Chapter 11: Fleeting
Juggernaut led the small party of jail staff down the halls, feeling uneasy when at each door they found the frame warped, the door itself looking like the surface had been boiled. And the doorknobs were nothing but mangled globs of melted metal. Nothing was hot to the touch thankfully. All was eerily still as they continued their journey, every leg punctuated by the muffled boom of Juggernaut's head or fist removing anything barring their way.
Captain Moira was just behind Juggernaut with Logan and Darwin. Hank was on call with the inmates, but close by via walky-talky. Sean and Alex had been escorting inmates with minor or no injuries back to their cells as the jail slowly moved into lockdown. They just couldn't spare the staff for this little expedition, though Moira had a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach that they might need them at a moment's notice.
The state of the halls only deteriorated as the small party continued deeper into Juniper. Moira pulled out her gun and Logan extended his claws. Darwin raised his baton as they came to what was once a door, now nothing but a distorted misrepresentation of a door. Juggernaut looked over his shoulder at the small woman and drew back to punch through at the curt nod. He unleashed a devastating blow to the metal, leaving a sizeable dent. But the door itself held. Thinking about the counselor and the urgency of finding him, Juggernaut growled low in his throat and threw his entire body into the next punch, thick skin over his knuckles splitting. Blood now smeared the steel, but the frame had caved enough for another push. Bending at the waist, Juggernaut took a long step back before he launched forward like a battering ram and tore out the entire doorframe, ripping an entirely new entrance.
Stumbling slightly after the momentum had built, Juggernaut came to a stop, blinking back the stars dancing around his head. The others filed in quickly and Moira burst, "Sinister!"
The inmate sent them a bored expression, his eyes sunken and hollow. "Well, well," he sighed noncommittally. His usually waxen appearance was marred by the suspicious flush of pink smeared over his face and clothes. Slumped against the wall, Sinister looked like he'd been sweating blood. But then so did the walls where great patches of metal had been torn free, pipes and beams jutting out like splintered bones.
And in the middle of the hall, thrumming deep like the distant rumble of thunder was a perfect metal sphere. Smooth as glass and reflecting back at them all their horrified faces.
Following his nose, Logan saved inspection of the sphere for later. He squinted at the plaster. His stomach curled. "Amore," he muttered, the nickname quiet and deadly serious, "This is blood." He could smell it, pungent, thick. His sharp eyes slid past the weary looking inmate that Darwin had begun to check over. Logan had to wretch as the limp skin-sack of slow draining offal that once was alive sat rotting quietly in the corner. "Christ."
Juggernaut turned away, looking green.
Darwin staunchly ignored the palpable push of stench to his right. He helped Sinister gingerly to his feet, cuffing him leniently. The inmate looked so relieved that they were there. "Sinister," Darwin said, "Where's Charles?"
"Hmm," he started, the ghost of a smile lifting the side of his mouth, "I believe he's in the land beyond, beyond."
Darwin motioned to the sphere, "You mean in there?"
"Yes. In there. Certainly not out here to enjoy the lovely reek of..." he trailed off. "Would it be too much to beg to be returned to my cell? I don't suppose I can stomach being in this room for another moment."
"Mister Sinister," Moira snapped, gun now aimed at the sphere. "What the hell is this thing—and what was that?"
Eyes darting over his shoulder for the barest of seconds, Sinister delivered a sickly smile. "That's Mojo. A marked improvement, if I'm to be honest. And that colossus marble," he murmured, grunting slightly as Darwin helped him to his feet, "Is a rather unique declaration of love."
Obviously unhappy with that answer, the Captain turned skeptical eyes back to the sphere. "Darwin, radio Hank. Tell him it's a code 40." Her voice was steady as she said, "Logan, Juggernaut. Open it up." Then she raised her gun and took aim.
It ended up cracking like an egg underneath Juggernaut's skull once he'd come stampeding down the hall. Logan launched forward, claws out. Not a second later he was flung out of the sphere by some unknown force and Charles' unmistakable voice sounded, "No, Erik!"
All that Moira needed to see was Charles on the ground and Erik standing over him, rage in his eyes. Training her gun to damage but not kill, the Captain fired three shots, immediately slamming to the ground and Lensherr deflected them with his bare hands. They ricocheted off the walls, bounding ineffectively off Darwin's chest. Rolling up onto her side, Moira tried again, varying the aim of her shots to throw off his concentration as Darwin started walking slowly towards the inmate, hand up. Charles was still yelling, scrambling back from the shooting and looking terrified not for himself but for Lensherr.
