Edited: 3/4/16
Author's Note: I'm stealing Quicksilver out of his time line and shoving him into mine. *Grins* Cuz I can do stuff like that, and if I do play with the Days of Future Past storyline it's going to be warped beyond all recognition, so he won't be needed there.
Warning: This chapter is going to be dark. Expect to see death, torture and extreme emotional distress. Also, there will be some fem-slash with lemon. If that isn't your cup of tea, feel free to skip it. I know it's not the hot X/IX you've all been waiting for, but it had to be done and I couldn't turn from it.
Chapter 20– Gradually then Suddenly
"The greatest crimes in the world are not committed by people breaking the rules but by people following the rules. It's people who follow orders that drop bombs and massacre villages"
- Banksy (Wall and Piece)
The medical wing beneath Xavier's school was crowded with people. Remy sat next to IX's bed, not touching the tiny assassin, but not looking away either. In the bed next to IX was Logan, still out cold from the mental remapping that occurred a little over three hours ago.
"I've finished the tests," Dr. McCoy said, his hand shook slightly as he adjusted his glasses. Xavier, Scott, and Ororo turned as one to look at him. Jean kept her eyes locked on the still form, as if unable to believe it wouldn't rise again to attack. Even though they were on home ground, she couldn't stop the instinctual fear from twisting in her gut like a rat in a trap. How had he made it into the heart of their sanctuary unnoticed? It was inconceivable that none of them noticed his presence until it was almost too late. If the Professor had been a second slower, she thought, her green gaze darting between the fallen mutant and Remy.
That was another mystery she couldn't wrap her mind around. Of everyone in the world, shouldn't he understand and share her fears? Jean had been under IX's terrifying blade for less than five minutes. The man sitting next to him had endured being hunted by the monster for months. It made no sense for him to be upset about IX's downfall. Shouldn't he be happy?
"What were your findings?" Xavier asked, broad shoulders already slumped in anticipation of the news.
"He's in a coma. I've detected serious localized damage in the temporal lobe. Right now, the swelling is moderate and won't require surgery to relieve the pressure."
"Prognosis?"
"If he wakes from the coma, which is unlikely…there will be repercussions. He'll most likely have to relearn how to speak, if he's still capable of doing so. That area also houses memory, so it's unlikely he'll have much left of his past. Frankly I don't have much hope for a full or even partial recovery based off the CT scans. The damage was too great." Dr. McCoy stared resolutely at the scans to avoid the pained look on Xavier's face. They both knew the cause of the damage, and McCoy understood how it would weigh on Charles's mind. He hated to cause harm for any reason.
Remy bowed his head, sorrow causing his eyes to burn. IX was what he was, but he was also Remy's friend and though it always had to end in one of their deaths, he wished it hadn't ended like this. He would 'ave wanted ta die in battle. Not like dis. Not weak an 'elpless.
"I think it's time we heard your story, Mr. Gambit."
Xavier's voice drew him out of his morose thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he straightened to look at the group who now stared intently back.
"Three years ago, Remy been captured by mutants under da command of da government. Da capture…wasn't easy. Remy bein' hurt."
"Is that where you got the scar across your abdomen?" Dr. McCoy interrupted, recalling the mark from his examination.
Remy gave the blue mutant a sharp look, his lips curling down in a frown. "Yes. A sword wielder's blade made it past Remy's guard durin' da fight. Remy would 'ave died, but he be savin' Remy." A flick of his fingers indicated IX.
"How?" Dr. McCoy asked, fascinated by the unfolding story.
"He be a 'ealer, sometimes. But it be 'ard on him. Said once dat his power ain't meant for healin' but for killin'."
Jean shuddered, goosebumps humped across her skin as she remembered the dead look in his green eyes when he came for her. Yes, he was made for killing. She couldn't even imagine him as a healer.
"Da healin' be mighty painful, and not somethin' dat should ever be interrupted once begun." His eyes shuddered, and he hunched in on himself. This time, no one asked why.
"So you were grateful for being healed by him?" Xavier asked, trying to understand Remy's devotion to his would be killer.
"No, da healin' was not wid'out cost. IX be demandin' dat Remy train him in exchange for da healin'. Remy is a master of da bo, and IX wished ta learn. Remy and IX be trainin' togeder for da past three years," he admitted.
"I see." Xavier said. "What do you know of them?"
"Dey are a pair. Weapons created to hunt and kill mutants. Dat's what de guards said, anyway. I believe dem. X is feral, but more so dan any mutant Remy be knowing. He is animal in mind. Widout da speech or behavior of a man. IX is his handler, and he only answers to IX. From what Remy's seen, IX is obedient to all above him. He could have killed any of dem, but he never lashed out against dem even when he was being punished."
"Punished?"
"Yes. Even dough IX was on da oder side of de bars, he was as much a prisoner as da rest of us. More, Remy t'inks. Remy escaped, but IX is still a slave, and always will be."
"He's a monster," Jean said, green eyes flashing with a mix of fear and distain. "How can you sit there and try to say otherwise when he's spent so much time trying to murder you?"
Remy's dark eyes locked on hers. "IX is not a monster. He be som'ting else."
"I've seen his mind. There's nothing human in him! He's a death machine."
"And Remy be seein' his 'eart."
Jean gave a bitter laugh at that. "Oh? Let me guess, deep down he's really a good person."
"Non." The look intensified, and Jean felt like a child who'd been stripped bare. She knew he was looking at more than just her flesh.
"IX's 'eart be cold. Doubtless as cold as his mind. But der be more dan dat. His 'eart is calm, dark and deep. He is untroubled and at one wid himself. Unlike some 'earts which are more dan just restless. Some 'earts are a tempest of conflictin' emotion, ragin' always and never at peace. It 'urts ta look, how must it be ta live wid it always?" His eyes flashed knowingly. Rage flashed in Jean's heart like the lazy flick of lightning before she smothered it.
