Essex calmly waved his hand, and a chair appeared. He took a seat as Charles regarded him warily. There was another moment or two of silence, except, of course, for the sound of Emma's faint whimpers.
The noises stopped abruptly, and Charles turned. Emma was gone.
"I think our dear Emma has retreated," Essex said, "It's possible Regan's shot her, or Cerebro II was turned off."
The calm, unemotional way he spoke was infuriating. Charles would call it clinical, but it would be a disrespect to Hank. His turned, regarding Essex coldly, hoping that Emma's disappearance was due to the latter and not the former cause.
"Aren't you going to have a seat?" asked Essex.
"This isn't a dinner table conversation," replied Charles.
Essex laughed.
"I'll say," he said, "There's a lack of food, even of imaginary food. But one has to ask why you're here exactly."
"I thought that would be obvious," said Charles.
To his surprise, Essex perked up considerably.
"Oh, that's all?" he said, "I suppose, well, maybe it truly wasn't your operatives who attacked my agents those weeks ago. Well, Agent MacTaggert's release could be easily arranged. I'm surprised you didn't call me if that's all you wanted."
Charles narrowed his eyes.
"You kidnapped her after sending armed men into her house, nearly killing her partner, and you expected me to call first?" he demanded.
"She wouldn't give her research to Stryker," shrugged Essex, "Now, my other recourse was to straight up kill her so no one ever got the research, and then try to see if I could break her files out of the CIA. Believe it or not, that is not a simple task. Not ever since Magneto broke the White Queen out of prison two decades ago. They've amped things up considerably since then."
He folded his hands in his lap.
"But, research or no, I've moved on," he said, "You can have her back in, oh, nine months I think."
Charles stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was joking. When he realized he wasn't, Charles shook his head.
"I don't think you realize the situation you're in," he said, "We're not waiting nine months. God only know what you'll do to her between now and then."
"I have a vested interest in keeping her alive in that time," said Essex, "A very vested interest. It wouldn't do to tip the entire chessboard. It's already caused so many complications trying to remove a pawn."
"A pawn," Charles repeated, gritting his teeth.
"What would you have me say she is?" asked Essex, "She's definitely not your queen on the board: I think that honor goes to the little red-head with the flames. And I'm not promoting her to rook status."
Essex shrugged again.
"Regardless, the reason I wanted her for the past few months has become...well...secondary," he said, "I admit that I expected some sort of rescue attempt, but I underestimated the force you'd come at me with. I also expected Emma would prove a bit more...self-interested. Like her mother always was. It's why she didn't stay with the Brotherhood. And her daughter, rather vainly named after her, knows what happens when she doesn't obey. But I try not to cry over spilled milk."
Emma? Emma Frost had a child? He thought of the young girl, so small, broken and in pain. Charles steeled himself. One thing at a time.
"See, the problem with all this is that you think I'd be willing to compromise," Charles said, "That I'd be willing to leave More here with you one second longer than it takes to retrieve her."
"I think you really should take my offer," said Essex, his face becoming increasingly frigid.
"And why's that?"
Essex got up.
"So glad you asked," he said, "I think you should leave her here because, if you don't, I'm going to change my approach. Right now the guards are on orders not to do more than injure Agent MacTaggert a little if they run into her. Their main objective is to keep your operatives out. I had wanted to do this without her being harmed."
His smile thinned.
"Decline my offer, and that changes," he said, "Before my arrival, I ordered my men to rig the area with explosives."
He rested his hand on his chin.
"The kill switch is currently within my reach, my real reach," Essex said, "Say no, and I'll blow us all to hell."
There were four guards outside the door, looking at each other and murmuring. Moira raised her gun, but Emma closed her eyes, and they collapsed in a heap. Emma walked on them, heedless of their presence.
She stumbled when she got near the door, and Moira rushed to support her. The girl had been quiet after they had escaped, but there had been a gleam of something in her eyes, half mad and lost.
Emma gave her a grateful nod, then turned herself into diamond. For the first time, the pieces clicked into place as Moira looked at her. Her name was Emma. She was a telepath, and she could turn herself into diamond. She was even blonde.
Perhaps the pieces hadn't fit together because of everything else that was happening, but Moira realized just whose daughter she was looking at. At least, she supposed it was her daughter. The age was about right.
Emma smashed her fists into the door, and it gave way. Moira had expected another cell, but, instead, the room was nicely, if sparingly, furnished. There was even a bookcase in the corner.
A girl shrank away from them, hiding behind a curtain of long black hair. She was wearing a white, floor-length nightgown. A red bathrobe had been placed over her for warmth, and her dark eyes peered from dark skin.
She wasn't afraid, but she was watchful. A smile spread over Emma's features, and she crept forward.
"Aren't you so very lovely?" Emma whispered.
