerful migraine that consumed Scott's head.
Sir?
Are you alright, son?
For now. Scott tried not to groan while talking to this mysterious stranger in his head.
Have you found anything useful?
I have. Charles noticed Scott's hesitation.
What is it? Charles did a quick mental scan of Scott's surroundings.
We need to exchange information.
Charles chuckled sardonically, recognizing someone who could be dangerous. Ah, I see. What exactly would you like to know?
How did you find me? (A simple enough question, Charles thought, but one fraught with danger. One misspoken thought and I might lose this opportunity forever.) Charles was silent for a few minutes pondering his answer. He felt the need to be honest and forthright with the boy but at the same time, Charles felt the need to protect him (and Alex) as well. (I'm no god, Charles thought bitterly, though he could dimly hear Erik laugh at Charles. I don't have the right.)
Sir?
I'm still here Scott. Charles sighed. Scott, he was sure, could hear his sigh. My apologies. Your...your brother asked me to look for you. A minute goes by without Scott saying anything. And then another minute. Charles started to fidget. He was never a still man - always moving, never ever quite still. It was something his mother always chided him for.
"Charles, Honey, please keep still," his mother said to him one day. "I'm trying to make you look presentable for your new father." It was at these words, that Charles knew he would never be content to just sit still.
But just this once, Charles Xavier is still. Not for him, because he could never be still, but for his mother. Somewhere deep, deep down in his subconscious Charles knew that his mother would never be the same. So, he imprints this memory of her, brushing his unruly hair and straightening his clothes.
Sir? The phantom pain in Charles' legs disappear. (It's all in my head. It's all in my head. I can't feel a bloody thing below the waist.)
Yes, Scott?
Is he there with you?
Yes, Scott he is. Charles can feel Scott begin to fidget, which only triggers his need for movement. He briefly, brightly curses Erik again. Would you like to speak to him?Charles sensed Scott's interest pique almost immediately. And try as he might, Scott could not help but broadcast his need to see Alex.
Yes, Sir. Scott finally said, his voice still shaky.
All right, one moment please. Charles shifted his consciousness slightly towards the young man in the room next to Hank. Alex? Could you please come in here?
Alex was briefly taken aback but quickly composed himself and entered the room with the Professor. He squared his shoulders and tried not to feel sick. "Yes, Professor?"
"I am in conversation with your brother," Charles began, "and he would like to speak with you."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"I don't know what to say."
Charles smiled as gently as he could. "I'm sure he doesn't know what to say either."
Alex nodded, but did not return Charles' smile. He took a deep breath. "Okay, what do I need to do?"
"Do I have permission?" Charles asked simply.
"What? Oh, right. Yeah. Um, come on in?" Alex said, feeling terribly, terribly foolish.
It's alright, Alex. Everyone feels a little foolish.
Alex gasped. Oh, my god.
Charles laughed. It is amazing isn't it?
Alex could only nod.
Okay, I'm going to attempt to link the three of us, okay?
Okay. Alex could only nod, still feeling foolish and completely out of place. He watched as the Professor had some sort of side mental conversation with his brother. (My brother! What am I going to say to him? What if he doesn't like me? What if I don't like him? Oh, god.) The Professor had an eerie, almost uncanny air about him whenever he had these mental conversations with people. It was like he was here, but not; able to occupy two spaces at the same time. It made Alex very much uneasy...but this was something he would never tell the Professor about. (Besides, the Professor probably already knew this.)
Alex? Are you ready?
As ready as I'll ever be. He sent back.
Charles smiled and then all of sudden, Alex's perception just seemed to widen and expand. It went beyond time and space, he felt and Alex knew that he was still in Westchester, but Alex also knew for a fact that he was standing with the Professor and a young boy somewhere in the Midwest. Alex stared at the boy and the boy stared back at Alex. Alex had not seen Scott for so long, he almost did not recognize him. But there he was, the spitting image of his (their)long dead father.
Why are you wearing red sunglasses? You look like Sean. Alex blurted out when he saw the glasses on Scott's face.
Who's Sean? Scott shot back, seemingly unfazed by Alex's non sequitar.
