Chapter Two: Songbird
It felt like the snapping of a rubber band against his temple. Not pain, but a sharp sensation that yanked him up through the surface water of sleep. Blinking at the morning sunlight pouring through the window in a cascade of white, Charles winced as his body creaked. The sky outside was not blue, but grayish white, the sea a churning mess of murky green and blue. White caps slammed into the spiked poles, though thankfully the waves covered the sound of the scraping razor wire. Charles didn't think he could take waking to that eerie sound.
Rubbing the palm of his hand into one eye, Charles looked around his room. Logan was out on the walkway smoking, and Charles wondered if the small mental snap that had woken him was the tether he'd subconsciously tied to Logan's consciousness. At times, particularly when he'd first arrived at the Academy, he'd find himself weaving threads of connection between himself and classmates. He could feel the most vivid of their thoughts and emotions. He'd done it the last time he'd had a roommate. Back before the trouble... he'd tied a stronger thread to that man because he'd been suspicious of him, even scared of him. Later his suspicions had been confirmed.
He jerked when Logan's voice cut through the sound of guards milling around below.
"Xavier?"
Looking up, he saw concern written on the man's face. "Oh, nothing. I think I forgot where I was for a moment."
"Maybe it'd be better if you didn't remember, doc," he said, digging around a small pile of clothes until he found a white tank top. It passed the smell test, marginally. Puling it on, he caught Xavier's smile and chuckled.
"I think... I'd like to remember," Charles said quietly, voice catching slightly when Logan gave him a searching look, crooked mouth curling suggestively. Clearing his throat and trying not to look too terribly awkward, Charles swung over the side of the bed and stood. Two strides carried Logan to his side and Charles felt the blush heating his face even before the other man murmured against his cheek.
"You're blushing, doc."
"I'm not a doctor, actually," he corrected lamely, ducking under Logan's arm, which had trapped him against the wall. "You should know that. No PhD on my diploma."
Coyly coming up behind the smaller man, Logan nuzzled the back of an ear, inhaling Xavier's clean scent. "Maybe I know more than you do, ever think of that?" Throwing a playful grin at the baffled brunette, Logan sauntered out onto the walkway before vaulting the stepladder and sliding down in the most swashbuckling manner. Charles resolutely pretended not to be impressed.
On his way to the mess hall, hair still damp against his neck from a rushed shower in the communal bathroom, a passing guard with shaggy red hair hailed Charles. He followed him into one of the lower rooms, and found two other guards huddled around what looked like a small pile of compost debris. Hanging at the doorway, trying not to think too hard on why he wasn't just going in, Charles craned his neck and finally asked, "What is it?"
A muscular blonde man with a serious face poked at the shriveled looking thing with the end of a toothbrush and said mournfully, "Delilah."
"And is Delilah..."
"An African Violet," the redhead piped up, nudging the last guard in the room with his foot. "Darwin, this is him." Glaring over his shoulder, the man called Darwin stood and Charles had to look up slightly to meet his eyes once he turned away from the redhead. Luckily the glare was wiped from his face and a welcoming smile took its place. Charles briefly wondered at the uncanny consistency of good-looking people at Juniper. Another blush was threatening and he cursed Logan for somehow unlocking what must have been a long-dormant giggling schoolgirl within him.
"Charles Xavier, right? Name's Darwin, and Sean here," he said, jerking his head towards the redhead, "Shanghaied you so rudely to see if you could help us save Alex's dear Delilah."
These three somehow felt different than most of the guards Charles had been in close proximity to. A different energy. He brightened: mutants. His first instinct was to inquire about their abilities, but considering he'd only just met them Charles decided that was a subject better left broached after some bonding. Perhaps some bonding over the tragic Delilah. Hunkering down, Charles said, "May I?" to the blonde boy and plucked the toothbrush out of his hand, inspecting what could possibly be a leaf. Raven had kept plants, though her thumb was black as pitch and she'd killed most of them. Charles had ended up handling most botanical duties, if just to see her face lighten up when one of her flowers made it more than week.
"So," Darwin started as Charles found the pot beneath wilted leaves and turned it in his hands. "You've come to get inside the heads of our baddies, huh?"