The child raised her head fractionally.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Her voice was tremulous and careful. Emma knelt on the ground, whether from exhaustion or caution, Moira couldn't tell. She was still smiling, and Moira saw tears in her eyes.
"I'm your aunt," Emma said.
Moira started, but, if she was shocked, the little girl looked like someone had poured a bucket of ice water on her.
"Aunt?" she repeated.
"Your mother was my older sister," said Emma.
The girl looked around, uncertain but hopeful.
"I...I have parents?" she asked.
The question was jarring, but Emma seemed to take it in stride.
"Of course you do," said Emma, "And you look quite a bit like my sister. Her skin, her eyes. She..."
Emma swallowed.
"She's gone now," she said, "They, these people, the ones who locked you here? They had her killed."
The girl bit her lip and looked down.
"Do I have a father?" she whispered.
Emma put both of her hands on the floor. Moira could tell that, yes, that gesture was for balance.
"I don't know where or who he is," said Emma, "I don't know if he's alive. But my sister must have loved him an awful lot to have a child with him."
Moira could see the child leaning forward, eagerly accepting every word.
"I only just found out about you," said Emma, "I think my sister died around the time you were born. But she would've loved you."
The little girl's lip trembled, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She ran over the debris and into Emma's arms. Emma wobbled, but before Moira could steady her, Emma found her own balance. She stroked the girl's hair.
"Do I have a name?" the child asked.
Emma blinked, and then looked up at Moira. It was the first time she had seemed startled by anything the girl said, although the past few minutes had all been strange. All Moira could do was look sickened at this latest piece of information though.
"I'm not sure what your parents would have called you," Emma said after a moment, "But...when it came to girl's names, my sister had a favorite. It was Laura."
She stroked her hair.
"So I'm going to call you Laura, because I think that's what my sister would've named you," she said, "Do you like that?"
The girl nodded, and Emma pushed her away slightly, still holding onto her arms.
"We have to get going now," she said, "It's very important we leave, because bad people will try to come for you."
Laura nodded, her eyes alert. Moira stepped forward, and Laura turned her questioning eyes to her. Emma smiled.
"She's a friend," she said, "A dependable one."
Moira put out her hand and helped Emma to her feet. Laura grabbed Emma's other hand, and the three made their way toward the exit. There were questions Moira wanted to ask, but at least Emma's violent reaction with Martinique made sense. All real questions could wait until they were safe.
"Which way?" asked Moira.
A thoughtful look crossed Emma's face, then she jerked her head down the corridor.
"We have to go back the way we came," she said, "This place is a labyrinth."
Looping her spare arm around her shoulders so she could support Emma, the three moved forward. Moira knew Laura kept tugging on Emma's arm, trying to go faster. Emma was near collapse though, and Moira wasn't too far behind. She was running on pure adrenaline at this point, and it was helping her ignore how dehydrated and tired she was, at least up to a certain point.
Moira cocked the gun as they turned another hallway. By her count, they still had some bullets left. It would help them until they found who they were supposed to find. Hopefully they could take them the rest of the way out.
They walked past the door to the Cerebro where Emma had suffered so much, and they kept traveling. Moira saw that some red lights had come on, bathing the whole facility in an eerie glow. Laura seemed to be frightened by it all, and Moira couldn't blame her.
Footsteps clattered down the hall. Moira raised her gun as two figures sped around the corner. She saw a gun pointed at her, but could barely breathe. The arm holding the weapon fell limply by her side.
"Mystique," she said, "Nightcrawler."
Emma raised her eyebrows as Mystique hurried toward them. An almost overwhelming urge came over Moira to embrace Mystique, the sight of a familiar, friendly face almost too much. It had been so long since she'd seen any of them.
But she knew how much Mystique disliked her, disliked what she perceived as weakness. So Moira stood perfectly still, only allowing herself to smile at the sight of them as they rushed forward, eyes scanning the area for any potential enemies.
Immediately upon reaching them, Mystique's hand went to Moira's forehead. She ignored the other two entirely, but Emma didn't really seem to care. She saw Kurt give a shy wave to them.
"Are you alright?" asked Mystique, "No fever, no bullet wounds?"
"Just a skim wound on my shoulder," Moira said.
"I'm glad," said Mystique.
She glanced over at Emma and Laura.
"Friends?" she asked.
"Fellow prisoners," said Moira, "I think we were the only ones locked up here."
"We were," Emma said, "I saw it in Martinique's head. Any chance we can get out of here?"
Mystique furrowed her brow at Emma, who tilted her head higher. Moira had a good idea of what she was seeing.
"Come on," Mystique said, "As soon as Nightcrawler gets a better line of sight all three of you are getting teleported to the don't look so great."
"All things considered, we look pretty good," Moira said.
It was a sad attempt at a joke, and one Mystique obviously didn't like. It was probably telling that Emma was the only one who chuckled. Perhaps it had just been too long since they heard something that was truly funny.