September 4, 1974
The door shut. Warren heard the locks clicking home in the small containment chamber. He could, if he listened hard, hear Sinister move away.
"Think he's gone?" Warren asked.
"I do," Scott said, "He's probably going to go see how his other experiments are going."
Scott got to his feet. He looked at the walls, examining them.
"I'm not going to lie, things have gotten a little worse for us," Scott said, "I'm not sure how to get out of here."
There was an undertone in Scott's voice that Warren didn't like.
"You think it's my fault we were put in here, don't you?" Warren asked.
Scott didn't say anything, just continued examining the walls of the containment chamber they were in. He skimmed his fingers over the walls and Warren could see the sparks that formed there. His lack of a response irritated him. He knew that now wasn't the time to be doing this, but he'd seen the judgment in his eyes.
"Don't you?" Warren asked.
"It doesn't matter," Scott said.
"You do," Warren said.
Scott let his hands fall to his side.
"He was taunting us, but he was keeping us out in the open," Scott said, "We were also distracting him to some extent."
"When the distraction is getting cut up and having your blood flung around, I don't think that's a good thing," Warren said.
"It isn't," Scott agreed, "But it's something. Now he's out there doing God knows what and we're in here."
"I wasn't the one who started snapping at him," Warren said.
"No, but you were the one who pretty much called him a hack," Scott said.
"So you liked what he was saying to you?" Warren asked.
"No," Scott said, "But you shouldn't have made him mad. I understand what you were trying to do, but sometimes we have to take the hits for the greater good."
Warren clenched his fist. Scott sounded as though he were quoting someone: probably his brother, although it might have been the Professor.
"Thanks for the lesson," he said, "I'll be sure to remember never to stick up for you again."
Scott paused before folding his arms.
"You really don't like me, do you?" he asked.
His tone wasn't angry: it was just mildly surprised. It only served to irritate Warren further.
"Oh, gee, I wonder what tipped you off," Warren said.
Scott swallowed, looking uncomfortable.
"Is this about Jean?" he asked.
Warren threw his hands into the air. He wondered how Scott could be so oblivious, could only see things in one light.
"Because if it is…it wasn't meant to hurt you," Scott said, "It was…that was just the way that it worked out-"
"Will you shut up about Jean!" Warren snapped.
Scott fell silent. Warren shook his head.
"I wish it was about Jean," he said, "I wish that was the only thing. It would be so simple if that was all."
"Then what is it?" Scott asked.
He sounded genuinely puzzled.
"What, can't bear the thought of one of your teammates not kissing your feet?" Warren asked.
"That's uncalled for," Scott said.
"It's not uncalled for if it's true," Warren said.
Scott sighed.
"So you don't like me. I'd like to at least know why," Scott said.
His tone was so innocent that it made Warren ache to punch him. He tried to calm himself down, tried to remind himself who the real enemy was, but it was too much.
"Because everything, everything has worked out for you," Warren said, "You never even need to try."
Scott blinked, but Warren kept going.
"You're first in everything," he said, "Yeah, I got into this conference because my grades were slightly better than yours. But from day one it's always been about how awesome you were. How nice you were. You believe it, your brother believes it, the Professor believes it, and Jean believes it too. Everyone has always believed it, and you've always come in first."
He slammed his fist against the wall. A sharp electric shock travelled up his arm, but he didn't care.
"I've had it up to here with how perfect you are, okay? You just go about with this holier-than-thou confidence about your mutation, about everything that you do," Warren said, "You never actually get mad because you make it seem like it's beneath you, you never get scared, you never-"
"I get all of those things!" Scott snarled.
Warren paused. Scott had spoken through gritted teeth. From outside the door there was a slight scraping noise, although Warren was more worried about Scott at the moment.
"You think that I'm not scared right now?" he said, "We're being held by someone who I know wants to cut me up and see how I work. I don't know how the others are doing. My brother is somewhere around here, but I don't know where or what's happening. I don't know if you've noticed, but the Professor hasn't contacted us in a while. Why do you think that is?"
He didn't give Warren a chance to answer.
"Right, you didn't notice that," Scott said, "But I have to, because 'from day one,' as you put it, I needed to be that way. I needed to keep it in because I wanted to make my brother proud, because I wanted to lead after him."
He jabbed his finger in his direction. There was a clunk from outside the chamber, but he was too fixed on Scott to pay it much attention.
"And don't you dare say that it's been easy either," Scott said, "I know you have a screwed-up home life, but I spent most of my childhood in a foster system believing my parents and brother were dead. Before he found me I thought I was alone in the world!"
His words were short, sharp, and erratic.
"Yeah, I've been luckier than you," Scott said, "I know that. But I have worked for everything that I have, and that meant hours of studying, extra Danger Room sessions, you name it."
Scott tapped his goggles with one hand, the other hand gesturing wildly.