Oh, he's my friend here. I think you'll like him. He takes some getting used to but he's a nice guy.
Scott didn't say anything for a minute, but seemed to study Alex with the utmost intensity that made Alex want to fidget.
What do you do?
What do I do? Alex blinked.
Yes, what's your power?
Oh. Well, I shoot plasma rays out of my hands.
Plasma rays?
How does it work?
Alex blinked. I've never considered that before. I'm not too sure. But the Professor helped me control the blasts. Alex had forgotten about the Professor until he mentioned him. He looked off to the side where Charles was standing (Standing? Oh, right. Sub-consciousness.)to find him looking off in another direction, trying to be discreet and not listen in on the Alex's conversation with his brother.
Really? Can I see?
Alex grinned. I can't show you here. We are in...wait. Where are we exactly, Professor?
Hmmm? Oh, we're in, I think, the astral plane. Charles looked more distracted than usual, more than living up to his persona of being absent minded. He was looking around with his hands out as if he was trying to feel for something.
What? Alex had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't going to understand what the Professor was going to say.
Oh, the astral plane was, I suppose is really, a plane of existence that was theorized by many schools of thought - the classical and medieval being two of them. It's not entirely understood, mainly because no one had ever seen it...well, except for us, of course.
I have no idea what you just said. Scott said bluntly.
Alex laughed and the Professor had the grace to look embarrassed.
Well, yes. I'm not entirely sure I understand it either. The Professor focused his attention back to the two young men. But before he could say anything, Scott started screaming in pain and withered to the ground.
Present day 1963 - Atlanta, Georgia
Moira drifted in and out of consciousness.
"Who's the father, do you think?"
"It has to be Lensherr."
"You don't think it could be Xavier?"
"No, I don't think so."
She tried moving her arms and legs and found that she could not.
"She's moving. Better increase her sedatives."
"She's pregnant, you fucking moron. You don't want to lose the baby, do you?"
"No, I don't. But I don't want her hearing us."
"Relax, dip shit. MacTaggert won't hear us."
Moira felt the IV in her arm turn cool as another drug was slowly pushed into her system. She wanted to scream for help, but knew that no one would be able to hear her.
She dreamed of baby with green eyes who spoke nonsense to her.
Erik did his best of keep track of the car that took Moira. He did not want to hurt Moira and did not use his power to keep the car from escaping. He cursed himself again and again for getting too close to someone (especially someone who was human) and then feeling obligated to having to rescue Moira.
They were going to have words when he finished rescuing her. And maybe, just maybe this time, he would finish the job and kill Moira. (You'll never do that, Erik.)The next few days, Erik trailed after the car to a nondescript building in Atlanta, Georgia. He cased the building from a distance and pondered quickly what he was going to do to rescue Moira. So far he had observed no one of importance entering or exiting the building until the third day when a very familiar man entered.
Erik's stomach dropped. It finally clicked into place. Bolivar Trask was a world renowned anthropologist who had recently published a widely read article regarding wiping out the "mutant menace." (What the fuck does he want with Moira?) Erik debated several times to ask Charles for help before coming to the conclusion that he didn't want to endanger Charles' life as well.
Erik's jaw set as he formulated his plan. His fingers absently grazed over Shaw's helmet.
Moira felt pain. Too much pain. She felt like a force was ripping something very important and vital out of her body. Her eyes flew open as she screamed.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"I don't know. All of a sudden she started screaming."
"Well, figure out what's going on and fucking fix it!"
"Yes, sir."
Moira drifted in and out of a painful consciousness. She saw images that she could not piece together, that had no basis. (I've never been to such a large house before! Why is that woman blue? What happened to Charles? Where's Erik? Did we stop Shaw? Why can't I move? Oh, god. What's happening to me?)
Moira dreamed.
In her dreams, she dreams of a sunny beach. But there's something wrong. Something, terribly, terribly wrong. People are screaming. Adrenaline is running high. People are dead. She glances up in the sky and sees the missiles coming down on their head. She remembers choking. Choking. Someone is choking her but he is standing five feet away from her. Someone is in his lap. Someone is hurt. She's hurt someone dear to her. Oh, my god. She shot Charles. Charles. Charles. Charles.
