A/N: Chapter Summary-Charles has his first sessions with the inmates and meets another powerful telepath, one with dark intentions. After using his attack training taught to him by Emma Frost, Charles worries he's gone too far and maybe done permanent damage to one of the inmates.
Chapter 4: Threat
He'd made it a habit to take a brisk morning walk around the small island every day before breakfast. The crisp sea air combined with the melodic crying of the gulls and sea birds grounded Charles. And today of all days he needed it; today was his first series of sessions with select inmates. They'd be bringing him his first patient at 11. Hank had left the man's file on his desk. Upon opening it Charles had a momentary spell of nerves. Mojo was a high-profile criminal convicted on human trafficking charges. As Charles read deeper into the file, his gut twisted. This man had trafficked over 12,000 human beings, including children. Under heavy sedation most of the time, Mojo had still made himself a feared figure at Juniper.
Charles took a deep breath. Mojo's file felt heavy under his arm as he looked out over the water. The day had a distinctly yellow hue today. It would probably be muggy. They kept it graciously cool inside the buildings, so whatever misery the weather outside held never made it past Juniper's walls. All the same, Charles still felt warm as he sat in his office, arranging the materials for Mojo's introductory session.
Satisfied that he had everything, Charles slipped down the hall a short ways to the room that would from now on be his second home. Inside was a little bleak for his taste, but he'd fix that soon. The walls were blank beige and the only furniture was a low coffee table that had been bolted to the ground, a plushy but tired looking easy chair for Charles and the customary fainting couch. He cast his eyes over the room in clear dismay. Until now he'd just been able to look through the door's window, not realizing the dismal austerity of the room in which he was to engage with inmates. This would definitely have to change. He'd have a chat with Louise about bringing him some wall hangings, maybe plants. Certainly some nice curtains to cover the ugly blaring light punching through barred windows.
Arms akimbo, Charles frowned. Now that he saw it, this was no place to have a session. Secure or not, he refused to put his patient in such a hostile environment. What good would it do to go from their cell straight into another cell? Annoyed that he hadn't been able to get into the room until now, Charles returned to his office and contemplated the oblong shape of it. It was small, an awkwardly rounded triangle. The narrowest point was towards the door, then it widened into two distinct corners; Charles on the left and Hank tucked into the right. Drawers and file cabinets were lining the wall space between them, and a dejected looking fern looked out over the room from the top of the cabinets. There were no windows, and the artificial light was soft. There was a lamp atop a set of drawers, which stained the beige wall a smooth wine color through its red lampshade. All in all, it was a relaxing little hideaway: just the atmosphere for a possibly agitated patient to find calm and feel secure.
Decided, Charles picked up the phone and called down to Mojo's ward. Alex answered.
"Alex, when you bring Mojo up could you bring him to my office instead?"
There was blatant doubt in the voice crackling over the phone, "Um, do you know how many potential weapons are in your office, Charles?"
"I was told he would be restrained anyway?" Charles glanced up as Hank came in, waving a hello before digging around the first cabinet drawer.
There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "Well, yeah. But -"
"Alex, the session room is abysmal. I can't believe any self-respecting psychologist would use it."
"You'd be the first."
Charles frowned deepened. "The first to what?"
"To use it. It's actually a holding room; either for legal visits or for death row transport to execution on the mainland. So you can understand the, uh, decor."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No wonder. But why would you suddenly change plans and change rooms. Where did we hold sessions before?"
"How do you think your last desk got demolished? It was an inmate in a session. Since then Cap'n Moira commissioned the holding room for psychoanalysis." Another sigh. "It's for your safety, man."
Leaning back in his chair, Charles waved off Hank's concerned expression. "All right, Alex. Can you please postpone Mojo's transport until half past?" He hung up before Alex could answer. Fingering his lips, Charles thought for a moment before grabbing the phone and dialing another number. Captain Moira answered in her clipped, authoritative way. Charles took a deep breath and launched into the same conversation he'd had with Alex. It went the same way, though Moira was a little more forceful.
"It's for your safety, Xavier. You might actually get somewhere with these men; I don't want to risk losing you so soon. The last psychologist we had-"
"I'm willing to risk my safety if it means getting anywhere with my patients. That room is counterproductive to what I am trying to achieve here," he said crossly. Hank had stopped what he was doing to take a front row seat to the show at his desk. Charles ignored him. "If I am to help them work through their issues, perhaps glean some answers to their behavior I need a place to work efficiently. I want to give them sanctuary, a place they can express their thoughts and feelings."
Captain Moira snorted. "Look, Xavier," she said, "I admire your punch, but I wouldn't hold your breath. If you can tell me how they tick, wonderful. If you can let them vent so they don't stab another inmate, fantastic. But don't think you can save them, Charles."
She hung up. Hank gave him a sympathetic look before he left. Charles glanced at the clock. Alex would be bringing Mojo up soon.