"That's the plan, I believe," he said, finally turning Delilah on her head and depositing her on the small table she'd been sitting on. Alex blanched and Sean's eyebrows went up into his fringe. "First thing we need is a bigger pot. Second thing we need is, actually, a second pot."
The three of them stared at him.
Charles snickered at their faces, each a varying degree of befuddlement and slight caution. "The African Violet is a desert plant. And Delilah, so aptly named, is a very independent flower. You'll give her water, but she will not drink it. Stubborn thing, she'd rather drown than take what you give to her on your terms. Lucky none of you are named Samson." Glancing up and realizing he was losing them, and fast, Charles quickly added, "African Violets soak up limited amounts of water from soil. The proper way to hydrate them is to fill a pot with water, and then set the pot holding the actual plant inside of it. The porous clay of the flower pot will slowly soak up the moisture, and Delilah here will drink in her leisurely fill."
Alex looked at the plant with newfound interest and Darwin chortled, "You have a fickle mistress, Alex. But I think I know where I can get you a couple flowerpots. We'll go visit the jolly crew and see what they can wrangle for us." At Charles' confused look, Darwin added with an accommodating smile, "The welcoming party, also known as the groundskeepers."
After Alex and Darwin left in search of Delilah's new abode, Sean escorted Charles to the cafeteria, jokingly referring to him as the Plant Whisperer. Giving his approval to the new name, Charles was suddenly punched back as a large man rounded the corner. Instantly he was yanked up and the man who'd run into him dusted him off and, in a booming voice, apologized. Sean introduced him as the Plant Whisperer and by the time the man had ambled off Charles had an appointment with some peaky petunias the following week.
Walking down the hall, Charles kept his eyes ahead, shoulder still smarting from the blow. There must be something in the water, he decided by way of explanation for the size of most of the guards. As they walked, Charles noticed that Sean moved with a strange sort of gangly fluidity, hands shoved deep in his pockets. It looked like he took most of his bobbing steps on the balls of his feet. When he was standing still, he was the same height as Charles.
"Sean, I don't mean any offense at this-I actually say it in relief and solidarity, but-"
"I know," Sean said mysteriously, "Why is it that I'm so damn good looking?"
Charles was stunned enough to let the silence stretch until Sean clapped him on the back, laughing.
"It's just that you're not as... brawny, shall we say, as the rest of the blokes here." He'd tried to put it eloquently, but it still came out with the blaring sentiment: you're small.
"Zey didn't hiyah me for my muscles, jah," Sean postured with a ridiculous Schwarzenegger accent. Deflating comically, he lounged against the wall as another beefy group of guards trundled down the hallway. Charles ducked against the wall next to him. "It's because of these," he said, pointing to his throat. "My vocal chords. I got sonar, man. I can break glass, send bats flying in funny directions... and, if need be, bust the eardrums of troublemakers." Wiggling his eyebrows, he was pleased when Charles chuckled.
"I'm impressed, my friend," he said honestly. "This is the first time I've actually heard someone talk about their ability openly."
"Prob'ly cuz we're not all mutants here. Only about 20% of the general staff are, and none of the higher-ups."
Brow furrowed, Charles trotted after the redhead and he resumed their journey. "Interesting."
"I hear you've got some mind-bending skills," Sean hinted, pushing the double doors open for him and Charles.
The noise of hundreds of chattering officers rushed at them like a gust of wind and Charles had to raise his voice to be heard. "Telepath. Though I admit I'm quite rusty."
"Figures. The Academy is the equivalent of ex-gay camp on homos, you know?"
Standing in line behind Sean, Charles frowned. "What does that mean exactly?"
"Well, they want a cure for it but they just end up heaping on a ton of internalized homophobia," he explained cryptically.
Charles got the distinct impression Sean was speaking from experience. Interesting.
The redhead looked closely at him from beneath a veil of red hair. "Don't tell me they didn't make you ashamed of your power."