She ran out of bullets by the time Hank arrived. His shoes were off, a rare exposure of his physical mutation. Darwin was currently being pummeled by metal and Charles had thrown himself onto the metal-bender, pleading with him to stop. Springing through the opening in the sphere, clinging to the walls with his huge beastly feet, Hank sunk a syringe directly into the side of Erik's neck. Panic drained from his face as a razor-sharp piece of metal screeched to a halt mere centimeters from lens of his glasses as Lensherr collapsed into Charles' arms.
…
Charles was exhausted, but he refused to move from Erik's side. Hank and the medical staff moved around him silently, every now and then subjecting him to a blood pressure test or eye exam. No concussion, blood pressure only slightly high, pulse stable. Chronic trembling in his hands, even as he griped Erik's forearm with his one good hand, practically the only part of the mutant left bare.
Erik was strapped to the cot with belts made from carbon fiber, something Charles was only vaguely familiar with. It's strong, that's all he knows. Impossibly strong. Much stronger than the fiberglass enclosing his hands and covering his eyes, much stronger than any metal Erik would hope to use to free himself. That is if he ever regained consciousness. The way he lay there, mental signal all but dead to Charles' careful prodding, didn't point to such a hopeful end and Charles had to close his eyes to fight the wave of nausea. At first he'd tried to reason with the Captain, with the others, babbling like a maniac as Hank reset his arm and bound it tightly before setting a cast. Erik protected him, Erik saved him. Under all the skeptical glares directed at him, Darwin's cut the deepest. Regardless of the moral implications, or the oily guilt that slid underneath the worry, Charles couldn't leave Erik. Not like this. Not bound and gagged like some monster.
What felt like hours later Logan slouched into the medical room, eyes doing a cursory sweep of the other highly drugged inmates occupying various cots. When they finally came to rest on Charles he was met with a pair of heart-stopping baby blues, red-rimmed and tired. Sliding down to feel the counselor's forehead, he murmured, "Back to reality tomorrow, doc. You have patients waiting." At those words the other man looked like he was about to protest before the weary defiant light in his eyes dimmed with resignation.
"Just a few more minutes," he asked, entirely too pale.
Smiling tightly, Logan nodded once and left the room to wait outside.
Leaning down, Charles brushed his lips along Erik's arm. Erik, he called, brows knit as he waded through the fuzzy, flashing, obscure images wracking the mutant's mind. Erik.
….arles
He sat bolt upright, fingers tightening on the inmate's arm. "Erik," he hissed, staring at the blank slate of fiberglass across the ghost-green eyes.
Charles.
It was painfully faint, and blurry like traffic lights through a wet windshield. Charles let the tendrils unfurl from his mind and float through Erik's, less like search beams and more like spider webs. Words were caught, clearer and clearer.
…all right? You're all right? Charles, answer…
"I'm fine," he whispered. "Are you… are you in pain, my friend?"
If you're all right, Charles, Erik's voice was like a river running between them, Then nothing can hurt me.
Laughing even as tears collected in his eyes, Charles rested his head on the inmate's chest, hating the hard straps tying him down, the cruel carbon fiber gag cutting out his voice. "That's called diverting, Erik." He flinched as Logan tapped his knuckles on the frame of the door, mouth set in a hard line. His brown eyes were soft though, with some unnamed understanding. Turning back to Erik, Charles touched the strip of visible skin on his face. "Promise me you'll just rest now."
I won't give them a reason to put me down, songbird.
He could hear the wry smile behind those words. Smiling sadly, Charles took a shaky breath. "I must leave now."
I know. A pause. Come find me later, songbird. Maybe I'll finally hear you sing?
When did you become such a saccharine romantic? Charles demanded, sighing when Logan cleared his throat loudly. Staring hard at the fiberglass mask, he promised, I'll find you.
…
After managing only a few hours of fitful sleep drenched in stifling nightmares, Charles was summoned to a staff meeting in Moira's office.
On his way up Charles had seen Hank, his lab coat billowing in the wind, helping the groundskeepers haul what was left of Mojo's body to a sleek government aircraft. A clinging chill whispered down his spine when he realized Mojo's corpse was off to some military lab on the mainland. And if he'd been found too late—if Erik hadn't come to his rescue—would it be him in that body bag? Part of him wondered if a dead mutant was just that; a dead mutant stripped of all discerning identity to end up on the same slab as all the others.