"You think wings are weird? I got arrested the first time I used my powers. I can't see without these on!" Scott said, "Not without blowing things up! So now the world looks red. Everything looks red!"
His voice increased in pitch. It was frightening. Warren had always known about Alex's temper: it was infamous among the X-men. He'd always assumed that Alex had been the one in the family to inherit all the rage, leaving nothing behind for Scott. It appeared that he had been wrong.
"And Jean, it was an awful situation," Scott said, "I didn't want to hurt anyone, but that was the way it worked out. We've been together for over a year now. I was upset that you were hurt, and you know that I was the first one who tried to patch things up. But you told me you were good!"
He threw his hands into the air.
"I'm not the telepath, I have to take things at face value!" Scott said, "I trusted you about that! So quit the pity party and get over yourself!"
Warren stared at Scott, who was breathing hard. He tried to manage a sneer, but he knew it was a pitiful thing.
"Look who's gotten off their high horse," he managed.
Scott's fists clenched. From outside there was another clunk, and the door swung open. Warren turned and saw Moira staring at them, her glance cool.
"Are you quite done?" she asked.
"How did you-?" Scott asked.
"It's just a basic keypad system," Moira said, "After I got the restraints off this was pretty much child's play. So I open it up and what do I find?"
Her voice was harsh and frustrated.
"I find what I thought were two of my husband's best students bickering about God only knows what," Moira said, "And before either of you can say anything, I don't care who started it. I only care that it wasn't ended."
Warren swallowed and he could hear Scott shift his weight.
"Right now your friends and brother and my husband are fighting to save you," Moira said, "Right now we're on borrowed time. I don't know when Sinister will be back and we'll have to make a run for it."
She crossed her arms and glared at them.
"So I ask you for the last time, are you done?"
Warren saw Scott unclench his fist. Scott turned and looked at Warren before shaking his head and walking past him.
"We're done," he said.
Moira glanced at Warren.
"Right?" she asked.
"Right," Warren said.
"Good," Moira said.
Warren followed Scott outside of the room, feeling rage and humiliation welling up inside of him.
Charles groaned and sat up. His back hurt terribly and his arms were sore. He looked down at his legs, checking them for injuries. Once more, nothing was broken. He could only be thankful for that, although being separated from the rest of the X-men was not something he had planned on.
A few feet away from him he saw his wheelchair. It had been turned over in the fall, but the floor was smooth enough for it to roll on. He could still use it. Charles pulled himself over to it. Although his legs had atrophied with disuse his arms were strong. It had been the only thing that he could train, and he had done it despite his belief that he would never require it.
He was grateful for it now. He turned the wheelchair onto its correct side and pulled himself onto it. His legs dangled uselessly behind him. Charles took a deep breath, trying to forget the pain and frustration he felt at not being able to use them. After over ten years of being in a wheelchair he still hadn't quite gotten used to it.
Charles finally pulled himself into a seated position. He repositioned his legs and began wheeling himself forward. Sinister had wanted to separate and trap them. He hoped that the rest of the X-men were together and that they hadn't been separated from the Brotherhood members. They didn't seem too disciplined. He supposed that they were new recruits. Either way, it could be a disaster if they were allowed to wander around, leaderless.
He turned a corner and saw a small group of soldiers coming down it. They aimed their guns and Charles's hand flew to his temple. Immediately they folded in on themselves, asleep. The extravagant use of his powers left him feeling a little weak, but he couldn't let that hold himself down. His mind was his greatest and only weapon. Charles intended to use it to its full potential.
Taking another deep breath he wheeled himself over to the soldiers. He leaned over and put his fingertips on the nearest soldier's forehead. Although he didn't need to touch a person to read their thoughts, it made it easier. He wasn't going to waste energy when he could use an easier method instead.
He flickered through the soldier's memories. He didn't know much. However, he did know where Moira was being kept. Charles saw his wife being dropped onto a table with Sinister nearby, his expression coldly curious. His breath shortened and he gripped the arms of his wheelchair. He had to remind himself to remain calm in the soldier's mind.
Charles pulled his hand away and continued to wheel himself down the hallway. He hoped that, when everything was said and done, he would be able to rejoin the X-men. A one man mission was difficult, even if he had better mobility. He'd been the one who had always urged Alex to use caution, to remember his teammates.
However, he couldn't afford to waste time. Not with so many lives at stake. He felt exhausted and, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't afford to waste energy contact Moira for another few minutes. If she was a hostage then it meant that she was safe, at least temporarily. It wasn't much of a consolation, but he took what he could get.
He sighed and continued wheeling himself down the hall. At least Moira was staying put. He would be able to find her easier that way. Charles hoped that she was heading his warning and keeping a low profile. Sinister was using her as a shield, but that didn't guarantee anything. She was out of the battle for the moment, and thus safe.