Mojo was huge. He stood almost a head taller than Alex, his face fixed in an eerily permanent smirk. Seeing him in person Charles' mouth went dry and a little voice inside of him suggested that maybe the blank room with the bolted-down furniture would be better. Then a louder voice resolutely reminded him of his job here and what he sought to achieve. Squaring his shoulders, Charles wore a carefully pleasant expression, barely resisting the urge to flinch when those menacing yellow eyes zeroed in on him. They stopped in front of the session room and Charles was able to see just how dangerous his newest patient was. Sean had mentioned to him that restraints were categorized by degree of danger. Showing Charles the storage room for Juniper's various cuffs and binds, Charles was astonished at the sheer number of devices used to restrain the mutants. And now Mojo stood in front of him, practically bound from head to foot. A flesh-colored, palm-sized patch covered the side of his pale neck. Hank was continuously working on stronger doses of the sedatives they had. The one Mojo was wearing was Class A, meaning that if administered to a normal human being weighing 160lbs that individual would undergo a seizure and possible heart failure.
Despite all this, Charles fixed Alex with a deceivingly warm smile and said neatly, "Now if you would follow me to my office, we can begin the session."
A muscle in Alex's jaw clenched; they were both aware that Charles had received no clearance to have inmates in his office. There was an awkward pause before Alex nodded, the look in his eyes angry. Charles knew that it was only out of concern for his safety, but stubborn was stubborn and Charles would not change his mind.
The guards and staff, like at any correctional facility, were warned not to undermine authority in any way. Though they may shirk said rule on their own turf, each of them obeyed strictly when inmates were present. A show of mutiny from staff could create havoc among rebellious inmates and give them the confidence to stir serious trouble. Charles shamelessly exploited this now. Alex was shooting sparks from his eyes as he escorted Mojo further down the hall, finally stopping in front of Charles' and Hank's shared office.
Mojo's eyes were flicking between the two men. He could sense the tension along the guard's shoulders. Inhaling deeply, his smile curled into something manic. The doctor was putting himself in danger. Mojo could smell the heady mix of hesitation and fear contained in the beads of sweat on the doctor's brow.
Once Alex had fastened Mojo to a chair within the office he made to post himself inside the door. Charles gave him a pointed look, but the blonde only glared back. The inmate chuckled low in his throat and Charles tried not to notice the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Alex," he said calmly, "Thank you for bringing Mojo up for his session. Now, if you would leave us alone..."
For a tense moment Alex's blue eyes burned into Charles. Part of him knew this was idiotic, but another more righteous part of him wanted to make his point. If he couldn't get that austere room fixed up to be more welcoming than he refused to host patients in it. Jaw set in a stern line; Charles raised an eyebrow at the sullen guard. When Alex finally slunk out, shooting a warning scowl at Mojo, Charles exhaled. If Alex had pressed he wasn't sure what he would've done.
"This is your personal space then, doctor?" Mojo asked smoothly. His voice was heavy and deep like the lowest note on a saxophone. That smile was fixed, eyes glittering in the soft light. Either hand was bound to the arm of the chair, as were his legs. Yet the inmate's affect made it clear that the situation was in his command. "What a treat."
"A temporary one, I'm afraid," Charles returned easily. He settled back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other. Mojo's gaze followed the movement and Charles felt a momentary sympathy for his immobility. Note to self: try not to make any physical movements that the patient cannot match. "Next time we'll be in the proper session room," he said confidently.
"Is there a problem with that room?"
"Quid pro quo," Charles said, "It's my turn to ask a question."
"Fair enough, doctor," he said, eyes dancing with amusement as the smaller man asserted himself. Mojo liked that. He liked spirit. But mostly he liked crushing that spirit. It was a not so secret fetish of his that he enjoyed to specifically goad other mutants in the compound to fight. Always he'd pit some small, feisty inmate against some goon, just to see the blood fly. If the bigger mutant won, Mojo would quietly collect the wounded loser and tend to his injuries in his own way, usually by creating more serious ones. And if the underdog proved victorious over his bigger opponent, Mojo would step in to ensure that victory was short-lived. Most of the inmates, even the insane ones, avoided him. Mojo's sick pleasures threatened them and so they steered clear.
"Please," Charles intoned, "Call me Xavier."
"Xavier," he cooed, finally chuckling. He leaned forward as far as he could, eagerly inhaling the man's scent. It was sweet.
"Let's do a little exercise, shall we?" he said, pointedly not drawing back as the inmate closed the space between them by a few inches. He was still a couple of feet from him but Charles would be liar if he didn't admit that Mojo's hungry look was unsettling. "Are you game, Mojo?"
"Yes, Xavier," he practically purred, delighted when the psychologist sat on the edge of his seat, setting aside the papers that had been occupying his graceful hands. "But I've earned my question back, yes? Quid pro quo."
"Yes, of course."
"Are you afraid?"
Honestly he was taken aback by the question. Mojo seemed amused to no end by his thoughtful pause. "No, Mojo. I'm not."
"I get one more question. You asked two."
"Go ahead," he acquiesced, still maintaining a casual air.
"Inside of my file I believe you will find a quote from one of my..." His voice devolved into a mad giggle and the psychologist's blue eyes widened slightly, his visage cracking. Mojo wanted to slam his head into the floor and hurt him. "My associate," he said mockingly. Pointing to the papers, he couldn't help a Cheshire grin. "There, there. Read it, Xavier. Read those words to me?"
Eyes suspiciously dropping from Mojo's increasingly rabid expression to the page of a police report, Charles scanned the lines of text, bile rising in his throat. "Mojo," he said carefully, "Why-"
"The point of these sessions is to work through my sickness, doctor. I just want you to know me. Won't that help you help me?" He lost it again, laughing loud.