Cold shock slithered down Charles spine and he had to lean on the wall, barely acknowledging the food tray Sean shoved into his hands. His roommate, the one he'd tied a thread of thought to. That string of conscious connection wasn't so much a sign of friendship, but of caution on Charles' part. His roommate hadn't been a mutant. And if the vile words he'd spat at Charles in the dark when he was beaten were any indication, he didn't like them.
He supposed if he really did look at the Academy's curriculum, there was more than one instance where Charles felt like the savage sitting in the den of his oppressors. There was hate there, but he'd been so talented. Even Headmaster Shaw had told him so. He remembered sitting in the man's study during one of the rare occasions he was on campus and not touring the country touting the Academy's work. Shaw had praised his high marks and had personally recommended him for additional alternative study in honing his ability. This was in addition to his regular coursework, somewhat off the record, as Shaw had put it.
Remembering the icy touch of Emma Frost's mind as she trained him in combative telepathy, Charles physically shivered. Her cold disposition never melted, never budged as she spent hours working with him. This was after the trouble. Not even two days after, when Charles was ready to withdraw from the Academy completely, had Shaw called him in to talk and praised him. Then immediately following he was passed into Frost's hands, where she found his anger and his fear and began to show him how to make those dark emotions into a weapon.
Snapping upright as Sean elbowed him in the side, Charles realized someone was calling his name. Logan was standing up on one of the bench seats, waving. Darwin and Alex were sitting with him. Quickly scooping food onto his plate from the steaming holders, Charles tagged along behind Sean, envious of his deceptively casual gate as the man easily avoided jutting elbows and strapping upper bodies making the pathways treacherous for someone unaccustomed like Charles. Really, it must be something in the water.
Conversation slipped easily into Alex's triumphant description of Delilah's new home, which he encouraged Charles to come check out later.
"You should see this thing," Darwin laughed. "We didn't have any flower pots so the groundskeepers hooked us up with a latrine from the infirmary and a clay bowl from the last pottery class-a program which failed miserably once we realized the inmates were just making shanks out of clay and trying to sneak them into the kiln."
"Yeah," Sean interrupted, "But Logan made such a fantastic dildo."
Charles shared a look with Alex, the only other silent party. The boy looked entirely too wholesome for this sort of talk. Coming to the rescue, Charles raised his voice, "So besides being fine connoisseurs of clay dildos and latrine flowerpots, what is it exactly that you do in this fine establishment?"
Throwing an arm around Charles' shoulders, Logan leaned in conspiratorially. "We're not who we say we are, Xavier," he said, low voice stirring the hair curling down over Charles' ear.
That rush of familiar heat along his skin gave Charles a minor thrill, but he played it off, jabbing Logan in the side with his spork. "Oh, really?"
"Well, some of us anyway," he said gruffly, "I am really just the records guy. But these Joes make up for it by having quite the interesting assortment of jobs."
"I already told Charles about me," Sean supplied, taking a heavy draw of coffee. "I guess I forgot to mention you won't see me too often. I'm usually up top, in the crow's nest."
"The crow's nest?" he echoed questioningly.
"In case of... anything," Sean explained. "I can use my ability either as a warning, as a weapon, or as a signal.
"Wait a minute. The foghorn I heard yesterday-"
"Yours truly," he confirmed with a flourish.
"Sean, that's incredible! I mean, I really thought it was... I'm very impressed," Charles finished, slightly embarrassed as the others laughed. He joined them, immensely happy at his luck in finding such company so quickly. And when he felt Logan's fingers curling against his side he shot the other man a coy glance, pressing into his hand. "What about you, Alex?"
"Oh, I'm with Darwin, downstairs."
"Down in the dungeons," Darwin amended, chucking Alex on the shoulder. "We have the honor of babysitting the criminally insane members of our little family here at Juniper."
"I guess you'll be seeing some of them?" Alex asked. "I know some of the ones who can be subdued went to the shrink regularly." His eyes widened, "Uh, I mean psychologist. Sorry, Charles."
"Oh no, please. Shrink has fewer syllables and life is short," he said smiling. Alex grinned, turning to shove the dark skinned boy as Darwin tried to put him in a headlock.
Suddenly all heads in the mess hall turned as Captain Moira strode into the room, her presence palpable. Eyes scanning the mass of faces, she barked, "Xavier!"