Moira blacks out after this memory is played out in her head.
Charles looked up from his pile of peer reviewed papers when he hears -
Charles. Charles. Charles. -
play in his head. He concentrated on the voice and sent back -
Moira? Moira, are you all right?
But nothing came back to him and Moira's ghostly little voice vanished. Charles' eyebrow drew together in slight annoyance, he pushed himself away from the desk and mentally called out to Hank.
Hank, could you please get Cerebro ready?
Of course.
Mid 1962 - Westchester, New York
Scott! Charles felt the pain rip through his mind but focused on Scott who was now laying prone on the ground. Charles focused hard, ignoring Alex's cries, and took control of Scott's body. He found that Scott's eyes were still open and that he was staring at the cold hard cement blinking. There was a dull pain in the back of his head as if someone had hit him. (Someone had hit him. And that someone was still behind him.) Charles focused on Scott's other senses, he was trying to listen to his assailant behind him.
"That should knock him out," said a deep voice.
Scott moaned in pain. Scott! You must keep quiet. I'm trying to help you. Scott mentally nodded and faked passing out.
"There. Now, he's out," another voice said. "I hope you didn't permanently damage him."
"Who the fuck cares. He's just another fucking kid."
"Yeah, the Director cares. And if the Director fucking cares then we should fucking care too."
"Yeah, whatever."
"Hey, we're paid to do this. Now, shut the fuck up, pick up the brat and let's move him into basement."
"What's so special about this brat that we gotta move him all the way down there?"
"I don't know. But the Director says that he's safer down there. Whatever that means."
The other man did not respond. Scott, whatever you do, keep your eyes open. It'll help us later.
Okay. It was not hard to miss the fear in Scott's mental voice.
I promise you, Scott. We are coming for you.
Scott did not say anything; he just kept his eyes and ears open as he was carried downstairs to the basement. He could smell the dampness as other unpleasant smells assailed his nose. Then he started to hear the pleading voices as they entered the basement.
"Please let us out!"
"I'm so hungry!"
"When can I go home?"
"I don't like it here."
As the basement door closed, the telepathic connection between Charles and Scott was severed.
"Fuck!" Charles screamed. He looked at Alex who was pale and shaking. "Get the others and meet me in the library." Alex nodded and ran out of Cerebro.
Present Day 1963 - Atlanta, Georgia
Erik briefly pondered again, calling Charles for help, but he did not entirely know if Charles would help him or not. (Besides, he thought, I don't think Moira has time left.) Erik grimaced. Once he rescued Moira MacTaggert, Erik Lehnsherr was going to get as far away from her as possible. (I should have left her alone. I shouldn't have focused so much of my attention on her. I should have killed her when I had the chance.) But Erik knew in his heart that he could not kill Moira MacTaggert. There was no way he could do that now. Charles Xavier had changed him, Erik did not know when, but he did. (Damn him.)
Erik did a quick scan of the building again and levitated himself using the metal on his body to the roof. He was dressed in his customary black with Shaw's helmet on his head. He walked cautiously to the door on the roof and listened carefully before using his power to open it. It was pitch dark and immediately made Erik nervous. He squashed his misgivings and continued down the stairs, pausing every now and again to hear for anything unusual. Erik got to the end of the stairwell and cautiously looked out the window before opening it and stepping into the stark white hallway.
No one was in present, which only made Erik even more nervous. The hall was lined with relatively unmarked and closed doors. The only thing that distinguished each room was the plain number that sat to the left of each door. Erik badly wished that he had Charles' telepathy at his disposal. He wasn't going to find Moira without opening each and every door. Walking to the first closed door he saw, he tested the handle and found that it was unlocked. Erik straightened his shoulders and walked in like he owned the place. Luckily, no one was inside. Instead, he found himself in a large file room filled with nothing but files. Stepping inside, he closed and locked the door behind him.
Erik pulled the closest file from the shelf and flipped through it. Names and other distinguishing facts in the file had been meticulously blacked out. He closed the file and finally noticed that it had been marked deceased. Erik sucked in his breath and pulled out another file. It was marked the same on the inside and outside. Erik's panic was beginning to rise. He walked to another shelf and pulled a random file out. It was marked the same. In a fit of unease and , Erik pulled off his helmet and was instantly assailed by Charles' voice.