Charles' voice was cold. "I can read it for myself, Mojo."
"Then go ahead, Xavier," he whispered, voice heated. "Read it to yourself, go ahead. Read it, then we'll do your little exercise, doctor."
Brow furrowed, Charles met yellow eyes and held them. He didn't need his telepathic powers to feel the excitement, dark arousal, and cloying lust the mutant was exuding. On the page was a statement recorded by the police of one of Mojo's victims. Blood running cold, Charles read the report.
Carefully turning up his mental hearing, Mojo caught the words flowing through the psychologist's mind, beautifully rendered in that posh British accent. He shivered, teeth bared as the counselor, head bent, went on. Mojo basked in the memories, melding Xavier's voice with the terror contained within the few short lines. The delicate curve of the man's neck made Mojo's mouth water.
He read on, mind reeling as the young child gave her statement to the police. According to the report she had sustained multiple lacerations all over her body, severe bruises around her throat, a dislocated shoulder, and... He stopped reading. High up on her ribcage, beside her underdeveloped chest, had been a brand. Like an animal she'd been branded. Beneath the report was a photo of it. Her tiny hand covered her chest modestly but the brand was in full view. An ugly thing; an MV framed by chunky wires. There was a note in the margin, Mojoverse. It was the name of his organization, in the typical style of a megalomaniac. Clearing his throat, Charles flipped back and went to her statement. He read slowly.
She hadn't known where she was, or even what the year had been. Tests confirmed drugs in her bloodstream and that she was severely malnourished. Her words were few but when Charles read them he could hear the tremulous voice of a small, terrified child. Again and again she asked to go home, that they please not touch her anymore. Her body was tired; she wanted to sleep. They didn't let her sleep, she'd said. They wanted her awake and it never stopped-
Letting the pages fall into his lap, Charles' eyes fell unfocused. He was quiet.
"You read beautifully, Xavier," Mojo said throatily. His hands strained against his binds, and his pupils had drowned out the yellow iris, resembling twin solar eclipses. Breath was coming too fast and he was almost lightheaded. Hearing that voice echoing inside of the counselor's surface consciousness was like a drug and Mojo wanted more of that voice. He wanted that terror Xavier had read on the page to become the man.
Eyes narrowing, Charles had to take a deep breath. Obviously his plans needed to be changed. Composing himself, Charles looked up, only slightly unnerved by the fact that Mojo had apparently heard him reading to himself. He was of course aware of Mojo's abilities.
"When you reflect on this," he started, motioning to the pages, "You don't feel regret?"
"Absolutely not, Xavier. There were thousands like her. I personally put the brand on each product that came through my lines."
"Mojo, for this session let's please refer to them as 'people', yes?"
He sensed the core of steel in that request and was almost giddy at the flash of cool anger in the psychologist's eyes. No wonder Lensherr fancied him. He was certainly something. "I will try, Xavier. But of course you'll forgive a few slip-ups, I'm sure?"
Charles remained silent, blue eyes moving over Mojo's face. Reaching out carefully, he attached a number of thought strands to Mojo's mind. It was buzzing, flashes of sensation, memories. Charles threw more focus into the strands and they began to catch these spare thoughts flitting around like flies in a spider's web. He'd review them later. "As long as you give it your best."
"Are you disgusted?"
You'd just love for me to say yes, wouldn't you? Charles mentally snapped at the other mutant. He kept the thought carefully to himself, and threw up a few barriers to keep Mojo's feelers out. "You are my patient, Mojo."
"Vague. That's annoying."
"Well, it's not about me, it's about you."
"About me. You think you're diverting me, but I think you'd rather not do that. I asked a simple question, you see, I'm trying to make it easy on you doctor." His flesh, usually pallid, was flushed as if he'd been through physical exertion. The other inmates were boring, or too dangerous to play with. But this man had spirit and intelligence. And he had willingly put himself in danger, being alone with a highly powerful mutant criminal. Mojo loved the gutsy ones; he loved the ones with spunk. He'd personally break the products-ah, the people-that would come through his rings who displayed any fight. It was a great joy to him. The disappointment, the doused fire in their eyes. It was a sight to behold.
"I'd argue, Mojo," countered Charles, unwilling to play this game, "That I am making it easier on you. If I don't see the potential for rehabilitation than I'm afraid this, our first session, may perhaps be our last."
Mojo scowled. That was no fun. "What is it exactly that you do here, Xavier?"
"I am a counselor, Mojo."
"Yes, I know. But if you're here to counsel us than what does it matter if I can't be rehabilitated? I understood that you are here to ease the tension we feel. Be our shoulder to lean on, though I imagine I won't get anywhere near enough to lean my head on your slender shoulders, doctor."
"I am here to serve those who would benefit, Mojo. Mocking these sessions doesn't exactly prove to me that you can benefit from them."