Dismissing Jean, Remy's piercing gaze landed on Xavier. "Know dis, IX be a sword. Da hand dat 'olds him can set him ta violent tings. But, his power can be turned ta healin'. Perhaps, in da right hand, he can be turned from sword ta shield, eh? Ei'der way, IX be needin' a hand ta 'old him. Be it for violence or protection, he'll always need a guidin' hand."
"Tell me everything you know about this facility," Xavier commanded, turning the conversation away from the petite assassin who would likely never be wielded by anyone again due to Xavier's actions.
In the hours after IX went off line, Stryker ordered the base decommissioned. He didn't know if IX was dead, or had been captured; all he knew was that communication had been lost at what should have been the end of the mission. "Be informed, I've found an enclave of-"
If Stryker was a betting man, he'd wager all he had that the next word would have been mutants. Now he'd never know, but it was time to move shop. Thankfully, he'd been planning to go to ground for a while. He was almost ready to begin the next phase of his personal operations and a break from the government was necessary. Even as far into the black as he was when it came to ops, there were some things that wouldn't be tolerated. Things that had to be done.
For the good of the country.
There was an abandoned base beneath Alkali Lake that would serve, and he knew it had been erased from all the databases after the fiasco with X. No one would dream of looking for them there.
His door opened. "Sir, everything is loaded and ready for transport. Should we begin sedating the test subjects?" Zero asked.
"No. The Doctor has all he needs from those specimens. It's time to liquidate the stock. You and Wraith will remain behind to terminate the subjects. I'll leave a chopper behind for you when it's done."
"Yes, sir." Zero saluted and turned to leave. The order wasn't entirely unexpected. Most of the cages in this location had been custom built to hold their current occupants. It was impractical to try and move the mutants without having a secure holding facility to put them. While distasteful, the task had to be done.
Wraith pulled his cowboy hat down low over his eyes. The base was empty now, except for him, Zero…and the children. Not children. Test subject, objects, things to be disposed of now that their usefulness has come to an end. No matter how he tried to convince himself, the thoughts rang not only hollow but broken. Shards of glass that cut him up inside.
He never liked this job. By the time Wraith realized what he'd gotten into, he was in too deep to escape. Over the years, he played his part, drank at night to blunt the memories, and did his best to forget about the lives he helped destroy.
This was different. IX was the Doctor's pet. IX was the Executioner. IX was the one who handled the mutants after they were caught. Wraith only caught them, and forgot them.
"I'll start at the south end and work my way to the middle, you do the same from the other side." Zero's cold voice jerked him out of the turbulent thoughts. He doesn't even care. Are they nothing more than targets for him to practice on?
"We shouldn't have any trouble with this lot. None of their mutations are able to stop a bullet," Zero smirked, actually smirked at him before sauntering down to the end of the line to begin the slaughter.
With the first sharp crack of a gunshot, the children realized what was happening and began screaming. The sound was a lance of fire shot directly through Wraith's heart. He could capture mutants. Could even leave them down here knowing they'd be experimented on and eventually killed by Stryker's pet sociopath. But this? No. Dear God, no. He'd finally found a line he couldn't cross.
Another shot rang out, almost lost under the sound of desperate begging and high, piercing screams. Wraith glanced back at Zero, fingering the barrel of his gun. No way, I'd never get him. Just end up shot myself.
Turning away, he focused on a new destination. Somewhere far away from this hellish place where he could forget. Now that IX was gone, he was certain he'd be able to stay off the radar long enough to be forgotten.
"Please."
Chocolate eyes snapped up and locked unwillingly on eyes the color of polished amber. The entire eye was swallowed by liquid color, only the black slash of snake like pupil broke the solid pools of her gaze. Wraith had always been creeped out by her serpentine appearance, but now, the look in her eye was purely human. Purely heartbreaking.
"Please," she whispered again. Unlike the others, she didn't scream. Instead she offered that single word.
"Damn it," he growled under his breath before he jerked forward and tapped the code into the keypad to unlock the door. Sucking in a breath, he reached in and grabbed the girl. Together they vanished, only to reappear inside a dark warehouse deep in the heart of the city.
Wraith let go of the girl, who stumbled and sank to the ground in a boneless heap. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a well-worn brown leather wallet. He flicked through the cards until he found one crinkled with age, its corners curled and the writing faded almost to non-existence. Once he found the card, he snatched eight twenties that he'd won off Wade in poker last night, all the money he had on him.
With a sharp inward breath, he tossed the money and card at the girl as if it was all her fault. "Go there. You might find something worthwhile. Wait here for now. I'll bring as many of the others as I can."
She gaped at him, money drifting around her, incapable of forming an answer.
Wraith vanished. A second later, he reappeared with Pietro, who promptly fell over when Wraith let him go. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to stand on his own without being bound in the middle of his cage. "Wha-" But Wraith was gone again.
Next, he gently deposited a girl whose left leg was missing from just above the knee down. She said nothing, simply sat, staring straight ahead. Tiny tremors rocked her delicate frame, but her face was blank. Pietro scooted closer to her and slipped an arm over her shoulders. With a desperate sob, the blank mask shattered. She turned, and curled herself around him like a baby monkey clinging to a stuffy after its mother was slaughtered in front of it for the pet trade.
Wraith flinched at the sight before vanishing again. Slipping into another cell, he reached out for the boy curled in the corner. "Come on kid, I'm going to help you," he hissed. Frightened grey eyes looked up.
"That's it."
Sammy reached up and slid his tiny shaking hand into the warm dark one. He felt the hand close around his with a strong reassuring grip before he heard the roar. Heat splashed over his upturned face, and the familiar tang of blood invaded his mouth.