He shook himself free from those thoughts when the powerful punch of coffee wafted into his face. Staring down at the steaming cup, he blinked up at Alex as the guard slid into the seat next to him. A bandage was wrapped around his head and he had the same dark circles beneath his eyes as everyone else in the room. On his other side Sean was making unsuccessful attempts to sip the scalding liquid, seemingly desperate for the caffeine to wake him up. The shadows around his eyes seemed that much darker set against the freckles dusting his face.
Captain Moira was seated at the head of the conference table, pale but alert. She did a perfunctory sweep of everyone in the room before initiating the meeting, her voice wringing out crisply, "A cause."
"Mister Sinister identified Mojo as the cause," murmured Logan. "He said he could track him like the eye of a storm; everything radiating from him."
"I wouldn't think he'd be capable considering the limitations of his mutation," Charles spoke quickly, brows knit. "What else did Sinister say?"
Resting his elbows on the table with steepled fingers, Logan grunted, "He said that he and Lensherr followed Mojo's energy, and that he was bleeding rage out strong enough to infect other people. But that's all I got."
An unpleasant pall of déjà vu hung over all assembled as it became clear that once again they were meeting on behalf of chaos stirred by Mojo. The unspoken conclusion was that of course he'd no longer be a problem.
The Captain massaged her temples. "Fine, let's explore that possibility. What's the motive? And how did he manage the wherewithal to achieve it?"
There was a distinct shift while several gazes darted none too subtly at Charles. It was Darwin who spoke the collective thought aloud.
"Mojo had it in for Charles," he said, shrugging. He reached across Logan to squeeze the psychologist's arm. "It was an obsession. I could see how through that he could..." he paused, searching for the right word, "Focus enough to push his power further."
Charles' stomach twisted. Sharpening the knife.
Moira looked thoughtful. "Let's assume Mojo, through some secret technique, enhanced his powers; why would it only effect inmates?"
"I had a theory," Charles said, sitting up straighter in his chair. "About Mojo's powers." He knew that he had yet to cope with his own emotional state and the reality of what Mojo had almost done to him. The sedatives, and Charles' own inherent nature to censor his memory, kept him safe from facing the truth. But to speak of Mojo still tasted bitter and goaded bile to rise at the back of his throat. "We are all aware that Mojo was mentally unstable, and it's my belief that his particularly volatile brand of illness was caused by his incapacity to handle his mutation." Taking a sip of the cooling coffee he closed his eyes to collect his thoughts. "It was too large for his mind. He never learned control or had the mental discipline to properly cope with his telepathic ability. In reflection, what we saw of Mojo's mutation before the riot was something of a childish manipulation of adult tools." Checking to see if everyone was following, Charles forged on, thoughts flashing a mile a minute as Mojo's condition became clearer as he went. "Mojo's power unhinged his mind at a very young age, and he'd never matured into the amount of focus it truly required. What was left was something of a livewire scrambling the typical human behavior affiliated with empathy or remorse. To simplify, Mojo's power was corroding his mind, eating away at the sensible processes like a termite does to a piece of wood."
"That doesn't explain how he managed such an exact attack," Moira pointed out, her pallor diminishing as Charles delved further into the reality of Mojo's mental decay. "If what you're saying is right, then wouldn't his power consume him and wreck any functionality left?"
"You're right that it did consume him," Charles affirmed. "But Mojo's mutation, instead of destroying him as one would assume, elevated his internal system to create a solid purpose, and a very determined one at that." Picking up the pencil sitting next to the blank notepad in front of him, Charles held it up. "Look at his pencil as my mutation." The point was perfectly sharp and neat, freshly filed. "Logan, could you pass me your penknife?" Accepting the tiny edge, Charles whittled at the wood until the point, just as sharp, was a long jagged blade of lead with the wooden holder scraped off. "This is Mojo. His mutation, whittled away by the obsessive rage he was feeling, expanded and was honed into a directive weapon. The potential had been there the entire time, but Mojo had always been lacking the control to harness it and use it to its full strength. By the time his rage and desperation had reached the breaking point his ability had become a needle-thin force with the power of selection." He was speaking almost too fast for the others to keep up, his pupils bloated by the avalanche of discovery. "He found rage that answered his own. He went among the minds and found the ones with rage. And in a prison, who do you think is sitting on so much anger?"