"Are you my priest, Xavier?" he bit out, eyes flashing dangerously, "Is this a confessional to lighten my soul? Ha, and without even the promise of being sodomized." He was disappointed when the psychologist didn't flinch. The color rose in his cheeks and the flailing sweeps of his ability lashed out at the psychologist. Unfortunately Xavier's mind was far too strong, and he'd been forewarned anyway. Mojo's power slid like rain off of a tin roof. "You'll see me again, Xavier. You may want to tease me with this nonsense, but I'm far too interesting a subject for your analytical mind, wouldn't you say?" Like piranhas ripping apart a larger fish, Mojo attacked the threads of Charles' power connected to his mind.
It was a sensation akin to clipping fingernails. Charles' felt each line, thin as a fishing wire, cut. They floated through the air, unattached, until he reeled them back in, watching Mojo with a renewed amount of caution. Mojo had caught him in his bluff. Though Charles' wasn't lying about the conditions, Mojo had proven himself dangerous enough and-truly-interesting enough to keep as a regular patient. There was the possibility that his power was the cause for the disarray inside that head. After viewing his file, he had concluded that the man had a warped version of Charles' own power, limited to suggestion. No doubt he could control someone if they were caught unawares. The illusionary nature of his power could have backfired in his early development, damaging some literal, logical part of his mind. As a subject, he was fascinating.
There was a sharp knock at the door and Charles jumped, frowning when Mojo made no indication of noticing the noise, wolf-like eyes practically spearing into Charles' face. Going to the door, Charles opened it to see an unhappy Alex.
"Hour's up," he said gruffly, glaring at Charles.
Instantly Charles felt guilt wash over him. "I'm sorry, Alex. I mean that. I'll talk to the Captain and no matter what happens I promise you, my friend, that I will hold sessions in the correct room."
"I'll let it slide this time cuz you're the new guy," Alex joked, brightening at Charles' apology. "I'll get him out of your hair now." His expression soured again, looking past Charles at Mojo.
As they were walking out the door Mojo stopped, his dreadlocks swinging idly when he turned his head to look directly into Charles' eyes. "Be sure to read the entire file on me, Xavier. Then next time we can avoid all of this playing around and get to the-" his eyes flashed "-meat of the matter." He hissed when the guard jerked on his cuffs, pulling him down the hall with an apologetic look back at the doctor. Not bothering to look over his shoulder, Mojo could sense Xavier watching him. Widening his range, he could feel the low thrum of confusion and tension coming off the man before a solid mental wall went up. The blonde guard shot him a dark look when he chuckled. The counselor intrigued him. Maybe he'd play with him a little bit.
...
Blue eyes widened when an hour later his next patient shouldered through the doorway. This time Charles sat in the assigned session room. He was glad he'd heeded Alex; Juggernaut wouldn't have fit into his office. Standing and moving aside as Alex shackled the inmate to the chair, Charles noticed that Juggernaut was bound tighter than Mojo had been, and had several of the sedative patches on his neck. Even with all of that in his system Juggernaut's eyes were bright enough. He knew from the file that this mutant was monstrously powerful and his capture had been a wild stroke of luck on the authorities' part. Now he spent his days masturbating and eating several times more than any other inmate.
Smiling weakly at Alex, Charles was glad to see that the guard remained outside the door. Alex might have the only ability on the whole island that could effectively stop Juggernaut. Granted, if Alex ever had to act his efforts might prove fatal. Charles quickly realized that Alex was more of a warning to the inmates as opposed to an actuality.
"Would you prefer me to address you as Cain or Juggernaut today?" he asked, adopting a casual air. The big man looked at him in seeming irritation.
"Juggernaut, little man," he said in a rough voice. "You don't know me, so you don't call me Cain."
"Of course. Well-"
"How long is this gonna take, counselor?" He shifted in his seat.
Taken aback, Charles chose his next words carefully. "As long as you need, Juggernaut."
"I want to make it in time for first lunch."
"I understand," he said, relaxing. Juggernaut was less threatening when his true intentions were revealed. If he had food and alone time he'd be fine. "Is there anything you' like to talk about, Juggernaut? This is your time."
Shrugging, the mutant was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke up, "You ever been with a woman, counselor? I get some of those flesh magazines when I'm in solitary, but man, I miss the real thing."
He very pointedly did not look the man up and down, mind instantly going to extremely inappropriate places. Although Charles couldn't help but observe that the man was super-sized everywhere that was visible... He just hoped that Juggernaut's sexual experiences had all been consensual, for the woman's sake. "It's nice that you get those," Charles said.
"Yeah," he agreed, meeting the psychologist's gaze. "I guess it beats bein' on the outside. There's pussy outside, but there's also trouble."
"Trouble?"
Juggernaut snorted. "Puny guys tryin' to pick fights with me to impress some dame. Then I beat their ass, get the girl... then the cops gotta come down and I need to get scarce."
Charles smiled, crossing his legs. Despite the inmate's criminal record and the impending destruction if he ever got angry, Charles had to admit he liked Juggernaut's straightforward attitude. " Do you have any family, Juggernaut?"
"Nah," he said, eyes moving to the window. "Outlived 'em all. Kind of a sob story to tell the truth."
Leaning forward to rest his chin in the palm of his hand, Charles said lightly, "We've got time if you'd like to tell it." He guessed no one had ever taken the time to listen to this man, not in years.
Dark eyes looked at him without Juggernaut turning his head. "Why do you want to know?"