Erik! Erik could practically hear the panic in Charles' voice. And while Erik felt his heart leap in, he had to focus on finding Moira.
Charles? Oh, fuck. I did not mean to do that.
I gathered not. What the hell are you doing in Atlanta, Georgia?
How do you do know where I am?
I'm in Cerebro, you giant git. Get the fuck out of there! Erik could almost see Charles fidgeting.
I can't! I have to find Moira!
What? What do you mean 'you have to find Moira'? Erik heard the edge in Charles' voice and briefly wondered where this came from. He pushed it out of his mind.
Now, Erik knew that Charles was getting angry. But now that he had his attention, Erik was going to use whatever resources he was given to get the job done. Charles! They took her!
Who are they? That same edge sharpened to a point. Erik shivered and tried to keep the feeling out of his mental voice.
I don't know.
Erik, listen to me, we will talk about this later, but you are in grave danger. I don't feel Moira in that building at all. Charles paused. All right, that's not true. There's a strange telepathic black hole in the basement of the building, much like what Shaw had on his submarine. If, if Moira is here, then she might be hidden in that room in the basement. Erik then felt a strange doubling sensation. He was not only in Atlanta, but in Westchester beside Charles Xavier.
You rebuilt Cerebro. Erik was struck dumb by the feat. Apparently, they had recreated Cerebro to be almost five times as big as the original.
What? Charles was clearly annoyed.
Nevermind. The basement you said?
Yes.
Is there anyone else in the building?
Yes, but if you take care you won't run into them. I can't account for anyone in the basement however.
That's fine. I'll take my chances with them. How many people can you sense?
About half a dozen. They are all milling around in the cafeteria on the first floor. Be careful of cameras. I'm sure there are cameras around. Charles paused again, as he stretched his consciousness around the place again. Erik, is this a government building?
I don't know. I didn't have the time to read the placard on the front of the building.
Like you read mine?
What? (He knew I was there...how?)
Nevermind. That's for another time. I know you won't leave well enough alone. So, leave the fucking helmet off and I'll watch your back as best I can from here.
Thank you.
Shut up and just do as I say.
Mid 1962 - Westchester, New York
"We have a situation in Omaha, Nebraska. Alex's brother, Scott, might be in more trouble than I thought," Charles said without much preamble. Around the kitchen table sat Alex, Sean, Hank and Moira. (It's not much, but it's what we have to work with.) "We will have to go in fast and hard, take them by surprise and free Scott."
"What's the situation?" Moira asked, her CIA-training coming into play.
"Scott Summers is being held at an orphanage in Omaha. I have reason to believe that there is something deeply sinister going on at this place. I get the feeling that the people in charge are doing experiments on the children there." Gasps came from around the kitchen table. "Until a few minutes ago, I was in contact with Scott until he was assaulted from behind. I do not know how many people we are dealing with or what they might have. Moira," Charles said looking at her, "do you have any contacts in Omaha?"
"Yes, I'll get right on that," she said and got up to make a few phone calls.
"The rest of you, I need you to suite up. We leave in two hours," Charles said crisply. Hank waited until the other two left.
"What do you think is going on over there?" Hank rumbled quietly.
"I don't know. But I intend to stop it," he said.
"Okay, we have a few leads about that orphanage," Moira said. She had a piece of paper in her hand which she read off from. "The orphanage is run by a corporation called Vigilance Enterprises."
"Why would a corporation run an orphanage?" Hank mused.
"The FBI has that same question," Moira said. "The head of Vigilance Enterprises is someone by the name of Boliviar Trask."
"Wait, what?" Charles said, stopping Moira.
"It's run by someone name Boliviar Trask," Moira said again. "That name is familiar."
"Trask wrote that article about wiping out the so-called "mutant menace," Hank rumbled.
"Oh, my god," Moira said. "And Scott is a mutant isn't he?"
"Yes," Charles said.
"Jesus," Moira said running a hand through her hair.