"The inmates," Sean provided, blinking through his coppery bangs. At Charles' nod he added, "But everyone seemed so happy lately. I mean, with the Sanctuary-"
"I believe," he murmured sorrowfully, "that he Sanctuary may have played a part." Sitting back, Charles chewed on the pencil eraser. "Just as I had hoped, the library gave the inmates an outlet. It gave them a place to let their guard down and enjoy themselves in the books." His eyes fell unfocused. "They were opening themselves up, and that's how Mojo slipped in to call upon the dormant demons, so to speak." Chuckling hollowly, Charles rubbed his eyes. "The blessing that was a curse. Even the slightest rise in morale, and lately it's been more than slight, defenses drop and stress levels out. The inmates were vulnerable to it."
The silence that followed was deafening. Charles seemed to come back into himself, running his fingers through his hair. Weariness that had receded with the torrent of words returned with a devastating swiftness and Charles slumped in his chair. Across the table Moira was watching him and a bitter smiled crept over his lips. There was no need to read her mind to see the fear and disbelief at the capabilities of mutants. Her eyes said everything. Charles' cynicism was much closer to call than usual, and he found himself wondering again if he'd be lying in a bag on that mysterious government plane, on Moira's orders nonetheless.
"So what now?" Alex mumbled into his coffee. "Everyone's acting like they've been in a daze."
"Which, effectively, they have," Charles agreed.
The door cracked open and Hank slunk in, grabbing a seat and looking distinctly windblown.
"Sinister's the only other telepath, right?" asked Logan, looking around the table. "And it isn't even his primary thing."
"Sedation," Darwin suggested. "He's got a clean behavior record, so I wouldn't do anything rash."
"The sedatives are ready," Hank piped up, expression wracked with obvious guilt when he saw Charles. "They can be applied to the inmates at any time." Glancing back at the psychologist, he looked relieved when Charles sent a brief flare of forgivenessfriendship towards him.
"We'll need to prioritize by ability," the Captain stated. "We'll need to revise inmate profiles. Charles-" his face cleared in acknowledgement "-I'm going to put you on point for this one. I trust you can design a list of questions that will allow you to ferret out the necessary information." She didn't miss the shadow that crossed his expression.
It would be simple. All he'd have to do is ask about their ability and any surface thoughts would indicate whether they were telling the truth. But the body bag haunted him. At what point would the government be unwilling to wait for a mutant's death? Particularly mutant inmates whose value to society was already painfully low. If Charles reported a mutation that was deemed too dangerous to remain alive; what then? Instantly he thought of Erik, bound and gagged like some kind of destructive beast. Anger swelled inside of him and he was forced to take a long breath. Logan was watching him closely, his suspicion open.
"You okay, doc?" he murmured.
"Tired," Charles lied. "I don't believe I slept very well."
"I'd like to get this started in the next few days," Moira said to the whole room, though her eyes were fixed on Charles.
"What's gonna happen to Lensherr?" grunted Logan, speaking around a cigar he'd fished from his pocket. "We can't starve him; too much paperwork." He held up his hands defensively as Charles shot him a dark look. "Joking, doc!"
For a moment heavy exhaustion shone on her face and Moira had to take a deep breath before she spoke. "He'll be put down in solitary. Mojo's solitary."
"Not the well," Charles exclaimed with obvious bafflement, standing abruptly. Darwin stood with him, gripping his arm. "There is nothing to warrant that level of treatment!" The slow pulse of anger beat into something stronger and Charles' knuckles turned white under the force with which he clenched his fists. "As his counselor I can't permit such an undeserving course of action."
Though her voice was unflappable, Moira's eyes flashed dangerously. "You do realize that his ability could bring the entire place down on us? I'd feel that all staff, as well as the inmates, would be safer if Lensherr were placed in an environment that dissuades usage of his ability." The crispness of the words settled, and all eyes turned back to Charles.
"Erik has not indicated in any way that he is a danger to us or anyone else," he bit out through his teeth. "What happened back in the hall was a defense mechanism. You were shooting at him."
"He had you trapped in a metal sphere, Mr. Xavier," she replied coolly.
"He was protecting me. He rescued me from Mojo."
A note of smugness entered her tone. "Mojo; whom he turned into mincemeat. There weren't even whole pieces left, Mr. Xavier."
"You don't know the situation-"
"Because you have not yet reported on the situation. And I hope, Mr. Xavier," she said in a clipped tone, "That your story aligns with the statement Sinister gave. I won't remind you that these men are dangerous criminals, sent here for a reason. I understand you might establish some sort of attachment to them within your sessions, but do not forget that they are not friends. They are your patients. Furthermore, they are wards of Juniper." Narrowing her eyes, Moira steepled her fingers thoughtfully and added, "The Sanctuary will be put on hold until further notice, and you are no longer the lead for that project." Resting her chin gently against the curve of her palm, Moira watched the color drain from Charles' face. It was not something she wanted to do, but the way Charles so adamantly defended Lensherr, and referred to him by his first name; there was no denying the flame of suspicion ignited in her gut. "Lensherr will be moved to solitary tonight."