Laughing, Charles set down the files, keeping his body language casual. "I like to hear about a person's history. You certainly have no obligation to tell me anything, but know that by law I am under a strict silence policy. Whatever you tell me stays here with us unless it proves to be an immediate danger to my person, or anyone else."
Blinking for a moment, Juggernaut finally faced the psychologist. The bright light from outside threw half his face in shadow, shining across the other half and igniting the rich amber color of his right eye. "Why would I want to talk about sad stuff? I'd rather talk about girls."
"We can talk about girls," said Charles. "But I'm going to leave the door open for you to talk about other things as well. It does no one good to keep things inside. We are made to share things with others, Juggernaut, including our sorrow."
The light shifted in his eye as he cocked his head to the side. "I've been on my own for a really long time, um... what's your name?"
"Charles Xavier."
Hesitating, Juggernaut continued, "I'm not used to sharing anything but punches, really. I'd just sound all mixed up. Things get mixed up in my head sometimes, and that's why I stick to the simple stuff, you know? Eatin', fuckin', sleepin'. Well, I guess fuckin' not so much anymore. God, I miss pussy, Xavier."
Charles sensed that he should remain quiet and did so, only nodding in sympathy as Juggernaut went on.
"I mean, when you're with a woman-hell, even if you're payin' for it-she's so soft and it feels like she's caring for you. I feel so calm, no need for this shit they put in my system here that makes me so tired." He wasn't looking at the other man, eyes cast down to his lap instead. In the blaring light of the room he could see the smudges on his prison jumpsuit. "I heard that over on some mainland prison for humans they started dressin' the inmates in pink. Can you believe that?" Xavier smiled at him and Juggernaut chuckled. "Keeps them calm or something. I could see that. This color, this... what is this?"
"That's..." Charles trailed off, finally laughing. "I'm not actually sure. Grayish-"
"Greenish-"
"Orangeish?"
They both laughed quietly, Juggernaut visibly relaxing. "Whatever the hell it is, it sure isn't calming."
"What color would you prefer?"
"You really asking?"
Charles held up his hands. "Not that I can do anything about it. I'm just curious."
The muted cries of seagulls rung out as Juggernaut pondered the question. "Blue."
"That is a calming color."
"Yeah. Not ugly like this... whatever it is." Grinning lopsided, Juggernaut sat up. "Blue was my brother's favorite color. He used to go and find the Robin's eggshells that would fall from nests and collect all of 'em."
"You lived in the country?"
"Yeah. On a farm. Me, my mom, my dad, and my little brother." A distant look entered Juggernaut's eyes. "The Robins hatched later than other birds and he'd go out and get those shells. Mom would put them in a jar with cotton strings so that they wouldn't break."
With the utmost care, Charles mentally cast a net over the surface images of Juggernaut's mind. These memories were caught and Charles drew them forward, catching any lingering connections. Juggernaut's voice dropped, growing thick as his eyes glazed over.
"Even dad said they looked nice, and he was a tough old bastard." Taking a deep breath, Juggernaut strained against his binds. Not in panic or anger, more in distraction. "My dad taught me how to fight. I knew even then I was something different, so I'd hold back. But when I got older, he'd coach me in boxing, and I got good enough to enter the ring. That was how I helped the family. I fought for money. Mom didn't know. Just my little brother and my dad. My little brother didn't like it so much; he was gentler than me. More like my mom. He liked being in nature and collecting the egg shells."
Juggernaut stopped and Charles withdrew quickly, letting the happy memories melt back into obscurity. The mutant had gone very still, and a wondrous look of surprise took over his face as a glistening tear trailed down his cheek. He looked confused.
"Juggernaut," ventured Charles, "Are you all right?'
"I... don't know." Bushy brows furrowed and Charles knew he'd better intervene before the man's emotions-ones he probably hadn't felt for far too long-got out of hand.
"You must've been some fighter," he observed.
Glancing at the smaller man, Juggernaut nodded distractedly. "Yeah, the best. No one could stop me. Met my first girl at a fight. I'd beaten her boyfriend to a pulp-I'd seen him push her around before and that pissed me off. I think she knew I was fightin' for her." Pausing, Juggernaut frowned. The heavy feeling in his chest, he wanted to get rid of it.
Charles saw all of this. Sitting on the edge of his chair, he leaned closer. "Was she pretty?"
Some of the mottled darkness in his expression cleared. "Hell yes. She was a gorgeous blonde with these big brown eyes. Man, she was tops, really."
Taking his opportunity, Charles steered the conversation into a less serious topic. "Blonde? I've always been partial to auburn hair myself." Mentally he stumbled over that admission, mind-flashing images of grayish green eyes and auburn hair.
"Hair doesn't matter, counselor," Juggernaut said seriously. "I mean, it helps. But a girl's gotta be... I don't know, caring. It's in her face; you can see it. The girls in these magazines, some of them have those caring faces and I almost feel bad that they gotta be in these magazines." He laughed, "But then again, if they weren't I couldn't enjoy 'em!" The counselor laughed with him and Juggernaut shifted in his binds again, annoyed that he couldn't move more. It didn't matter too much, though. He was enjoying himself. "You know what I think about sometimes?"
"What?"
"How there's like..." he paused, thoughtful. "Well, do you have a sweetheart, doc?"
