At first, it had just been a slight, uncomfortable tickle in the back of his head. It was uncomfortable to be sure, but Scott had just thought it was the cold. Storm was still throwing her all into the blizzard, giving them cover and an advantage. Hopefully she'd be able to keep it up for when they grabbed Moira and left.
Then something shifted, and the pain changed, becoming incredible. Scott sank down into the snow, feeling it seep into him. The cold was a distant, secondary thought. Little metal knives were stirring up his brain, and he couldn't think.
The snow stopped, leaving only a heavy, cold fog. Was that Hank a few feet away, falling down and clutching his head? He didn't know, couldn't make him out. Were their enemies getting up?
Jean sank down next to him, and he got the dim thought that he should do something, say something. He knew he was face down in the snow, but she was still on her knees, trying to fight. She was vaguely reaching toward him, and he knew he should be strong. Scott should reach for her.
But he couldn't. It was too painful, too much. Again, he should fight it. He was supposed to be a fighter, like his brother had been, like his brother had died doing, but he couldn't. He wasn't Alex and, no matter what Jean had said, it should have been him.
It should've been me.
Even in his pain addled mind, even though it really was what he was thinking, Scott knew that wasn't his thought.
"Kayla?"
The word was frightened and childish, and when his vision cleared, the snow was gone. He saw a girl of thirteen, maybe fourteen. She was wrapped up tightly in the arms of an older woman, maybe in her early twenties, rocking her back and forth slowly.
Both of them had thick collars strapped around their necks, and the woman the girl had called Kayla's eyes were wide.
"It's...it's...it'll be...I've got you Emma. I've got you."
The door opened, and two women walked in, as well as two men. Scott recognized one of them as Stryker. Where was he? Or, more importantly, when was he? Stryker walked through him as though he wasn't there, along with the other man.
"Be reasonable," the paler of the two men said, "She's too young to do you any good. Put her out there with your team, and they'd snap her in half."
"But she's trainable," said Stryker.
"In a few years, but I was under the impression you wanted an operative in the next few months," the other man said, his voice wheedling, "That can be done with the elder. But, if you still need little Emma in a few years, once I've had my chance, she can be a back-up."
Stryker cocked his head, then nodded. The other man smiled.
"Good," he said, "Regan, Martinique, fetch her the colonel."
The moved forward and grabbed onto Kayla's arm. Scott watched her flail, watched her fight. Emma started to scream, her fingernails scratching at the face of the one named Regan. Regan backhanded her and, together, they yanked Kayla on her feet. She managed to get one hand free though, punching the one Scott thought was Martinique.
Stryker moved forward, grabbed Emma by her hair, drew a gun. Emma stilled, and so did Kayla.
"You're going to come quietly," Stryker said, "Or your sister turns into a blood smear."
"You said I could have her!" the other man protested.
Stryker ignored him, and Kayla gave Emma a desperate look.
"Are you going to behave?" Stryker asked.
Kayla swallowed, and then nodded.
"Good," he said, "Now, remember, you give me any shit, any at all, and I will personally come here and shoot her until even you won't be able to recognize her. Understand?"
Kayla nodded, her eyes still on Emma, who was crying, every inch of her a cornered animal.
"Now, follow," he said.
For a moment, Kayla closed her eyes. Scott could see the tears falling, not noisily like Emma's, but softer, quieter, heavier.
"I love you," Kayla said.
"Get moving!" Stryker snapped.
She took a step forward, and Emma lunged for her. Martinique grabbed her around the waist, and Emma kicked her. A look of irritation passed over Martinique's face, and she slung Emma into a wall. When Emma looked up, she saw Kayla in the door frame, reaching for her.
Then, the door shut.
"I never saw her again. Like you did, with your brother. That morning."
Scott turned and saw Emma there, older now, tired, thinner. The pain was starting to return now, but it was still dulled.
"You shouldn't have seen that," Emma said, "But I saw your brother. I saw him...it should have been me. It should have been you. It never stops."
"Why are you hurting us?" asked Scott, "You don't owe Stryker anything!"
"They're going to kill me," she said, "I can't...my life isn't much, but it's mine. I don't want to die, okay?"
Her words were venomous, bitter. Scott walked closer, but slowly.
"I think they might know I helped Moira," she said, "And that's who you're here for, right? I don't think she has long. I think I heard a gunshot. It just hurts here..."
She rubbed her head absently.
"Emma," said Scott, her words filling him with panic, "You're right, we're here to help her, but we can help you too."
She looked uncertain.
"They like hurting people here," she said, "Science. Pain. Same thing here Scott. And don't mistake me, they will kill me if I don't kill you all first."
From somewhere distant, he thought he heard Jean breathing from behind clenched teeth. Scott swallowed, and words came.
"Yes, it's a risk, but that's the choice we have to make in life," he said, "That's Alex, and I think that's Kayla too! That's dying because we think we have a chance at something better, at being better, at not giving in. My brother died fighting for what he believed in, and I don't think your sister went down quietly either."
"They said Victor tore her up," said Emma, "One of the Wryngarde sisters called him Sabretooth. Like an animal."
"And is this what she would've wanted for you?" asked Scott, "All this pain? This half life?"
"You didn't know her," snapped Emma.
He was very close now.
"But I knew Alex!" he said, "Older siblings, they don't want this for us. They want something better because...because even if we don't want it, they want us to live more. We're always the ones that are going to do something with our lives to them!"
She looked at him for a minute, her whole face trembling. Emma closed her eyes, and then nodded.