Jerking out of Darwin's grip, Charles stated firmly, "I will not allow it. It would be detrimental to Er-Mister Lensherr's mental state."
"Charles," Darwin murmured, drawing close. "Stop."
"He's already strung up in that terrible way, and to add insult to injury you'd stick him down in a dank dungeon like some medieval terror. I cannot allow this inhumane method."
Knocking back her chair as she surged to her feet, Moira yelled, "It is not inhumane to properly prevent a mutant from bringing the walls down around us if he so wished!"
It snapped, whatever it was holding his anger back. "Then do away with him, Captain," he hissed, "Hand him over in a body bag to your government vultures waiting to pick and prod at him as if he were some grade school science subject. In the end, isn't that all we are here? We're the holding cells for government experiments, biding our time until the next corpse is ready. For all we know, the staff go the same way, too? One mutant's as evil and warped as the next?"
She slammed her fist down on the table with a crack. At this point everyone else at the table was standing except for Sean, who was attempting unsuccessfully to hide behind his coffee mug. But she didn't care; she was livid. "This is a gross violation of the code of conduct, Xavier," she snarled. "Your insolence and blatant disregard for the policies in place here have seriously compromised your quality as a staff member. You best collect your things; I'm sending you out tomorrow. And not," she added waspishly, "in a body bag, if you're lucky."
...
He'd been exiled to the dorms while Logan apparently tried to talk sense to the Captain. Alex had brought him back, leaving for a few minutes to retrieve Delilah from his room to keep the psychologist company. Once Charles left the meeting and realized just what he'd said and how completely disrespectful he'd been, he was horrified with himself. He barely scraped together a grateful smile when Alex deposited the African Violet on his bedside table, along with a few vinyl records of music that she evidently enjoyed. Putting one in Logan's record player, he sat with his face in his hands as the soft, melodious croon of Nina Simone curled lavishly through the air.
The lyrics were only a faint background noise at first. Charles was far too lost in his own wretchedness. How in the world could he let himself go like that? If anything, Erik would be in an even worse situation. And the thought of leaving... Juniper was home. Juggernaut, Sinister, Sean, Alex, Darwin, Logan... even Moira. How could he be so stupid as to doubt her in the wake of a prison-wide riot? The human staff members had been all but helpless in such a closed-in setting. And the body bag... what choice was there? He'd heard of the bodies of convicts being sold into labs for study. To further science, further medical research. Had it ever affected him this way, like it did when it was a mutant in the bag? Guilt ate at his stomach. He must apologize. To leave, to leave Juniper, to leave his friends – his family - was a physically painful thought.
And then there was Erik. He danced around the uncorrupt affection and warmth that had poured out of the man when he held him. He tried not to think about the net of impenetrable safety when he'd been pressed to Erik's chest. It had just been so painful to hear anyone refer to him as dangerous and wicked when Charles had seen his soul.
But what then? What was it Charles wanted? Erik was a criminal. There was no denying the blood on his hands.
The record scratched as the song shifted, Nina's voice rolling into a darkly aching keen.
The thought came unbidden: and what about when Erik died?
He'd be closed up in a body bag. Just like the rest.
Charles pressed his clasped hands tightly to his lips, staring at the floor hunched over as the troubling image returned, despite his attempt to reason it away.
Nina's voice poured over him, haunting and sorrowful.
...trees bear a strange fruit...
He closed his eyes.
...on the leaves... And blood at the roots...
And would he live his life down in that dank cell, just waiting to be put on the slab after death?
...bodies swinging...
Charles shut his eyes, biting down into the thin flesh of his knuckles as he fought to banish the thought.
...strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees...
...
Hank came up to his room later to do another check on his arm. Charles guessed this one wasn't required by the almost hurried way Hank carried out the procedure. As Hank poked at his temple for the third time, face looking a bit constipated, Charles finally let him off the hook, "Hank, do you think I did permanent damage at the debrief? I feel like a right idiot."
Exhaling with relief, Hank shook his head. "We all talked her down and she's agreed that you're an invaluable member of the Juniper staff," he recited happily. "It's really Sean you should thank though."
"Sean?"
"Well," he stuttered, "the Captain was furious after you left. Even Logan was keeping his distance. But then Sean said 'Juggernaut'."