"Me? Oh, no," he said hurriedly, mind shying around why that answer sounded so fake.
"Nobody does at Juniper. Well, some of the fags do," Juggernaut said. "Lucky them. I just can't do it myself. I don't hold it against anybody now, you need something you get it where you can." Cracking his neck, he continued, "I used to be grossed out by those guys, but some of these guys-I mean, you can see it, you know? That same caring I was talking about with women. So I feel like I gotta give them credit for that, 'specially because they're not hurtin' anyone."
"That's very good of you, Juggernaut."
"Ha, you can call me Cain, doc. Go ahead."
"That means a lot to me, Cain," he said, meaning it.
Cain's eyes softened. "Yeah, it's nice to hear someone else say it."
"You deserve to hear someone say it," Charles said matter-of-factly. "It's your name, you shouldn't lose it."
"You're right. Juggernaut was my boxing name, then it followed me out when I started to get into trouble." Looking at Xavier, he smiled. "I feel like you're not judging me, counselor. I like that."
Mirroring the inmate's smile, Charles said, "That's because I'm not, Cain. And I won't, all right?"
"All right," he said happily, glancing up when there was a knock at the door. "Looks like time's up, Xavier,"
"Yes. Soon we'll establish a schedule, after these preliminary sessions. You'll be seeing me at least one a week."
"Sounds good," he said.
Charles waved as Alex and Juggernaut turned the corner at the end of the hallway. Sighing heavily, he scratched the back of his neck. Juggernaut's session countered the session with Mojo, so all in all Charles felt good. He'd type up session notes later and see about getting Juggernaut some Robins' eggshells. Might be a nice gesture. Thoughts still back in Juggernaut's memories, he didn't notice as Captain Moira rounded the corner and made a beeline for him, Hank in tow.
"Charles?" Hank looked concerned when Charles jumped. "Are you all right?"
"Bad session?" asked the Captain.
"No, no, quite good actually. I was just thinking," he said sheepishly. Seeming to realize their presence fully, he stood up straighter. "Did you need something?"
"Well-"
"I'd like-"
Both Hank and Moira looked at each other. They'd started talking at once, but Moira's sharp look silenced Hank. Looking back at Charles she said, "I'd like to establish a reporting system for the sessions. The last few psychologists typed up notes, but I imagine with your ability you glean a little more."
Charles frowned, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. Juggernaut's file was tucked safely under his arm. "It said nowhere in the position description that I would be reporting on my patients. I maintain the code of silence in regards to what my patients confide in me. If I sense that any information is of importance for maintaining the safety of the staff here-"
"Xavier," Moira said coldly, "These are not school children. These are criminals. Most with blood on their hands."
"That doesn't change a thing," Charles argued.
"I didn't hire a priest," she snapped.
"No, you hired a psychologist credited at the Academy. I took an oath upon receiving my certificate that I would uphold-"
The radio cinched to the Captain's belt crackled to life, "Prisoner 39875 has been secured." It was Alex's voice; Juggernaut had been returned to his cell. Charles looked at his watch. His next patient was due in twenty minutes. He'd need to review the file before Mister Sinister was brought upstairs.
"If we could continue this later, I need to prepare for my next patient," he said firmly. He kept his voice respectful. After all, he understood where Moira was coming from as the head of this prison and therefore the primary authority over security. "Captain?"
Though she was scowling, Captain Moira nodded sharply, turning on her heel to march back down the hall. She unclipped her radio and began barking orders into it. Charles silently apologized to the men on the receiving end of her barrage-he was sure he was the source of her agitated tone. As soon as she'd gone Charles remembered Hank and looked at his office mate quizzically.
"So, how did the sedatives work?" he asked eagerly as they waked back to the office. "Mojo's were brand new."
"I'm afraid he could still use his ability, Hank," he said, remembering the feeling of Mojo cutting at his connecting mental threads.
"Damn, I don't know how he does that." Suddenly Hank jerked his head up and said, "Charles, can I ask you a favor?"
Stomach sinking, he answered warily, "You can ask it."
"Will you let me test out-"
"Hank."
"Charles, I can't trust the inmates to be truthful about these effects. I mean, certain abilities we can test and see if it works, but with mental powers I..." he deflated.
Sympathizing, Charles took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'll help you out but I need a guarantee, Hank, that you-um-they won't cause any lasting damages."
"They haven't so far!" he quipped brightly.
"I suppose then I can take a few hours a week, but just in case I must ask that we schedule when I will have at least 24hrs until my next session."
"I can arrange that," Hank promised fervently. Incorrectly interpreting Charles' look of dismay as one of excitement Hank went scurrying back to the lab, a definite spring in his step.
"My god, what have I done," Charles groaned. Then he grumbled, "I know exactly what I've done. I signed myself up to be a lab rat. Lovely." In the few minutes he still had before Mister Sinister was brought up, Charles hastily scanned the mutant's files. His eyes widened. Wonderful, particularly in light of his and Hank's conversation: a telepath with schizophrenic tendencies. Feeling downright sorry for himself, Charles checked his watch and decided to run down to the cafeteria to grab a snack. On his way he nearly ran headfirst into Sean. The redhead was barreling down the hallway, looking pale.