Present day 1963 - Atlanta, Georgia
Moira dreamed of the baby again. (Is he...my baby?)He swirled around in the air, seemingly on his own, leaving an energy trail in his wake. He seemed uninterested in her when Moira called to the baby.
Charles had managed to maneuver Erik through the hospital lab -
It is what it is, Erik. I cannot help that.
They do...experiments here?
Yes.
On mutants?
And humans. Erik's jaw clenched harder.
I cannot vouch for the space in the basement, but currently there are no people being currently experimented on in the floors above.
Good to know. Erik's eyes were barely slits. His anger was at a boiling point. I will burn this place to the fucking ground.
I know.
And you won't stop me.
I know. Erik almost stopped short but managed to continue on.
You won't stop me?
No.
Why?
This place is connected to another place where we've recently rescued several other mutants. Among them, Scott Summers, Alex's younger brother. They were...in bad shape. The man who owns this building and the orphanage in the Midwest is a dangerous, dangerous man. His aim is to wipe the mutant race off the face of the Earth. But that's not his only motivation.
Erik wanted to hurt somebody. Anybody. What is his other motivation?
I believe his son is a mutant.
Erik had no reply to this.
Erik, you are nearing the basement. This is a telepathic black hole. Find a crack anything, widen it so I can help you. Erik nodded. Erik, be careful...I don't know what you're facing.
Erik felt his heart soar momentarily. (Focus. Fixate on that later.) Erik cautiously opened the basement door and immediately heard the cries of terror. It took all his strength not to revert back to his younger self; back to the camps; back to when he lost his parents.
Focus, Erik, focus. Charles was still in his head and Erik was grateful.
I'm going to have to close the door soon.
I understand. Good luck.
Thank you. And with that Erik softly closed the door behind him and Charles' voice disappeared from his head. Erik concentrated all his senses and tried to discern exactly how many people were in the basement. He walked softly and silently down the last steps. His breathing was shallow and he could feel his heart beating quickly in his chest.
The hall was dimly lit and was left unadorned. Again, closed doors lined the hallway - about a dozen in all. Erik examined the doors, trying to guess which one held Moira. He came to the first closed door and listened in carefully. Erik could hear someone breathing behind the door, but no one else. He had a strange feeling about the person behind that door. Erik's senses tingled strangely. There was metal on the person behind the door...but there was something...off about it.
As if the metal was embedded within the person behind the door.
For the time being, Erik left the door alone.
The second door he came to, he opened cautiously and found no one in. Erik slipped in and surveyed the room, trying to figure out his next steps. He encountered four patient files. He loathed to open a file in fear of seeing the word deceased. Suddenly, he tensed. He heard the door open and was left slightly ajar.
Erik!
Who just came in?
Must be the janitor. Charles paused a second. All right. He's asleep and will stay asleep for the rest of the night. There are six other people in the basement, besides the janitor. Two are lab technicians of some sort, which I have now conveniently put to sleep as well. Be careful though, there are still alarms and other means of keeping these people prisoners still at work.
Erik nodded again, not bothering to form a reply.
The four people are located next to each other. Two are mutants and two are not. And one of them is Moira. Erik could hear Charles' sharp intake of breath. Oh, my god. What did you do?
Mid 1962 - Omaha, Nebraska
The team made their way to Omaha, Nebraska on the newly rebuilt Blackbird. Once again, Hank took the controls as Charles, Moira, Sean and Alex sat rigidly in the back of the plane. Beside them, lay an assortment of items that might be necessary to rescue Scott. They were dressed in their uniforms - save Charles who was going to be stationed in the Blackbird with a mini-version of Cerebro.
Moira had alerted the local authorities about the orphanage, but without evidence they were powerless to act on Moira's tip. She sighed wondering what good being a CIA agent was if no one believed her.
At least you tried, my dear. Charles was looking straight at her with a small smile on his face.
I suppose that's something. Moira would not meet his eyes. Shame filled her.
We still have unfinished business, I believe. Moira could hear Charles' soft sigh. She knew that he wanted to say something more to her.
Yes, we do. But that will have to wait until we get back from Omaha. Moira finally managed to say and looked up at him, brown eyes meeting blue.
Indeed. Charles looked away first.