The hand around his loosened as the body fell. Zero looked down at the wide eyed child before he brought his gun up and pulled the trigger. An almost delicate hole appeared between frightened grey eyes that dimmed into the unseeing gaze of the dead. Zero gave Wraith's corpse a disdainful look. "I always knew you couldn't hack it."
Remy rubbed absently at his shoulder, trying to ease the ache and failing. He felt drained. Xavier managed to drag details of the base out of him that he hadn't even known he'd had. After the questioning, which had been more deftly handled than any interrogation he'd been in, the others left him alone.
It was better when they were all here questioning and prodding for more details. At least then he didn't have to think. A headache thumped sullenly behind his eyes. The first taste of the coming hangover. They hadn't even bothered giving him some more pain medication before vanishing.
Wishing he could pass out, but knowing it wasn't happening any time soon, Remy turned his attention to the figure on the bed. How many hours had passed since the initial injury? He didn't know for certain, but far more than IX usually needed to recover from serious wounds. How many times had Remy watched him put his own bones back together after they'd broken during their spars? Too many to count. He'd even survived the worst Remy could throw at him during their life and death battles. Why couldn't he heal this too?
What if IX did wake? Remy already knew the answer. The hunt would begin again. Just as the sun would rise, IX would complete the mission. Remy had no doubt of that. So where did that leave him? Stay, and watch IX's slow decay as days melted into years and he didn't wake? Or stay and find himself dead whenever IX's power managed to reverse the damage done?
No. Both options were impossible. Forcing himself to his feet, Remy gave IX and X a last long look. "Remy must go, but dis be a good place. Maybe dey be able to help you, Mon Ami."
The Blackbird set down with a soft thump. Inside the jet, tension hung heavy in the air, growing as Storm checked the scanners again. "Still nothing. Why aren't we sensing their security?"
Jean shook her head, equally puzzled by the utter lack of security.
"Come on." Scott said. Unbuckling, he stood and lead the way. Jean couldn't help the smile that touched her lips. Leave it to Scott to attack the problem head on. While he was one of their best tacticians, he still had the habit of storming the front gate if things weren't unfolding the way they should. It was left over from their student days. She was certain he'd always have this hidden brashness that only came out in times like this when lives were on the line and a decision had to be made.
Without protest, the women followed. Jean felt the skin between her shoulder blades prickle. She could almost feel the laser dot marking her even though she knew they were alone. There wasn't a thought to be picked up for miles. Perhaps Gambit was mistaken.
They reached the front without being stopped. Though the doors were locked, Scott's lasers punched through the metal effortlessly. Again, no one sounded the alarm. Squaring his shoulders, Scott led the way into the facility.
Jean sent her mind out, only to bite back a hiss of pain when it rebounded. Now she could hear the low level buzz that emanated from the walls. That's why the Professor never heard the children. When they were listening to Remy's story, that question plagued Jean more than any other. Xavier usually spent a couple hours a week in Cerebro searching for mutants who were coming into their power. The minds trapped in this place should have been able to reach him. But now she understood.
This place had been built with telepaths in mind. The walls were laced with wires that created counter waves that hid a place from telepathy as well as locking telepathic minds within its walls. Her fists clenched against the hot anger flooding her mind. A headache was already taking root in her mind, and she couldn't imagine being trapped here for any length of time without that low hum only she could hear driving her insane. How many telepaths had been broken here from the sound alone?
"Jean?" Scott touched her arm. Even though she couldn't see his eyes, she could taste the concern in the word.
"I'm fine. There's something in here that jams telepathy. I can't get a fix on anyone in the building. We'll have to follow Remy's instructions and hope we don't run into any guards along the way," her voice waivered slightly from the growing ache inside her skull, but she did her best to hide it.
Scott frowned, wanting to ask again if she was okay but knowing what the answer would be. "Alright." He turned and led the way down the maze of corridors, following the memorized instructions down to the holding pens.
As they rounded the final corner, a gun shot rang out. The stench of death, a mix of blood, gun smoke, and shit assaulted them as images burned themselves into their brains like hot brands. A seemingly endless row of cages. Inside each, a single broken body. So many children, all of them dead. And at the end of the row stood a man. Gun still smoking, now coming around to point at them.
The room echoed with the psychic storm of the children's last moments. Terror, agony, and despair hung in the air like poisoned gas, sinking into her with every tainted breath she took. Jean's eyes blazed. Rage, unlike anything she ever felt before, scorched her soul. The man tried to pull the trigger, only to find himself frozen. All around them, the cages began to shake. Inside of her, a mindless howling filled her mind and all her focus narrowed down on the murderer. Ever so slowly, the hand holding the gun began to move. Inching lazily around, it moved upward to tuck itself under the man's chin. His eyes widened, lips tried to form words, but couldn't as his finger began to pull the trigger.
A red beam, thin as a scope laser, struck the man. It landed directly over his heart before burning straight through him. He hung motionless in the air for a fraction of a second before falling into a crumpled heap.
Only Jean's head turned, but that was enough. All that mindless, inhuman rage focused on Scott. He felt the very air begin to solidify around him like wet cement beginning to dry. "Jean," he said. One word squeezed from tortured lungs. Just one word, but he infused into that single syllable everything. His immeasurable love for her, a thousand kisses, a million gentle caresses, morning walks through the woods, and evenings spent cuddled together under the same blanket as they watched movies with the kids. All of this and more rode in the sound of a whispered name.
The manic power flared, pressing so tightly against him that he felt his heart stutter in his chest. Then the pressure was gone. Sense returned to her haunted green eyes, and she choked out "Scott?" In an instant he was beside her, wrapping her in his arms.
"Shhh, I've got you." She clung to him, unable to hold back the sobs that shook her. Fear, real and all-consuming tried to drown her. What had she almost done? What had she forced Scott to do? Am I a monster too?