Logan leapt to his feet, hauling Charles up with him. "He's here, Amore!"
The men chuckled into their meals, sobering as Captain Moira stormed across the mess hall. Her gaze was just as fierce as before and she scowled at Logan, not sparing a glance at Charles. "Don't you have a desk to be wanking off behind, Wolverine?"
Rocking up onto the balls of his feet, Logan purred, "You suggesting something, Captain."
"Desk, Wolverine. Now," Captain Moira snarled.
Logan opened his mouth and Charles was sure it was in order to fire back another saucy retort, but at that moment the loudspeaker mounted on the wall of the mess hall blared, "Requesting the Captain and all first shift staff immediately. Inmate 24005-he's- holy shit! Stop him! Stop him! Fuck! Not again!" The voice clicked off.
As one body the entire mess hall rose and rushed through the doors like children towards an ice cream truck. Breakfast was left unfinished while guards teased and jostled each other. The line of men stretched on through the halls, rhythmic pounding of their heavy boots rattling Charles' teeth. He stuck close to Logan, able to dart after the man as he turned a sharp corner away from the rest of the mob.
"Shortcut," the bigger man muttered, slamming through a dank looking door. They broke out into the gray sunlight, leading the stream of uniformed guards from the mess hall.
Charles caught sight of Darwin, Alex and Sean near the front. Following Logan, Charles made it to the head of the group. They were all staring up along the cream-colored concrete walls. He wasn't sure what he was looking for yet, but the excitement of the men was palpable. It must be something special to bring them all out here.
"Bloody batty if you ask me," a guard behind Charles muttered. "One of these days he'll fall and break his neck. Think of all the blasted paperwork."
"Damn pity if he did," Logan joined in jovially, "Erik and I split shifts as 'Official Pain in the Ass'." The guards around chortled.
Charles shielded his eyes against the blaring sky and stared. He could hear Captain Moira shouting nearby, and more of the guards beginning to chatter.
Suddenly he was caught like a fish in a net, held by a hidden gaze from atop the roof. Auburn hair shone like a halo, and an angular face was cast in shadow. Charles felt a distinct shiver go down his spine and he squinted. A cloud shadowed the sun, shifting the light, and Charles found himself staring into a pair of pale green eyes set in a handsome face. There was a healthy five o'clock shadow glowing red as the sun returned from its hiding place, throwing the man's face into obscurity. Turning away from the bright flash of light, Charles realized he'd been holding his breath. Pressing a hand to the hollow of his chest he made to look back up and chance finding those eyes again, his curiosity piqued.
"I think he likes you, Xavier!" Logan exploded.
The inmate on the roof was still staring at Charles, once again returning the telepath's own gaze. Charles blushed and dropped his eyes, only to raise them again as if pulled by an invisible line.
Logan shoved him towards a precarious looking ladder that climbed the height of the wall. "Right. Looks like you're the candidate to get him down today." He smacked Charles on the ass and began to chant obnoxiously, "Xavier, Xavier, Xavier!" The rest of the guard took up the cheer and even Captain Moira looked resigned to let Charles scale the wall.
"You can't be serious," he hissed as Logan started to push him up the rungs. "This is absurd!"
"Can't you see I'm helping you out?" he said in a low voice. "Erik's harmless, really. Earn these boys' respect, doc." He grinned at the sickly expression on Charles' face and backed away to return to cheering and clapping with the others.
Wind bit at the shrinking flesh of his back as he finally clambered onto the roof. His clothes were flattened against his chest and the cold was fiercely nipping at any exposed skin. The inmate-Erik-had disappeared. Spinning around, Charles scanned the stretch of rooftop. This portion of Juniper must be right above the cafeteria because it was flat, except for a few steam vents tall enough to hide a man. Other sections of the structure flanked each side and Charles could again see the turrets and patrolled walls he'd seen last night.