The rest of the flight was spent in silence from the team. They had not been in the Blackbird since Cuba and they tried not to think about what happened the last time they were together on the Blackbird and of who they lost.
It was still fresh in their minds.
Present Day 1963 - Atlanta, Georgia
Erik! What did you do?
What are you talking about?
To Moira!
What about Moira? I'm trying to fucking rescue her. What we have to say to each other will have to wait. Erik could feel Charles' jaw set.
We will talk about this later. Moira is in the last room on the left. She has been...sedated. Please be careful with her. The other three are in various states of distress.
I don't care about the other three.
You will take them with you. Two of them are children, Erik. The Blackbird will be waiting for you nearby when you are ready. Erik did not know what to say about Charles' insistence but silently agreed. The third is Logan. I am not sure if he wants to kill you or trust you more.
How refreshing.
Indeed. Now, get to work. Erik bristled, but said nothing. He opened Moira's door first and saw her hooked up to at least a dozen machines. She laid in a hospital bed, unconscious.
What are all these for?
They are mainly to monitor the baby.
What baby?
Your baby, apparently. Erik did not miss the way Charles gritted this out. He looked at Moira again and saw her stomach.
Oh, my god.
How long have you been sleeping with her?
It was only once. Three months ago.
About the time you came to the Mansion. Statement, not fact.
Yes.
Unhook her from the IV's. The one on her right is filled with the sedative, please undo that one first. Erik went to unhook her, when he heard another voice coming from the first floor.
"Hey, man. Are you alright?"
I thought you had everyone pinpointed.
I did. This one just came into the building.
Make him go away. Charles went silent as he refocused his consciousness on the man making him forget where he was and what he was doing.
Done. You might want to unlock Logan's door. He might be wiling to watch your back while you rouse Moira. Erik did as he was told, gritting his teeth the entire time.
Erik wrenched open the door with Logan inside. The light from the hallway barely filled the room.
"You better be here to rescue me, Bub, or your dead," a low feral voice said. Logan nodded and stepped out into the hallway. He was a short hairy man who looked like he could easily kill a man without twice about it. Logan cracked his neck and flexed his hands and before Erik could blink, metal knives came out of his knuckles.
"Of a sort," Erik replied. "Stand guard while I get the others."
"What makes you think I'm gonna listen to you?"
"Because I just rescued your ass. And because I can manipulate the metal that's embedded in your body. Now, do as I say or I will throw you back into the room, lock it and leave you here."
Logan only grinned manically and did as he was told.
He's familiar. Charles dryly piped into his head.
He told us to go fuck ourselves. Charles had nothing to say about that.
The other two are children, a boy and a girl. The girl's name is Kitty Pryde. And the boy is named Bobby Drake.
Interesting. How bad are they?
Bobby is worse off than Kitty. I suggest freeing her first and having her help with Bobby.
Erik nodded and approached the door to Kitty's cell. He could hear someone crying very quietly in a corner. She was whispering quietly.
"Oh, please don't hurt me. Please, please, please. Don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you want. Please let me go."
The bottom dropped out of Erik's stomach. He felt himself be transported back to the concentration camps. He was fourteen again, scared out of his mind and cruelly ripped away from his parents. Shaw or Schmidt as he was calling himself those days was keeping him separate from the rest of the prisoners. The terror, the anguish, the hollownessthat Erik felt threatened to sweep him away all over again.
Erik. Concentrate. Calm your mind. Shaw is dead. You killed him. These people, in the here and now, need you.
Erik swallowed thickly and called out to the frightened girl.
"I won't hurt you," he said, his voice cracking. "I came here to rescue you."
The girl - Kitty - immediately stopped her whispering.
"Truly?"
"Truly," Erik could feel his heart breaking all over again. How he badly wished for someone to have rescued him when he was younger. "There is a young boy in the room next door. You must free him. His name is Bobby."
Kitty stepped out of the shadows. She was emaciated, with large hollow looking eyes and mousy brown hair. She was dressed in a thin hospital gown and she shivered, hugging herself tightly. Kitty looked up at Erik and wordlessly thanked him.