Storm watched the pair, her crystal blue gaze soft. If Scott hadn't acted, Storm would have fried the bastard before she allowed Jean to stain her hands with his blood. Unlike the rest of them, Jean wasn't a fighter. She was only meant to be backup and support. By nature, she was a healer, and neither of them wanted to taint her by making her take a life.
Taking a deep breath, Storm steeled herself for what had to be done. She left Jean in Scott's capable hands and made her way to the first cage. Empty black eyes stared up at her from a heart shaped face surrounded by soft ebony locks. The Asian slant to the eyes did nothing to hide the accusing look Storm thought she could feel. Why didn't you come sooner? You should have saved me. Why did you let me die? Choking back a low keening cry, Storm jerked her gaze away from the dead girl and moved on to the next cage.
By the time she finished checking each cage, committing every pair of dead, accusing eyes to memory, Storm's heart was frozen in her chest. The air around her ached with the cold as she locked her emotions away to keep her powers under control less she call down a storm great enough to obliterate this place, and everything around it for a hundred miles.
She stared down at the corpse of the killer. The temperature dropped so fast the body froze as subzero artic winds twisted around it. A crack of lightning flashed in the room, and thunder shook the place. All that was left of the man were hand sized chunks of scorched flesh. Still, it wasn't enough. He should have been alive while I did it. The blood thirsty thought whispered down the hollow corridors of her soul, but couldn't touch her frozen heart. Not right now. Perhaps when it thawed she would be horrified.
If it thawed.
"Charles?" Dr. McCoy's voice snapped Xavier's mind back into the room. He'd lost contact with the team after they entered the facility, and had been watching the place mentally like a hawk for something to happen. The lack of activity assured him they weren't in imminent danger, but he hated having them out of contact. Who knew what dangers awaited them in a place that experimented on mutants?
"Hm?"
"I've finished all the scans." Now Dr. McCoy had his attention. They'd been friends since high school, and even his transformation hadn't dulled Xavier's ability to read him. He didn't even have to cheat and peak into his mind to taste the volatile mix of excitement, incredulity, and pain.
"What did you find?"
"I'll go over X, aka Logan's, file first. It's easier by far. The metal his claws are made from is adamantium. That's not all. It's been grafted to his entire skeleton. His healing factor is literally off the charts. In fact, it's impossible to tell how old he is. The healing factor treats aging as it does any other threat to the body and destroys cells when they become frayed instead of aging. It's truly amazing. I've never seen a healing factor so potent before. I…I think he might be immortal. Now that his bones are indestructible, anyway." Dr. McCoy's lips split in a fanged grin, awed by the endless possibilities.
"You aren't to run any unnecessary tests or experiments on him without his permission," Xavier scolded, but his eyes laughed silently at his friend's enthusiasm. Having been the subject of Hank's scientific excitement during their college days, he knew how intense it could be. While he'd been a good sport about all the prodding and the fact that when he got too into his discoveries, Hank tended to forget he was a person and not a lab rat, he didn't think Logan would be as tolerant. Not after everything he'd been through.
Instantly, the grin faded. Hank's eyes grew serious. "No. I wouldn't do that. Logan's healing factor would have made anesthesia impossible. I can't even imagine the sort of hell that man went through as they cut him open and covered his bones in superheated metal."
Charles shut his eyes, trying to block out the thought and failing. He'd seen a great deal of suffering in his life, and being able to hear the thoughts of everyone else only compounded that misery, but even he'd never come across something so horrible. It's a mercy he can't remember. Charles wondered if X remembered, or if that was one of the factors that shattered his human mind.
"That's all I have on Logan. Now on to the real mystery. Even though the medical intervention is a lot less in IX, there have still been some fascinating modifications done to his brain." He offered a scan to Xavier. The bald man stared for a long time at the small black place he'd been forced to burn away before turning to the brain stem, which had been circled in black ink. The entire area was shadowed.
"I managed to extract a small sample and found the area riddled with tiny machines. They're brilliantly designed, nearly organic, and capable of replication using the body's own resources. I believe that the area you targeted had another set of these nano machines. They've fused with his biology, which is what allowed you to target them."
Charles nodded. "That makes sense. I wasn't sure what it was, and thought it might be the center of his mutation."
"Nope. I believe that his mutation started out as a subconscious type, but the scientists who experimented found a way to bridge the gap, so to speak. A black claw traced a thin line of shadow, like a trail of ants that marched up from the brain stem to the visual cortex. "I'm almost certain that this technology allows IX to access his power consciously."
"Can you disrupt it?" Charles asked. Even though the boy was undoubtedly out of commission, there was no reason to take risks.
Hank ran his claws through the soft blue fur on his chin as he thought it over. "I might be able to come up with something, but it'll take a few days," his eyes started to go distant, dreaming technological dreams, when Charles snapped his fingers.
"Still with me?"
Hank stuck his tongue out like a petulant child, but nodded. "Right. That was the first thing I found. Next, do you remember the soldiers who died a few years back? The ones who seemed to melt?"
"The clones?" Charles asked, unable to forget those nightmarish constructs. The splinter group who'd created them learned the hard way that cloned bodies were unstable and prone to collapse.
"Yes." Hank had the unpleasant task of trying to keep one of them alive and learned a great deal during the process even though he lost the man in the end. "Look." He handed over another scan, this one an x-ray of IX's arm. "Do you see?"
Charles's lips thinned as he stared at the x-ray. The bones had an odd grayish tinge to them. It was almost identical to the cloned bones, but weren't as porous as theirs had been. That wasn't all his keen eye picked up on.
"Yes. I see."
"He's not a clone, I'm sure of that. But the connection lead me down the right track. How old do you think IX is?"
"I'd say between fifteen and seventeen?" Looking at the face, one might judge the boy as younger, but beneath the clothes was the body of a man. Small, but perfectly formed and developed.