Catching the man, Charles was startled when Sean grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along. Sean didn't bother to slow down as he started to speak: "Got a situation, Charles. Someone ticked off Sinister and now he's getting inside everyone's heads. He usually is pretty subdued, but whatever happened set him off. I'm going to try and mix him up with some banshee magic, but you'll need to be there." Grabbing his radio, he yelled into it, "Found him, we're on our way!" The other end of the line was a mass of crackling and muddled voices. Charles picked up the pace and soon he and Sean were hurtling down the stairs. In a few minutes they'd be in the insane ward.
When Charles saw Darwin and Alex outside the wing, he knew that he'd need to be on guard.
"Looks like he can't get to you if he can't see you," Darwin panted, and Charles could see the blood glittering freshly in the lowlight from a cut along his eye. "We can't risk him using us so we've been out here. Everyone's locking down the rest of the cellblocks to isolate the trouble."
"Got it," Charles said abruptly, coming up close behind Sean as the redhead peeked through the window. The mutant was standing in the middle of the room with arms outspread. The other inmates were writhing on the ground or using furniture as battering rams to hit at the doors and enforced windows.
"How're we gonna do this, Charles?" Sean asked, eyes darting all over the room.
"Create as much chaos as you possibly can," he said, "And then I'll take the first opportunity to get into his mind and..." He didn't know what he'd do, but that was the only plan they had for now.
"Roger that," Sean confirmed, "I'm gonna need to get in there and fire off a couple before he can lock onto me. If he gets me, just knock me out." His face was stony. "He could use me to bust the windows."
"Got it," said Darwin. "On three."
"One," said Alex, "Two... THREE."
Sean shoved through the door and opened his mouth. It was as if the world got swept up into a strange smothering bubble. But after a split second Sinister roared in rage, clutching his ears. That was when Charles acted. There was no shape to his attack, but it could be described as a venomous harpoon that speared into Sinister's mind, twisting like a hook to tear and rip at his consciousness. It didn't give the mutant time to react or put up defenses as Sean continued to rend his hearing. At the first sign of blood running from the inmate's nostrils, Charles pulled back. Sean quieted and the entire room went silent. The other prisoners seemed to come back to themselves, all staring dumbfounded at Sinister as he lay crumpled on the floor, eyes completely blank. Drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth and the blood from his nose caught in his mustache.
He'd ducked down, thinking just in time that it wouldn't be good for morale if the prison counselor was seen by potential patients as the man who had just made mincemeat of a dangerous telepath's attack. Slinking away, Charles nodded an affirmative at Darwin, who seemed to understand. In moments the block would be swarming with personnel, and Charles didn't want this spreading. He knew he'd have to report to the Captain later, and he just hoped that the damage to Sinister could be undone.
...
"Man, what did you do?" Alex asked. The four of them-Alex, Darwin, Sean and Charles-sat waiting outside the Captain's office. Charles shifted uncomfortably, shooting the blonde a look as Logan walked in with a tray of coffee.
"I heard Sinister's out for the count," he said, looking at them curiously. "Hank just spent some time on him, but man. I saw him; it's like he got a freakin' lobotomy or something."
Charles went pale. "Th-there's no response?"
"Well, Hank's got him doped up like crazy so it's not like he'd respond anyway." He ignored Charles collapsing back in his chair, looking ill. "Aftermath aside, do you even know what got him started? He's been such a model citizen lately."
Darwin shrugged. "No clue, man. I was escorting Mojo back to solitary-"
"Mojo?" interrupted Charles.
"Yeah, he gets to be in gen pop every now and then, keeps him a little less insane to be out and teasing the other inmates. They know to ignore him, so it's usually fine." Titling his head back to rest against the wall, Darwin added, "Wasn't very active today though. He just sat there like he was in meditation. He came quietly when it was time to go back to his cell, then next thing I know Sinister's going ape-shit. Though, now that I think of it, Mojo was laughing the whole walk back." Frowning, he picked up his radio and stared at it. "Then he said that I should check my radio. Not a second later Alex came over the line."
"What, you think he was involved?" asked Logan, pulling up a chair and perching backwards in it, arms resting along the back. "But Hank had him under-"
"Not quite," Charles cut in. "His powers aren't as subdued as he would have you all believe. Hank had suspicions that Mojo was somehow covering up the ineffectiveness of the drug. And in the session I felt his powers-they're functioning."
"Holy hell," Logan breathed. "So what does that mean? He influenced Sinister?"
Moira's door opened abruptly to reveal her scowling face. "Can we please discuss all of these theories inside." It wasn't a question. All of them, Logan included, scampered obediently into her office. There they found a rather stunned Hank.
"So it didn't work at all on Mojo? I know you said you felt his powers, Charles, but if I overheard correctly, you think he was at enough power to influence Sinister?" Put out, he moped silently in his seat while the others either sat or leaned against the wall.
Moira grumbled something about the thinness of her door as she reseated herself at her desk. The shades were drawn, leaving them all striped with light like a group of zebras. She looked directly at Charles and said, "I hope you understand better now why I would like detailed reports on your sessions, Charles."
"Before my lecture," he said, trying to keep his tone civil, "I think we should find out what happened down in the cellblock.
"Mojo couldn't influence Sinister unless Sinister's mind was somehow compromised," Hank said thoughtfully.