He turned his attention back to Moira who was now moaning from the other room. Pushing he almost overwhelming fear down and concentrated on the task at hand. He stepped back into her cell, working quickly to unhook her from the various machines she was attached to.
Moira had dark circles under her eyes and her arms were bruised from the various needle pricks. Her eye lids fluttered open and at first she was unable to focus on anything staring up at the harsh ceiling lights. Finally, she realized that Erik was in the room and turning her head she watched him free her from the hell she was in.
"Erik," Moira croaked out. Her voice was dusty from disuse. "I'm so foggy. What happened to me? I'm so cold."
"Someone kidnapped you," Erik said softly. He was rubbing her arms trying to get the blood circulating through her body. "We have to get you out of here."
"We?"
Yes, we. Charles' voice popped into Erik's and Moira's heads.
Charles.
Moira.
"We need to leave. Can you walk?" Erik said harshly.
"I'm pregnant," Moira said softly.
"I can see that," Erik replied.
"He's yours," she said, eyes on the floor concentrating on making her legs work.
"I know," Erik said. "We need to leave."
"Um, sir?" Kitty asked from the doorway. "Mr. Logan said that we had to hurry. He could smell others coming."
"Smell others coming?"
"That's what he said," she replied.
Erik had no time for this. He picked up Moira in his arms and started walking towards the door. "Did you get Bobby?"
"Yes, sir," Kitty said.
"Please don't call me that," Erik muttered. Kitty and Bobby trailed behind them. He got to Logan at the foot of the stairs. "So, you smell them?"
"Yeah, about half a dozen people coming our way. I can fight my way out, but it looks like you have your hands full," he said eyeing Moira and the two kids behind them.
"Charles said that the Blackbird is ready for us," Erik said ignoring Logan's tone.
"Who the fuck is Charles?" Logan said, eyes narrowing even further.
I am. Charles replied into all of their heads. Logan growled. Please do not argue with me. The Blackbird is ready to take you away from here. While Logan did not hear the steel in Charles' voice, Erik did not miss it.
(This was going to be interesting.)
Mid 1962 - Omaha, Nebraska
They all waited in the Blackbird while the Professor donned the smaller version of Cerebro.
Scott? Scott? Can you hear me? Charles received nothing in return. He spread his consciousness out further into the building but strangely enough found no other living being there. He furrowed his brow in frustration.
"What's wrong?" Alex demanded, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
"I can't sense anyone else in the building," Charles said after a short time.
"They can't all be out," Hank rumbled.
"No, no they can't. There is a telepathic black hole, however, in the basement of the building...similar to what was in Shaw's submarine," Charles said musing out loud.
"Do you think any of Shaw's followers are there?" Moira asked. The underlying question was left unasked. (Was Erik there?)
"No. This is completely different. Trask has nothing to do with Shaw. Shaw would have killed Trask or vice versa. However, I think this is just as sinister as Shaw. Be on your guard. I'll guide you the best I can," Charles said.
"I'll stay here with the Professor," Hank said, preparing himself to be left behind.
"No, you are going with them," Charles countered.
"Then who's staying with you?" Sean said, eyebrows raised.
"No one," Charles replied. A flurry of protests broke out. "Silence! We do not have enough time to argue about who's staying here to babysit me," Charles looked sternly at each of them. "I am powerful enough to defend myself and will do if provoked. I hope, though, that it will not have to go that extreme. If anything happens stay where you are and remain there until I say so. Otherwise, use the cover of night, go. Go get Alex's brother."
Each team member nodded, glancing once at the Professor. Moira was the last to leave.
Be careful, Love.
You too, Charles.
They crept along the grounds, using the night and shadows as their cover. The stopped dead, every time one of them saw or heard something unusual. Gone were the yellow and black jumpsuits from Cuba, replaced with black, non-reflective suits that were supposedly tough enough to be bullet proof. Charles merely nodded when told the information. There was a suit for each of them - including Moira.
"Are you all right, Moira?" Hank asked, noticing the expression on her face as she swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.
"Perfectly fine, Hank. Thank you for asking," Moira responded softly.
Somehow Hank knew not to press the issue. Charles wheeled himself beside her and took her hand, giving her a gentle kiss. Moira smiled and held his hand a little tighter. (Not perfect, but working on it.)