Brows furrowed, Charles shrugged. "What about him?"
"You wouldn't know... he's had somewhat of a personal revolution since that first session with you. He used to walk around growling at the other inmates, keeping mainly to himself."
Thinking of the giant of a man now, Charles had a difficult time recalling Juggernaut's defensive attitude the first time they'd met. "And how did mentioning Juggernaut soothe the, well, not so savage beast?"
Hank blinked at him. "Since his session with you, Charles, he's been more personable. He's practically an honorary staff-member. I mean, he helped quell the riot." Pausing to let that sink in, he added, "Speaking of that; why didn't he join the riot? Why didn't Mojo's influence work?"
Smiling, Charles said, "Juggernaut's at peace with himself. He's been incredibly receptive to reflection and self-encouragement. It's been a remarkable progression from what I've seen, even more so from what you say."
"Well, you can thank him for being your golden boy because the Captain had to relent."
"Relent, which in this context means..."
"No packing your bags, for one," he chirped, hooking his stethoscope back around his neck. "And also an opportunity to offer an alternative for Erik Lensherr."
Perking up, he squinted at his friend. "So no beastly solitary confinement?"
"Not the well, anyway. If we can come up with something feasible as an alternative." Glancing down at his hands and twiddling his thumbs, Hank asked, "Could you stop him if he tried something, Charles?"
"Yes," he answered without hesitation. Mostly because it was the truth, but also because it was the answer Hank needed to hear to justify whatever came next. "I can immobilize him and effectively stifle his ability."
"Then we have some tests to run."
Making a face, he ventured, "No needles though?"
"None for you," Hank answered brightly, making another of his abrupt exits. If a serum could be developed to target telepathy then Hank was certain he could develop a sedative to temporarily weaken or staunch the mental access to abilities. It was risky, as a mutant's ability was inherent to their physicality as well, like a reflex. But it would be worth it. He had a feeling if Erik Lensherr went down below Charles would somehow go down with him, in flames.
…
Erik?
The empty rattling of his breath stilled. Beneath the mask his eyes fluttered open, lashes crushed against the fiberglass.
Charles.
Are you all right?
He shifted on the cot, aware of several guards in the room and posted in the hall. There were still a few inmates recovering from injuries in the medical wing. If you'll accept a very loose definition of 'all right'. A brush of frustration, pity, and even anguish crossed his countenance second-hand, like the flicker of a memory. You're so close. Is it like before, can you feel me?
Even what seemed like miles away in the dorms Charles felt the flush of desire. Erik's razor sharp mind a room filled with intoxicating smoke. He shied from the force of the mutant's emotions and sent back a wave of calm. Erik, I need you to listen-
Can you come? He shifted subtly on the cot, biting down viciously on the claustrophobic fear roiling around in his chest. They were idiots to think he couldn't still feel the metal around him, bend it to his will. But there was no way he was going to jeopardize the chance to see Charles again, make sure that he was truly alright. I'm trapped inside my own head. I can't see, this plastic smells toxic.
I... can't. Heart clenching with guilt as he sensed Erik's forlorn response, his mid was barraged with images of Erik tied down, stripped of his senses; even the use of his mouth to breathe. Suffocating.
I understand, he replied quickly, hoping Charles didn't catch the crushing disappointment. No doubt the counselor had come under heat after the situation they were found in; he could feel Charles' frustration. He didn't want him to get in more trouble and be forced to stay away longer. I can wait for you, songbird.
Biting his lip, Charles furrowed his brow. You may not have to, Erik. Jogging over to the window, he cranked open a section of the webbed glass and pushed his face into the crisp air. With a twist of concentration, he asked, Can you feel it, Erik?
For a moment he strained against the belts, body reacting to the sensation of air floating over his face. Cold air. Fresh, salty from the sea. He breathed noisily through the gag pinching his lips. Yes.
Glancing back at movement down below; guards returning to their quarters after long hours, Charles made a decision. Erik, he called, Would you like to go for a walk?
If he focused on the bars solid beneath his fingers the height wasn't nearly as frightening. Not that it was the first time Charles had been on the roof, but his body was still feeling the effects of everything that had happened. The body remembers much more clearly and deeply than the mind and Charles hadn't fully recovered. And his useless arm was a heavy burden, making the climb agonizingly slow. Climbing over the lip of the rooftop he hastily checked if anyone else was around. Because of extra staffing needs patrols like the shore and roof routes had been cut until new security measures were put in place. This meant Charles was alone on the rooftop, shivering in the chill of the wind. Well, alone except for Erik.