"Nope. He's somewhere in the ball park of 10 to 12."
Xavier was about to protest, when the pieces of the puzzle snapped together with a near audible click in his mind. "Forced growth. Just like the clones."
"Indeed. That's not all."
"I know. I saw the healed fractures." Something dark passed through Charles eyes. There was nothing he detested more than a child abuser.
Sorrow flitted through Hank's eyes. "Yes. All of his limbs show signs of abuse fractures. Both arms have had multiple spiral fractures. His skull is riddled with minor fractures. Judging by the bone growth, and the location of the fractures, I believe he lived in a very abusive home during his toddler years. Perhaps between the ages of two to six. After that, he was taken. I don't know how they found him, but they did and accelerated his growth."
"Why is he so small? I assume he's fully grown?"
"Yes. His bones are all fully fused. The lower end of his radius is also fused, which indicates that biologically speaking, he's over twenty. My hypothesis is that they deprived him of nutrients during the growth."
Charles could only blink in astonishment. "They did what?" His voice rose in outrage.
"Yep. It's the only thing that makes sense."
"Why would they do such a thing?"
Hank shrugged. "My best guess? They were going for a children of the corn kind of thing."
Charles just stared at him, silently demanding further explanation.
Huffing, Hank said, "Look, in Children of the Corn there was a preacher's kid who started preaching. He drew a huge crowed and they wanted to keep him as a kid for as long as possible so that they could keep raking in the money. They started poisoning him with mercury. As you can guess, it didn't end well for anyone. This is a more scientific twist to the idea. Look at him."
Xavier didn't have to look. The boy looked like just that, an innocent child. "The perfect assassin."
Hank nodded. "Yes. No one would look at him and assume he's a bad guy. Even if he pulled a gun on them, they'd hesitate and end up dead. He's also the perfect spy. No one would notice a teenager wandering around, unless he's in a wildly inappropriate place. People have a tendency to ignore children and to talk over them."
Handing over more x-rays, Hank continued. "I noticed that there's almost no scaring on the boy, which makes no sense considering everything I've been able to make out from his bones. All the fractures healed perfectly by the way. After the growth period finished, there are a lot more fractures and full breaks, but those are all trade mark skirmish wounds. Remy told us he can heal himself, and his bones give testament to that. I also fed the numbers of his childhood injuries into the databases, but found nothing at any hospital that would match his wounds. Not that I expected to. I doubt whoever had him ever took him to the hospital. His mutation must have activated early to keep him alive. But, there are a few scars. The one on his forehead, a number of bite marks on his left shoulder, and a brand on the back of his neck."
His hand froze as he came to the photograph of the mark on the youth's neck. "A brand you say?" He remembered the mark now. It was the boy he'd seen at the Senate. "You were correct about his status as a spy," he mused.
"Now, tell me what has you so excited." Everything that came before was interesting, but nothing on the level that would intrigue Hank as much as the boy clearly had.
"We were wrong. About everything." Charles's sharp gaze locked on Hank's face as the doctor pulled out a D.N.A work up sheet. "It was always assumed that mutation was the next step in evolution, but it's really a step back, or an in between step, but I'm certain it's a step back. There's no way IX can be the first. The genetics are simply too stable. He came from a healthy breeding population."
"Enough teasing, Hank, just tell me," Charles snapped, unable to stand the dance any longer.
"Alright. I always found it odd that the X gene was a partial gene, but thought it could be akin to the XY chromosome that dictated sex. It's actually closer kin to Down's syndrome. Instead of an extra copy of a chromosome, the X gene is only half of the extra chromosome that indicates mutation. We know that a large number of the population contain a dormant form of this extra half and when it becomes active, we get mutants. But, IX has a full set of this chromosome." His eyes nearly glowed with the light of discovery.
"Amazing," Charles breathed. His gaze turned to the comatose mutant, not mutant. What are you? He wanted to push into that mind and find answers, but knew it was impossible. A coma was like a shut door when it came to telepathy. The person was lost, and had to find their way back on their own, or be lost forever.
He couldn't stop the small smile that quirked his lips. Oh Erik, what would you make of this? It looks like we aren't the supreme beings of the planet after all. You'd be so disappointed.
The door banged open, causing them both to jump. It was an unusual experience for Xavier. People found it almost impossible to sneak up on him, but he'd been so focused on Hank's revelations that he hadn't noticed the team leave the facility, or arrive back home. He would have known if they'd called for help, but they hadn't. Still, he shouldn't have lost track of them like that.
Scott stalked into the room, his face grim. He was alone. Hank studied him before silently slipping out of the room. Some wounds had to be shared in private with the people closest to you, especially wounds of the soul.
Without a word, he stomped across the room and sank into one of the empty chairs. His elbows rested on his knees, and he cradled his head in his hands. Charles thumbed his mechanical wheelchair over to the man who was his son in all but blood. He didn't speak, understanding instinctively that Scott needed the silence to gather himself.
"They're all dead. We were too late." Each word came slowly. Falling into the silence like a punch to the gut. Scott swallowed hard, fighting against tears and losing. A small drop of salty liquid splashed against the inside of his visor. He ignored it, and all the ones that followed. "We got there just as the bastard shot the last one. Jean…" he had to stop, bite back the sob, before continuing. "Jean lost control of her power, but I took him down before she could. It was…I…" he stopped, unable to continue.
Charles reached out, resting a warm hand against the top of Scott's bowed head. Pain radiated off the young man, and he understood the feelings, the agony of taking a life. He'd always hoped to spare his children that pain, but he knew it was a futile hope. The world had become a turbulent place, and though he would shield as many as he could, he knew there would be casualties on all sides.