Moira.
Charles?
There's no one there.
No one?
Yes, absolutely no one. I can't say that there might be someone in the basement though.
Alright, we'll be careful.
Moira signaled to the others and they stopped where they were standing and crouched waiting for orders from Moira. Moira crept over to the others and relayed what Charles had told her. Shocked rolled off their bodies as they tried in vain to school their expression. She watched the orphanage for any signs of a security but after a half hour nothing and no one caught her eye. Moira motioned for Alex to break into the building, but found the door knob twisted easily in his hand. With wide eyes he looked back at Moira. She nodded slightly and he pushed the door open. Hearing nothing inside, he signaled the others to follow him.
Once inside, Moira quietly closed the door and pulled the team back together. They surveyed the room they were in and tried not to think about what sort of hell the children in the orphanage were in. After another 30 minutes, they broke and started searching for the basement.
Any help would be great, Charles.
I'm working on it. Okay, Banshee is closest to the basement door.
Moira signaled the team over to Banshee. She drew her gun and reached for the door. From the other side, the team heard screams and gunshots followed by a sickening silence.
Moira!
She did not answer but quickly opened the door and raced down the stairs, quickly followed by the rest of the team. A horrific sight met them at the bottom of the stairs. Moira gasped. The bottom of the stairs opened up into a large plain room filled with gurneys, medical instruments and a line of bodies. Children's bodies. They were slumped face first onto the cold concrete floor of the basement, a small neat hole in the back of each of their heads.
"Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god," Moira heard someone say behind her. She did not know who it was who said it. Moira could not tear her eyes away from the massacre in front of her. (They're children!)
A movement to the left caught Moira's eye and standing there with a lost, maniacal look in his eye was a doctor, gun in hand. Behind him cowered a small boy. (That can only be Scott Summers.)
"They told me you were coming. I warned everyone and they all left! There's no one here left to save. No one! They were all freaks of natures. Something abhorrent. Something God hated. You can't have any of them! Especially not this one!" And with that the crazed doctor turned, gunned drawn and aimed it at Scott's head.
Without thinking, Moira leveled her gun and shot the doctor six times. She kept trying to fire her gun, until Sean lowered her arms. Tears were pouring down her face. All of their faces really. They stood there in stunned silence, unable to take in anything more than what they witnessed.
"Scott?" Alex finally said, approaching the younger boy.
He looked up at Alex. Scott's eyes were bandaged and something wet was leaking from behind the bandages. Something that looked an awful like blood. Alex gasped.
"Alex?" Scott's thin reedy voice asked. "I can't see you."
"Yeah, it's me, Buddy. I'm right here. I told you, we'd come to get you," Alex said trying to keep his voice steady.
"Dr. Stryker order Dr. Wilson to kill us but Dr. Wilson didn't want to kill us because we're kids and the Dr. Stryker started yelling at Dr. Wilson to just do it and then the stormed out taking these files with him and then - "
"Honey, Honey, stop," Moira said gently finally coming to her senses.
"Who's that?" Scott whispered. "Did she kill Dr. Wilson?"
"That's Miss Moira. And yes, she did," Alex said grateful for the presence of the others. "We need to go," he said. "I'm going to pick you up and carry you. I don't think you can see if we take these bandages off."
"They took out my eyes," Scott said matter of factly.
A collective gasp came from the group.
"I started having these headaches after I was hit in the head," Scott said.
"But that was just a few days ago!" Alex said, the fearing nearly engulfing him.
"I know. I'm sorry," Scott said, years beyond his age.
"It's not your fault," Alex whispered. "Not your fault."
"We need to get out of here," Hank said, his ears twitching.
"What's going on?" Moira asked.
"Sirens in the distance," Hank responded.
"Let's go," she said, voice hard.
"What about them?" Sean said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"There's nothing we can do about them. We need to get out of here before the police find us," Moira said. "Let's go," she said softly.
In unison and silence they exited the basement and made their way back to the Blackbird.
They were almost there when they saw it surrounded by flashing lights.
Whew! I did not expect that to be so long.
Reviews are nice.