Taking a few cautionary steps, he found the ground beneath his feet to be solid enough. Hugging himself as a pathetic defense against the biting wind, Charles ventured forward towards the steam vents. As he neared the first one he heard someone whistling. Pausing, he couldn't help but emit a breathy laugh as he recognized the tune. Wary of approaching an inmate directly, Charles tilted his head up and sang out, "Two little boys had two little toys-"
The whistling abruptly stopped. Charles' words died out and he waited, clenching his jaw to avoid the chattering of his teeth. After another beat he continued the song, voice spiraling up into the playful currents of wind, "Each had a wooden horse / Gaily they played each summer's day / Warriors both of course / One little chap then had a mishap-"
Erik appeared suddenly enough that Charles's snapped his mouth shut. The man fixed him with an impassive look. His eyes were so bright, shining from under brows the same color as his hair. In the bleaching sunlight they looked like chips of glass, and Charles found himself quite taken by them. Blinking away the tears conjured up from facing the freezing wind, Charles held Erik's gaze. When the man spoke it took Charles a second to register the smooth tilt of his accented words.
"Pretty voice," he complemented, clasping his hands behind his back. Very pretty blue eyes just blinked at him and Erik found himself smiling. The young man had a very red mouth. "Were you in choir when you were a boy?" Strolling up to the young officer, Erik squinted at him. "Not long ago. You're very young."
Prickling, Charles brashly gave Erik a once over. "Old enough not to go running around on rooftops." He resisted the urge to touch the man's mind. Perhaps it was being in the presence of mutants, but Charles' wanted to feel his thoughts. For all he knew, despite Logan's assurance that he was harmless, Erik could be from the criminally insane block.
"Young enough to know all of the words to a children's nursery rhyme," Erik parried easily, delighting at the color riding high in the young man's cheeks. His face was a beautiful palette of blue and red, set in a porcelain face. Stepping closer, he caught the faint scent of warm skin and sandalwood.
"I used to sing it with my sister," he said. Aware of the man's closeness, Charles found himself rambling. "We had to amend it to 'two little children'. She didn't mind that it no longer rhymed as long as she could feel included. Then of course the two little boys, Jack and Joe, were now Jack and Jill."
"Like the two that went up the hill?"
"Yes, I suppose so. Jill must be the go-to girl's name in nursery rhymes."
"Ah. Makes perfect sense." Their locked gazes hadn't once wavered and Erik could feel the tension mounting in his chest. Somehow he knew that this pale interesting man was a mutant.
"Doesn't it," he said, laughing easily. He covered his mouth, trying to turn the laugh into a cough when Erik didn't join in. The man just kept looking at Charles with deep, reflective eyes. Blushing slightly, Charles rubbed his hands together, blowing on them to keep them warm. Suddenly Erik grabbed his hands and held them tightly. Charles reacted instantly, swinging his leg up in a well-planted kick, which got Erik in the ribs. The inmate went down in one knee, but he didn't let go of Charles' hands. Surprised at himself, he froze, staring down at Erik in shock as the prisoner wheezed and managed to give a breathy chuckle.
"Not a songbird but more like a snake." The guard's face was really beautiful, Erik mused. His eyes were big and blue and the tantalizing waves which fell around his face beckoned to Erik's fingers. Slowly, still holding blue eyes, he lowered his face and blew a stream of warm air onto the smooth hands.
"What are you doing?" Charles asked, voice cracking, just a little. Experimentally, he tugged on his hands to no avail, wondering if he should kick the convict one more time.
"Obviously you're not used to this climate." For emphasis, he rubbed at Charles's hands, pleased when he felt them getting warm. "I'm plenty warm though."
Charles searched the man's face for double meaning. His expression was inviting and honest. Somehow he didn't feel threatened. "I'm really not that cold. Don't let the accent fool you, I'm from upstate New York, so I'm used to it." He knelt down along with the man, hands still confined within Erik's grip. "But usually my north sense warns me to wear warmer clothes. Though I suppose I didn't know I'd be up on a rooftop in the naked wind." He stared hard at the inmate, wondering while he spoke why he was saying so much to this man. "Your name's Erik." Gazing earnestly into the unreadable face, he pulled his hands free and switched their hold. "Will you come down off the roof with me, Erik?"