After a small eternity, the tears and near silent sobs eased. Scott felt the comforting hand slide gently away, running through his hair like it had when he was a young child and had nightmares. Closing his eyes tightly, he eased the visor off and tucked it away. He'd have to clean the tears off later. Scott scrubbed the dampness from his face and reached into his pocket to pull out his ruby tinted glasses. They both tacitly ignored his minor breakdown.
Unable to remain sitting, and not ready to speak again, Scott moved restlessly around the room. He paused at the end of Logan's bed and plucked the small stack of notes off the table. Scanning the data, his lip curled. "He's a monster."
"No, he's the monster." Xavier stated, nodding towards the comatose mutant.
Some of the black emotion in his head cleared at that, unable to believe what he'd heard. Xavier wasn't the sort of man to call anyone a monster. He even considered the likes of Magneto as a misguided friend. To earn the name monster from someone like Xavior…Scott subconsciously moved farther away from the bed. "What?"
"Logan is as much a victim as the children. In his own way, so is IX, but there's a difference between the two. Never doubt that. X was a monstrous creation, but the person he was before the experiments survived. Barely, but the fundamental personality still exists. In time, I believe I can heal him."
Charles turned his attention to IX. "I had to make a choice when I entered IX's mind, and even then I couldn't bring myself to kill him outright. You see, he was taken very young. There is nothing left of the child he once was. All that exists in him is an obedient killer. He's the one who destroyed the town with fire, and he's killed countless others. He has no remorse for his actions, and he will commit any act, no matter how atrocious, if ordered to do so."
Scott's head jerked towards the bed, and he briefly smelled the bitter stench of smoke that lingered over a field of ash. A whole community, obliterated. Hate clawed at the back of his mind, demanding he lift his glasses and blast the small shape into oblivion. Let the dead have their vengeance in the afterlife. But then he saw the body fall, remembered the crushing memory of taking a life, and almost threw up.
"Why? Why are we keeping him alive if he's a monster?" Scott finally choked out around the nausea.
"Because…we would be monsters to kill him if there's any chance he can be saved."
Again he was crushed by the memory of taking a life. "I'm a monster then," he whispered.
Charles reached out again, his heart aching. Gripping Scott's arm he gave it a strong squeeze. "No. You did what was necessary. The man was armed and a theat."
"But Jean-"
"Yes, Jean. She had him in her grasp, didn't she? What would she have done if you hadn't acted?" Charles didn't wait for an answer. "She would have killed him. You saved her from that by taking the wound on your own soul. That was the right thing to do, never think differently. It is our duty to protect them. Not only from physical attacks, but emotional ones as well."
Scott nodded, once again reaching out to dash a tear away. The women wouldn't agree with the Professor's stance, but he did, whole heartedly.
Clearing his throat, he headed for the door. "I'm…going to go check on them."
Once the door clicked shut, Xavier rolled silently over to the far bed. "Any questions, Mr. Logan?"
"Logan. Just Logan." Whisky colored eyes opened, looking the wheelchair bound man over curiously. He'd been awake since he and the animalistic smelling mutant began talking. "How'd you know I was awake?"
I have my ways.
Logan jumped, his pupils dilated and something in the depths of his mind roared. "It was you. You…what happened?" He tried to ignore the bestial sounds resonating inside his skull, not yet ready to cope with what they represented.
"It appears you fell into the hands of a government organization that specializes in experimentation on mutants. I'm not sure what all was done to you, but you're skeletal structure was augmented with adamantium. It also appears that your mind was…" he hesitated, trying to find a delicate way to put it, "Stripped. Through some form of conditioning, they created an alternate personality they were able to control and direct. That personality was an enhanced version of your feral instincts."
Dread formed a lead weight in his gut, the roar fell to a low menacing growl. "And this animal personality, what happened to it?"
He's a monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. The word echoed in his head, and he could swear he heard the sound of a cage door rattle.
"I was able to wrest control of your mind away from it and lock it down. Unfortunately, I couldn't suppress it completely. What was done to your mind was horrible, and I think if you were younger you would have turned out like IX."
Erased. Fuck, might as well be erased. He tried to find a memory, something from before this nightmare started. But all he had was the name Logan. Nothing else would come out of the dark ether where memory should have been. Hell, he didn't even know if the name was his, or a friend, or some shit he heard on TV. It was the only hand hold he'd had when he was first dragged out of the sea of his subconscious. Who am I? Monster. He's a monster. No.
"What happens now?"
"You'll have to stay here." Logan's lips curled in a snarl that felt as natural as breathing. Only when he heard the low growl trickle from his lips did he realize what he was doing. The expression vanished and he looked away, unable to meet the understanding gaze of the man who'd saved him. I'm not an animal damn it. I'm a man.
"The people who took you are dangerous. They are experienced mutant hunters and have a number of mutants on their payroll. If you fell into their hands again, I don't know what would happen."
"I'd kill them," Logan said, but doubt crept into the words. He clearly hadn't killed them last time. No, last time they managed to strip him of almost everything he was.
"I believe you'd try. But for now, it's best if you remain here."
He couldn't argue with that. Even if he insisted on leaving, where would he go? "Do I have to stay here?" Logan's nose wrinkled. The stink of rubbing alcohol, antiseptic, and all the other odors commonly found in a hospital setting put him on edge.
Charles offered him a knowing smile. "No. You're completely healthy, though Dr. McCoy is rather fascinated with your healing factor and would like to do a few more examinations in the future. Feel free to refuse. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."
The thought of going under the knife to satisfy a mad doctor's curiosity stiffened his spine. Again his lips curled as phantom pain twisted beneath his skin like tiny granules of broken glass. "No." The word was so coldly final that Xavier made a mental note to warn Hank away from Logan. He had a feeling that the next no would be delivered on the tips of his adamantium claws.
"Come along. I'll show you to a guest room where you can stay. All I ask is that you keep to the lower levels. Above us is a school for mutant children and I cannot put them at risk by exposing you until I'm certain it will be safe."