Feigning sleep made him feel like a child again, on the last night of Hanukkah. It was just as difficult as it had been then, though for very different reasons. Waiting for his mother to go to bed wasn't quite the same as waiting for the last guard to step out of the room. But once he was left only with another heavily sedated inmate hooked up to a beeping machine, Erik allowed himself to luxuriate in the sensation of cool wind on his skin. As if he was fitted inside of Charles' body, feeling everything he felt. It's wonderful.
Would you like to see the sunset, Erik? Peering over the coral-kissed waves, Charles had to squint. The brilliant rays of the sun glowed in a dazzling gold, emblazing bright purple clouds floating like tufts of dandelion seed. And riding the hazy horizon was an azure stretch of land. He wanted Erik to see this. He wanted them to see it together.
Erik hadn't seen a sunset in years. Once, on one of his rooftop ventures, he'd glimpsed the end of the sunrise. But inmates were locked up in windowless cells by sunset. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the mask and gasped when he felt Charles eyes open and in front of him was the beautiful stretch of blending colors, the sharp scent of the stirring water, and the beautiful slide of wind. And somewhere behind it all was Charles. Encased in Charles' warmth, guided by the softness of his mind's touch. He pushed further and Charles drew him in; they both inhaled sharply when their minds mingled on a deeper level than ever before. Erik could feel every experience: the hair falling across Charles' forehead, the weight of his belt, the very slight pinch of his shoes after a long day on his feet.
He knew tears were running down Erik's face, catching and sliding on the cruel fiberglass covering his face. Charles felt the swell of emotions dredged up from the depths of Erik's consciousness, summoned by the juxtaposed position of being bound and free all at once. Erik, he said, I'm sorry if it's too much.
I want more, Charles. I'd like to give you more.
Heat. They were so closely intertwined now. Charles still had control but that didn't mean he wasn't disconnected from Erik's emotions and even his physical state. And so he felt the undeniable touch of arousal uncurling slowly between them. At first Charles shook his head, already letting Erik slip away, but he understood that the touch was so very far from Mojo's evil. It was the same sort of feeling they'd shared in the sphere. He could see the sincerity, the care the hesitance. This feeling sweeping through him was real and pure. Slowly folding to his knees, Charles realized that tears were running down his own face. He wanted desperately to hold Erik, to cling to him, to protect him and be protected.
Something had changed in him, inside of the sphere. When Erik held him, when he felt the first inklings of Erik's intentions, his emotions. Something between them was made permanent, unbreakable. Forged in the heat and terror, Charles now realized the extent to which he wanted the other mutant. No one, not even in childhood, had held him the way Erik had, or had looked at him with such adoration.
Moving his hand down his stomach, Charles stared out at the water as he rubbed his hand over the erection growing between his legs. A flurry of emotions loosed from Erik and Charles savored every one. Slipping his hand inside his pants, he caressed the hardening cock. He breathed heavily through his nose, experiencing his arousal twofold as Erik writhed beneath his binds.
Charles, he beseeched, Are you sure? Isn't it too soon?
As long as you stay right here with me, Erik, he answered truthfully, I'll be fine. I want this. His fingers curled against the metal of the roof as he stroked himself, and by proxy, Erik. Ten minutes later, wrapped tightly in an achingly sweet orgasm, Charles relaxed on his back, body stretched along the roof. Above the sky had dwindled to soft violet and the clouds were now nothing but wispy swirls of silver hanging like tinsel above the black sea.
...
Erik went very still when he felt Charles approaching the next day, reaching out to greet him minutes before his physical presence reached the room. He'd been transferred to from the medical ward. The doctor was with him and Erik could practically smell the nerves coming off him. But whatever the doctor thought didn't matter. Charles' mind wound around his in a way that was becoming familiar, an intimacy that sent warm pulses throughout his body.
"We can release him," Charles reasoned quietly, the timber of his voice smooth. Hank gave him a skeptical look. "I told you, if Erik in any way attempts to escape or harm I can stop him." I hope that doesn't offend you, my friend.
If the mask is coming off I could stand to be offended.
He licked his lips and blinked his eyes rapidly after Hank removed the mask. When the smell and taste was gone Erik looked deep into the blue eyes he'd seen through the night before. "Much better."
"So Lensherr," Hank started, eyeing a clipboard. "We're going to be running some tests today." Blinking through his glasses at the dreamy expression Lensherr wore, his eyes obviously fixed on Charles, Hank sighed and continued, "Charles will be monitoring your mental patterns when you access your abilities, which we will allow on a very limited basis for the trial." Perfectly aware that he was being ignored, Hank cleared his throat in irritation and announced, "If you fail these tests we'll be forced to house you by other means."