"For you, vicious little song bird?" Erik flexed his fingers, observing their texture against the young officer's. Then he whispered, "Maybe you'll sing to me more if I do?"
Charles gave the other man a small smile. "I don't know many other songs."
"I'll teach you," Erik whispered, leaning in so Charles could hear him.
He could feel the warmth coming off Erik's skin. His voice caught in his throat, alarms going off in the back of his head. Various mental maneuvers that could immobilize the man clamored to be used, but Charles held them at bay. It would do no good to alienate Erik and possibly harm him. "Perhaps."
"What, I didn't hear you," Erik murmured bringing their faces even closer together. "Here, whisper in my ear, songbird."
He brought the side of his face flush against Charles' and the young officer stiffened when the coarse bristles on the man's face gently scraped his cheek. He wasn't cold anymore. "I said perhaps. After all, we won't be meeting on rooftops every time."
"That's good."
Charles gasped at how deep and full Erik's voice sounded so close to his ear. Glancing to the side, he was met with the embers of twinkling eyes.
Erik was grinning. "That's very good."
Then he was flush against him and for a minute Charles panicked before his eyes found the dart poking out the side of Erik's neck. Knees buckling under the man's dead weight, Charles gently lowered him to the ground. A man in a white lab coat came rushing over. Whipping out a stethoscope, the man lifted Erik's shirt without preamble and all of a sudden the bare skin of Erik's stomach was pressing hot against the thin fabric of Charles' shirt. His widened eyes went unnoticed as the new arrival checked the inmate's vital signs. Glancing up at Charles, the man in the white coat pushed his glasses back up his nose with a shy, crooked smile.
"Sorry about that," he said, expression turning sheepish, "I've been wanting to try out that sedative. Bit potent, I think." When the other man just stared at him, he quickly added, "I'm Hank. You must be Xavier, the new psychologist?"
"Yes, that's me," he said uneasily, taking the young man's hand. "Please call me Charles."
"All right," he said pleasantly, hanging the stethoscope back around his neck and waving over a few other men whose heads were bobbing like apples over the edge of the roof. "He's down!" Looking back at Charles he said, "We'll need to set up a meeting after your orientation. I have the medical records in my office; medical issues, problematic behaviors. We'll be sharing a space as soon as Louise brings your desk from the mainland."
"Oh, the last psychologist didn't have one I could use?" he asked distractedly, finding his fingers curiously running through smooth auburn hair. The inmate's face was soft in sleep.
At the question Hank's expression was one of consternation. He stayed silent as the other guards collected Erik's inert body from Charles, hauling it down the side of the wall like they'd had a lot of practice. When they disappeared over the edge Hank cleared his throat. "Ah, the last one didn't stay long enough to get a desk. And the one before... she had a desk, but it got-"
"Yes?"
"A bit smashed."
"A bit?"
"Okay, to smithereens," he admitted, hanging his head. "We ended up using it as sawdust for the compost heap."
...
Later Charles walked beside Darwin, wishing he'd brought a notepad along to jot down the seemingly endless amount of information he was expected to remember. At one point he'd sagged against the wall, holding his hands up in defeat.
"My friend, I don't know what they told you about my telepathic abilities, but perma-auditory memory is not part of it."
Darwin laughed, patting Charles on the back sympathetically. "I feel your pain, man, but it's necessary. You'll learn it eventually."
"They say the adult mind has to hear something seventeen times before the information sticks."
"Now how is it you can remember random info like that and yet you can't remember which way the exit is?"
Charles groaned, "Take pity on me, Darwin. I'm sure it's senility setting in. Maybe the captain should just put me to pasture like Oliver and the other groundskeepers."
"Chin up, doc," he comforted him, using Logan's nickname for the man. Stopping before a large door, Darwin became serious. "Now, Charles, we're going to be heading into the cellblock. I'm not going to ease you into this. Eventually you'll have to get to know the little angels Alex and I get the pleasure of spending our days with, but first you'll need to meet the mob. Hope you have a strong stomach."