Logan opened his mouth to argue, but the creature inside of him snarled again and he snapped it shut. Monster. How safe was he? "It…The cage you built, it's strong enough to hold it, right?" He loathed how weak he sounded, like a child asking if the monsters under the bed were real.
A sudden bark of harsh laughter escaped his lips when a line of poetry skittered on little rat claws across his thoughts: We stopped asking about the monsters under the bed when we realized they were inside our heads.
Charles quirked a curious eyebrow at him, but Logan didn't explain. It was too close to the truth to be said out loud.
"I'm not sure. Your case is unique and only time will tell."
Logan stalked beside the man, each step as silent as a cat's. His eyes drifted to the side and his whole body froze. The scent was everywhere under the more aggressive hospital odors. It clung to his skin and was almost as much a part of him as his own base scent. Perhaps that's why he hadn't noticed it before.
The creature inside of him exploded against the bars of his cage, a keening whine tore from Logan's lips as emotion crashed over him, trying to take control so X could get to his injured mate. He sank to his knees, fists pressed hard against his temples as if he could physically shove the monster back down.
The cage held, barely. Staggering to his feet, Logan fled the room with Xavier trailing behind as fast as his chair could take him. Once outside he turned and slammed a fist against the wall, savoring the sharp pain as the skin over his knuckles split. Out of sight of the small shape on the bed, the yowling din in his head subsided to sulky snarls but that did nothing for the raging confusion left behind.
His cock was hard, rock hard and every part of him demanded he go back in there and roll on the boy in the bed. Mark him with his scent and bathe in the smaller male's scent. Mark him, take him, mate him.
Banging his head lightly against the wall, Logan fought the urge to scream. This couldn't be happening.
He's somewhere in the ball park of 10 to 12. Logan's stomach clenched as disgust fought bitterly with raw lust. How could he be attracted to a child? A male child? It was insanity! He liked women. Didn't he? He slammed his fist into the wall again, damn it, I don't know. Clenching his eyes shut, he tried to picture a naked woman and wanted to scream when it did nothing for him. Then he tried to picture a naked man and felt the same thing. The boy on the bed drifted unbidden to his mind, reigniting the wild fire of his desire. No. I refuse to accept this. I'm not attracted to a kid in a God damned coma whose hobbies include kidnapping mutants and wholesale slaughter of small towns.
"Are you all right?"
Absolutely not. "Fine." There was no way he could bring himself to explain his body's insane reaction to the broken child. That was something he planned on taking with him to the grave. In the depths of his mind, the bars of the cage rattled and a warning growl chilled his heart.
Scott paused in the doorway, studying the two women curled around each other on the couch in front of the fire. A tendril of questioning thought brushed against his mind. Not words, but impressions. Sharing her need to comfort, her desire, their past, and asking if he'd be hurt by it. All of it flowed like a gentle ocean wave between them.
A smile curled his lips. In his mind he sent warmth and acceptance back towards her in a skin tingling mental embrace. Ororo needed Jean more than he did right now, and she was one of their dearest friends. Scott knew he'd have Jean later that night. They'd tangle together, losing themselves in the heat of skin, tongue and teeth to burn the past day from their memories. But for now, he could wait. Still giving a soft smile, and nobly resisting the horny teenager living in his hind brain telling him to stay and watch, he shut the door.
The thought of going to his own cold bed was rejected out of hand. Nightmares clung to his thoughts, just waiting to be born. No, he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. Decision made, he began the first rounds of the night inside the mansion. Once that was done, he'd move on to the grounds. Even after the disaster of a rescue mission, he hadn't forgotten how easily Logan and IX breached their home.
Note: Lemon starts here.
"I remember when my best friend was shy and quiet. I've created a monster." – Unknown.
After Scott left, Jean's attention returned to the coldly silent woman tucked against her. Slender fingers trailed through hair whiter and more pure than newly fallen snow. In school, they'd been roommates. Both had come to Xavier's frightened and fighting against the bitter rejection of their families. They say time heals all wounds, but for Jean, Ororo was the healing balm on her emotional scars.
Now she'd do her best to return the favor. Curling closer, Jean dipped her head until it nestled against the smooth column of chocolate brown skin. Her lips stroked over the pulse point, tracing the throbbing beat of life and continuing when her companion didn't protest.
A lick of heated wind cut through Ororo's mind. It held the dry fire of the African midsummer plains, dancing into the arctic waste her thoughts had become. A tiny crack appeared in the ice that encased her heart. She couldn't hold back the low moan when Jean brought her power to play. It felt like a thousand tiny fingers, each hot with desire, played over every inch of her skin. From scalp, to full aching breasts, curving along her ribs, teasing the soft white curls between her thighs before trailing lower to lick at the back of her knees and tickle along the arches of her feet.
Oh Goddess, she'd forgotten how damned good Jean could be. It had been years since she'd last shared the other woman's bed. The years seemed to melt away under the heat of Jean's lips and power. They were sixteen again and summer would never end. Everyone was bisexual and sexual expression had become its own religion. For a few glorious months they were lovers, only parting as friends when they found themselves too alike to handle a serious relationship together.
Reluctantly, she let the liquid heat pierce the protective shell she'd tried to create around her heart.
"That's it, love. Come back to me," Jean purred, trailing a heated line of butterfly kisses over Ororo's strong jaw before capturing her lips. No longer able to resist, Ororo's hands tangled in burnt auburn hair, pulling them flush together.
Jean moaned into the kiss as their soft bodies came together. She'd forgotten this, the delicious crush of breast against breast. A low laugh slipped from her lips, only to be devoured by Ororo.
"What are you laughing at little cat?" She asked, tongue teasing the lips beneath hers between words.