Now Erik tore his attention away. "Other means?"
"That got your attention," the doctor grumbled. "I'll need to keep you strapped in with the carbon fiber. There's no use attempting to break the straps; not even the strongest form of metal can break it, so I hope we can expect your cooperation."
"I should be flattered," he drawled, offering the young doctor a toothy smile that went completely unacknowledged. Shooting a playful look to an amused Charles he added, "I've never seen this wing of the ward."
Ignoring him, Hank slapped on a few wired monitors to his chest beneath the straps and regarded Charles with skepticism. "You're sure you'll be all right alone? I'll need to track the waves from the other side of the wall but I can let the reports run and looks over them later."
Chuckling, Charles clapped him on the back. "I promise we won't gossip about you while you're out of earshot."
Rolling his eyes, Hank stepped out of the room, leaving Charles and Erik alone.
"Charles," he said, voice dropping. "Last night-"
"Was wonderful, Erik," he completed for him, smiling.
Lips quirking, Erik let his gaze travel over the other man slowly. "I have no regrets, but I also want to make sure that you're..." he trailed off, brows knit.
His chest tightened. He knew what Erik was tiptoeing around; something he himself had yet to fully comprehend. What almost happened with Mojo still terrified him, and yet it was hard to buckle under the 'what if' when Erik's intervention, his rescue, was so powerful. In his memory it replays as an obliterating light. And the incredible safeness he'd felt after had lodged its way into his heart and he couldn't fathom dwelling any longer. By no means was he fixed, or recovered completely, even from the horror of the Academy, but in a way a great deal of him had healed in the strange trauma of being ripped from the jaws of death and whisked into blinding light.
"I've never been better," he assured the inmate, resting his hand on Erik's arm. The touch was electrifying, and he watched Erik's pupils dilate. Last night he had masturbated with Erik inside his mind, sharing every touch, every pulse of pleasure. Fondly he remembered lecturing Erik on boundaries; all of which had been shattered by now. And it was difficult to feel guilty about that, even though part of him did regret the professional betrayal.
"So what are we here for, though I'm not sure I mind too much," he said cheekily, leaning into Charles' touch as the man moved his hand to press Erik's jawline.
A mental challenge, he hinted, If you'll allow it.
A flicker of suspicion was doused when Charles leaned in slightly; scarlet clad lips a lovely bow-shaped distraction. I'm guessing the humans wanted to find new ways to cage me?
He caught on the term 'humans', and remembered the eerily dark melody sung by Nina Simone compelling the recurring image of the body bag. Is that why you've hid your ability for so long?
In a house of straw would you keep a candle burning?
You make it seem as if we're going to douse you, he replied, smoothing his hand over the crown of Erik's head. Hank couldn't see them from the monitor room.
"Are you?"
"No," he said firmly.
Turning his head to rest on his cheek, pulling slightly at the monitoring patch stuck to the curve of his neck, Erik tried to read Charles' expression. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly, gut twisting. A red flare of 'conflict of interest' blared madly in the back of his head. "But as the candle in a house made of straw, why don't you light up the place?" The question surfaced almost unexpectedly, and now Charles burned with the wonder. "Why don't you just leave?"
For the first time in a long while Erik's expression was completely closed off. The eyes once suffused with energy smoothed out into unreadable glass. He looked away from Charles, jaw tightening perceptibly. Wincing when the psychologist withdrew, he said quietly, "I'm waiting for someone."
A line of dread drew itself across his consciousness. Charles blinked. "Waiting for someone to join you here?" He hesitated, an odd knot in his throat. "Someone special?" Those eyes like chips of stained glass darted to his face but Charles couldn't meet them.
Watching the other mutant closely, Erik narrowed his eyes. "Cha-"
He froze. Charles looked up at him, worry etched across his face. Then they both heard it, distant and faint.
Even this deep, they could hear the chilling sound of the razor wire coiling the water along Juniper's shores. Or, more accurately: the razor wire snapping with a distinct twang to set their teeth on edge. Even Hank came running back in and they all traded confused gazes as the terrible twanging of split wires increased in frequency.
Something was moving through the water outside.
Something was coming.
...
A/N: The song lyrics were taken from Strange Fruit. The story features the Nina Simone version. Be forewarned about the content of the song if you decide to give it a listen.
-Villain