And that was all the warning he had. It wasn't more than three seconds before an inmate was gyrating against the bars of his cell, commenting on the unique redness of Charles' mouth. That was the tamest of the onslaught. Unbeknownst to Darwin, Charles was having a panic attack. Clamoring voices of the inmates blended with the shadowy words from his past, twining around his throat and cutting off his air. His mental defenses came up strong and sudden and even Darwin's words were shut out. Charles tunneled his own vision, seeing nothing but the door at the end of the hall. His heart pounded in his ears and bile was rising in his throat. Don't lash out, he chanted, Don't lash out. Stay calm, Charles. Calm. This is not what you think. You are safe. They won't hurt you. He finally closed his eyes completely and let Darwin lead him, opening them only when the other man let go of his arm or made a sudden movement.
By the time they'd reached the end of the block, Charles felt like a piece of meat hung out before a pack of rabid dogs. Darwin had a comforting hand on his shoulder the entire time and had even lashed out at a couple of the more brash inmates. Charles didn't miss the incredible way Darwin's limb shifted when he shoved a man back or shielded Charles from flying feces.
Giving the man a wavering smile while he practically fell through the door in relief, Charles said, "If anything, your ability is amazing."
"They don't call me Darwin for nothing," he said with amusement. "Alex and I both have the types of abilities that have the best chance to survive any situation or dangerous threat. It's the policy that if a staff member is taken hostage we cannot give in to inmate demands, so staff down with us are in particular need of the ability to handle themselves."
Charles swallowed nervously, mind shying away from the implications of Darwin's words. If you're taken, that's it unless you can get yourself out. Even the thought made his heart clench. Glad when the door was slammed shut and locked behind them, the sound abruptly cut off, Charles took in the new environment. It was another hallway, long and bare. No windows or doors. At the very end there was a sharp turn and beyond, who knew?
Darwin continued his description of the various blocks and systematic categories that separated the inmates.
"At Juniper, it's not necessarily the crime; it's the mutation we're concerned with. If the bank robber used an ability that spontaneously combusts anything he pleases, he's a maximum lock-up. If someone assaults another person by making icicles they are less of a threat, though their crime is more serious. Anyone who is a shifter or teleporter is maximum of the maximum, and usually kept heavily sedated. Then of course you have our boys, the nut jobs. It doesn't really matter if they can grow daisies at will or run faster than a speeding bullet, they're too dangerous to play with the other children."
"Where is Erik detained?" He immediately clicked his mouth closed, not meaning to speak his thoughts aloud.
"Erik Lensherr," Darwin announced, swinging around the corner at the end of the hall. "He's in isolation, shut down in a box. And yet he manages to escape on a regular basis. And get this; we still have no clue what his power is. Anyone who would know has been killed before he got here. He's made no real attempt to get off the island so we don't keep him drugged like the basket cases. But I'll tell you something, Charles, as a friend."
Warily Charles nodded. "Yes?"
"He's the reason the last shrink left. Man, she left fast. It was freaky, man. She was a really cheery person, and handled every other inmate pretty well. I think they liked her because she had braces and it made her lisp a bit. But after meeting Erik, that was it. Wouldn't speak to anyone about it. Kept her mouth shut. And I mean she literally didn't open her mouth after her first session with him. She was silent as a mummy and left within a day of seeing him." He shuddered.
A lick up fear crept under his skin. "What were his charges in the first place?"
"He massacred some anti-mutant conference. But there're rumors they were planning to use him as a sacrifice to set some sort of example. This group had lynched mutants before. I guess Erik wasn't going to let that happen to him. But the justice system hasn't exactly amended itself to deal with mutant-level self-defense."
Charles wondered if he would have attacked the group of men from the Academy if he'd had the ability at the time. Something inside of him sympathized with Erik. He knew what it was like, in a way. Following Darwin through yet another door, Charles recalled the depth and intelligence shining in Erik's sea green eyes. What secrets were hidden behind them? Charles decided then and there that he was going to find out.
...
A/N: Delilah is from the Hebrew Bible, Book of Judges. Her story is more commonly called "Samson and Delilah".
There is actually a rule about the number of times someone needs to hear something before they can properly recall it, but no amount of Google searching could turn up the accurate number, so I made it up. : /
-Villain