"Mojo knew something was going to happen. And I know that guy; he was being way too quiet during his time in gen pop," Darwin pointed out. "Now that I'm looking back, he easily could've been focusing on something."
The Captain rested her chin in her hand, tapping her lips. "I'm waiting on the security tape now. We'll play back the footage in the foyer and see what we can find."
When the tape arrived Moira put it in the player and sat back. She fast-forwarded through footage until Sinister came into view. They all leaned in to watch. There was no sound on the tape, but it was easy to see that as soon as Sinister walked into the main room inmates approached him. Several big men surrounded him. Charles squinted; none of them were talking, at least from what he could see. But Sinister spoke; he saw his lips moving. When one of the men grabbed the mutant Sinister shoved him, but the others closed in. Charles suddenly felt that sick oil and water feeling in his stomach as sweat beaded over his brow. The men who had grabbed Sinister were hauling him off, holding him down. One of the men ripped at Sinister's jumpsuit, tearing it down his shoulders. Another grabbed him between the legs and that was when the mutant finally acted in his defense. Sickened, Charles had to shut his eyes as memories were instantly triggered. Suddenly the room was too hot and he needed air. He yanked at the collar of his shirt, undoing several buttons.
"Jesus, they look like they were gonna take him and..." Alex stopped, swallowing. "Jesus. I mean, I know it goes on," he reasoned, glancing up at Darwin, "But right out in the open like that?"
Darwin paused the tape as Sinister threw his hands out, mouth wide open in an obvious bellow. "That's when Alex signaled me over the radio. And not a second before Mojo told me to check it. But it doesn't make sense. Those inmates who went after Sinister know better. Hell, everyone in that block knows better than to mess with him."
"Then why would they do it?" Sean asked. He glanced at Charles, who was panting and sweating in his chair, brow knitted. "Charles?"
They all looked at him and Logan came forward, but Charles flinched away from him. "I need to... I need air." Understanding was in Logan's eyes and he hauled the counselor up, taking him out of the room.
"We'll be back in a minute," he said dismissively. Outside Logan fanned Charles with some papers, obviously worried. 'Hey, c'mon, doc. Calm down." He knew better than to touch Charles as the counselor struggled to center himself. Mouth twisting, he had a suspicion that the tape had triggered something in the other man. "It's okay."
Getting his breathing back under control, Charles found Logan's face and focused on it, using the familiarity as an anchor to come back fully to himself. Back against the wall, he took one deep breath before uttering a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm sorry, I-"
"No need to explain, Xavier," he said kindly. "Do you think you can go back in?"
"Yes," he said weakly, swallowing. "Yes."
"Charles?" Moira looked both worried and annoyed as he walked back in with Logan at his back. "What the hell was that?"
"Nothing," he lied. "Just a dizzy spell."
She seemed to accept the explanation. "If Sinister's current state is anything to go off of, you just used a lot of energy all at once. Maybe you need to go rest up."
"Ah, yes," Charles agreed, face flushing. "Hank, can you tell me anything about Sinister? Is he all right?"
"He's stabilized," he answered. "I honestly think he's just in shock right now. I'm not worried, so you shouldn't worry."
"What exactly did you do, Charles?" Moira asked.
"To put it simply, I shoved a mental battering ram through his attack," he said, voice delicate. "My target was the current of telepathic force, but his brain may have been effected."
"Hmm," she said, not seeming too concerned. "Well, if Sinister ends up being a vegetable I'm not sure I'd mourn it."
Charles chose to stay quiet, stomach twisting at the implication.
"Now to get back to the issue at hand-why the hell would inmates who were up until this point scared of Sinister assault him?"
"Especially that way," Sean muttered.
"I-I think Mojo may have played a direct role," Charles said, keeping his breathing under control. He wanted to get off the subject of the would-be result of Sinister's attack and instead devote efforts to solve the mystery of its source. "If my theory is correct, Mojo used the power of suggestion-and imagery-to convince those men to attack Sinister."
"Is there evidence to support that?" Moira looked dubious. Even if mutants on a daily basis surrounded her, Charles figured certain things would still seem far-fetched.
Standing, Charles looked at Darwin, "Has Mojo ever started a fight?"
"On the surface, no," Darwin answered slowly, "The other guys always throw the first punch. But when we question them later they insist he started it."
"Not that they'll give any other info on exactly how he started it," Alex added ruefully.
"The last time Mojo was involved in a fight-who was it with?"
"What, you want to question him?" Darwin asked.
"Yes. If I can ask them how Mojo antagonized them I can perhaps figure out how he was able to drive those inmates." He looked between the other faces in the room. "So who was it? Who was the one to last one involved in a fight with Mojo?"
Darwin crossed his arms and traded a look with Alex.
"Erik Lensherr."
...
A/N: I definitely took some liberties with Mojo's character. In the TV series canon he's very screechy and whiny. I had intended to make him this way, sort of a sidekick to Mister Sinister, but Charles' session with him took on a life of its own and what resulted was a darker, more cunning insane version. He's based more on this canon version of his character: en wikipedia org/ wiki/ File: Ultimate_ Mojo jpg
Juggernaut's character is based on the Last Stand version. So, unlike in the comic, he is in no way related to Charles.
-Villain