"Be quick," she said, "I don't think they'll hold off for very long after I-"
Whatever else she was going to say stopped abruptly. Emma screamed as her fingertips caught fire. The pain ricocheted into Scott's mind, sending him hurtling, back into hurt, back into the snow, the image of Emma on fire in his mind.
From his place on the boat, Charles felt the psychic shock. It was hot, and painful, and he bowed his head, trying to shake it.
"Is something wrong?" asked Amanda nervously.
He held up a hand, trying to reassure her, but he could barely reassure himself. He knew that feeling in his head, had been on the outside of it as Jean forced Nur from his mind. She was fighting again, but this time the target was much smaller.
And he could feel their pain. Youthful pain, frightened, confused, lost.
Jean, he said, What are you doing?
She didn't answer. He put two fingers to his temples and dove in. He could see his students in the snow, saw his sister and Kurt screaming. He wanted to be sick, but he didn't. Both minds were coming through loud and clear. It was the usual for Jean, who had always reminded him of a lighthouse in her brilliancy, but it was unusual for another mind to be this expansive.
Jean! he yelled, What are you doing!?
She's hurting them!
He reached out to the other mind and, reflexively, withdrew. She was hot, burning, screaming.
Jean, you're killing her!
She won't stop! Jean said.
That's the pain she's getting from you! Charles said, That's feeding back to all of you! It's a two way channel! The more you hurt her, the more you hurt them. And you'll be in her mind when she dies, as will you all.
Then it will stop! I can't think of anything else! I don't want to but..what am I supposed to do? I don't have another choice!
She wasn't making any sense. Was Jean really this panicked? Yes, he could feel the pain, but this was blind lashing out. He moved closer to Jean and, for a minute saw the world through her eyes, the snow, the approaching guards loading their guns. He saw Scott writhing beside her.
Jean, you'll all be touching her mind when she dies! he shouted, I've been inside a dying mind! It's agony. And for minds like Scott, Storm, Hank, Peter, Raven, Kurt? They're not telepaths. They could all very well die too!
Jean hesitated, blindly looking around inside her mind. This was his fault. He should have trained her more, prepared her for this. Instead, he looked at the guards through her eyes, and prayed he was about to make the right choice.
Listen to me, he said, Push it out on them. Push them back. I'll take care of whoever is attacking you. I can feel her. I can make her stop. She...
He touched the mind again, and withdrew in pain.
She's hurting too much to stop on her own, he said, I can help her.
Jean bit her lip, but he felt her withdraw. As Charles leapt from her mind into the other, he saw the guards pushed back, acidic flames eating at their boots. Flames encircled him, lit by Jean's abilities, and still burning. He moved through them, trying to find whoever's mind this was.
And then, he saw her, and he recognized her. The mind that had said Nathaniel Essex, that had seemed so young. This was what it looked like. The screams tore at him, although it was so very, very difficult to reach her. It was the fence again, but he pushed further.
Reaching out, he grabbed her hand. Concentrating with all his might, he pushed back the flames, rolling them back. They hissed and fought him. Jean's flames weren't fire, not in the traditional sense. They were psychic flames, corrosive and liquid.
For a few seconds, he felt frightened. Jean wasn't fighting him, but these were her flames, and she was the most powerful mutant he'd ever known. She'd taken down Nur, a feat unknown in history, by the sheer force of her mind. The flames were her unleashed at her strongest form.
Then, he steeled himself. At least for today, Jean was still his student, not the other way around. Charles from memories of the cold around him, of soothing moments, of watching Kevin fall peacefully asleep, his tears finally spent, of brushing hair from Moira's face.
Gathering their strength, he pouring ice from his mind, quenching the flames that threatened both of them. They vanished from the girl, peeled away, and she looked at him, plaintive and surprised.
"You're Charles, aren't you?" she said.
"Yes," he said, "Yes I am."
"I'm Emma," she said, "Who...what was that?"
Her words were harsh, but he couldn't quite blame her. She had been in agony, still looked like she was in agony.
"A misunderstanding on the part of one of my students," he said, "Emma, please, I know this is difficult, but theyr'e here to help you. Please don't hurt them."
She sighed, tired and frustrated.
"I was going to stop," she said, "Ask Scott. Then again, maybe it's not so much of a risk. Maybe death won't be half as painful as that."
She leaned back, and he could feel pressure flee from the area. His students were free, and Emma eyed him.
"I know where Moira is," she said.
His mind automatically blanked, before shifting, changing.
"Where?" he asked.
A series of corridors rushed into his head, as many twists and turns as she knew. He saw the room, and his fists clenched in anger when he saw what they had built, had strapped Emma to and made her hurt people.
"I'm there too," she said, "Don't leave me."
"We won't," Charles promised, "We'll take you with us."
Emma swallowed, still looking uncertain.
"Come quickly," she said, "I heard a gunshot. Maybe more than one."
Cold filled him, but he nodded briefly, trying to calm himself.
"I'll let everyone know," he said, projecting the route to his students' minds, "We're coming now."
"Thank you," said Emma, "I don't...it...thank you."
He smiled, and then the ground began to shake. He looked around in surprise and Emma curled in on herself. From somewhere, a slow clap began.
"Very good. I'd expect nothing less. Emma, you were fine on Cerebro II, I suppose. The flames though, those were a surprise."
Charles turned over his shoulder and saw a pale man, a curling smile on his lips.
"No need to introduce yourself," he said, "My name's Dr. Nathaniel Essex, although, you probably already know that. Emma has been busy, hasn't she?"
With deliberate movements, Charles moved in front of her, and Essex's smile widened.
"Yes," he said, "I've been wanting to meet you for a very long time Professor Xavier. We have so much to discuss."