"Mmmm, just remembering the last time we were like this, and how jealous I was of your womanly assets." To emphasis the point, Jean slid a hand up Ororo's shirt to cup one chocolate breast. A grin curved her lips when the other woman arched into the touch, silently begging for more. She gave the glorious offering a gentle squeeze before shifting long enough to jerk the offending shirt off.
Ororo yelped in surprise, her stormy eyes flicking to the door. "No worries, I won't let anyone bother us," she promised before her head dipped forward to take in one dusky nipple. The tender flesh instantly hardened when she flicked her tongue over its sweet peak. Her soft moan urged Jean on, and she pinched the other nipple hard enough to earn a delicious gasp.
Her other hand slid down the front of Ororo's pants. Ororo tossed her head back with a sharp cry when her friend's fingers stroked over her soft mound. "Wait. What…about Scott?" Ororo panted, trying to think around the mounting pleasure. As much as she needed this, she couldn't stand the thought of coming between her best friends.
"S'alright, he knows," Jean said before capturing her lips again in an almost punishing kiss for the interruption just as her thumb parted the moist folds of her. Back arching, Ororo cried out when Jean found the tiny nub of pleasure with her thumb.
"Yessss," she hissed. She could feel Jean like a shadow in her mind, creating a pleasure loop for both of them. Each touch was felt by them both, and Jean knew Ororo's body in ways a normal lover never could. It was intoxicating. She'd forgotten how addictive Jean's touch could be. Goddess, how had she ever given it up the first time?
Two fingers slid into the clenching heat of her. It'd been so long since she'd been penetrated by anyone's touch but her own and she couldn't hold back the near sob of pleasure. Then Jean's telekinesis made her scream.
What thrust between her legs didn't feel like fingers, but a perfect length of cock. The thick head stroked lovingly over her g-spot before the rest of the heated shaft followed. It was better than a real member she'd felt before because Jean's own mind was in hers, and she could adjust size, length, and angle in an instant to give her the ultimate pleasure.
"Goddess! Yes, please, oh Jean."
Both women cried out when twin orgasms crashed through them with the unquestionable power of a tsunami. Outside, thunder bellowed and the world was lit with sheets of arching lighting.
They fell together, twined so tightly around each other that there was no Jean, no Ororo. Just one being that throbbed and pulsed with primal passion.
Slowly they melted apart, sinking back into their individual skins. Panting, Ororo slid her arms around Jean. "You've ruined me," she whispered, voice thick from the afterglow. "No man will ever be as good."
Then she laughed, and Jean reached out to swat her for the image that flashed in her mind of her thrusting into Scott instead of the other way around.
"What?" Ororo asked, fluttering her lashes to hide the mirth. "You weren't able to do that when we were girls, so you had to learn it somewhere."
Jean's face burned and she muttered.
"Hmm? I can't hear you my darling one."
"I said…I don't like dildos."
Wild laughter poured from Ororo's lips when she realized what Jean was getting at. "My, oh my. It must have taken many hours of play to perfect that little talent," she teased.
Jean mock glared at her, but felt no real ire. Instead, her heart felt lighter. After the disaster earlier, she felt Ororo pulling away from them, shutting down her own heart in an attempt to escape the pain.
The pain wasn't gone. It never would be. The scars of losing all those children would be with them forever. But now her friend would be able to heal without the experience crippling her.
"Love you," she whispered.
"I love you too, kitten."
Note: End of lemon.
Scott couldn't stop the quiet laughter as he watched the light show blaze across the sky. It was a good thing his power wasn't so flashy. He'd hate for the whole world to know every time Jean brought him to climax.
Thankfully it was only lightening. He wasn't interesting in spending the next hour walking through the rain.
He'd finished his rounds and was about to return to the house when headlights cut across his path. Turning towards the unexpected brightness, he frowned when he spotted a cab pulling up to the front gate. Before the stranger could reach out and tap the buzzer to be let in, Scott appeared to open the gate.
"Can I help you?"
The dark haired man in the driver's seat gave him an uneasy look before saying, "This Xar's School?"
"It's Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Yes."
"You heard the man, looks like this is your stop. That'll be forty-three fifty."
Scott looked into the back seat and spotted the three teens. They were wearing matching orange jumpsuits, making them look like escaped convicts from juvie. The one in the middle had a black hoodie with the price tag still attached on. Its hood was pulled so far down that he couldn't see anything beyond the deep shadows.
Instead of handing him the money, she threw three twenties over the seat before scrambling out the door as if afraid he'd lock them in. The boy followed, turning at the last second to gather up the third girl. None of them spoke to the driver, and he refused to look at them. Instead he tucked the money away, gave Scott one final glare, and slammed the cab in reverse, leaving the lot of them behind.
None of them spoke. The boy shifted from foot to foot, but made no move to put the smaller girl down, and Scott didn't blame him. She clung to him, wide ice blue eyes locked on Scott as if waiting for him to attack. The girl was pale by nature, but the ashy whiteness of her skin was anything but. He also made a mental note of her missing limb.
Something flashed in other's hood. Light reflecting off slit pupil eyes. "Hello, my name is Scott Summers and I'm a teacher here. Why don't we head inside so you can get warmed up?" Now wasn't the time for questions, he knew. He also knew that underfed, frightened look. But the uniforms were the only sour note. If not for those, he'd say they were mutant runaways who'd fallen in together and heard about this being a safe haven. He didn't think that was the case here, but he couldn't afford to press them now. They were a hairs breath away from either attacking or fleeing.
"Yeah. Okay. Let'sss…let'sss do that," said the one in the hood after looking at the other two for a long moment. The words held the edge of a hiss, and Scott thought he saw the flick of a black forked tongue an instant after she spoke.
Professor?
I see them. It appears not all the children at the facility were lost. I'm still in the medical wing. Bring them down so Dr. McCoy can have a look at them.
I will. Scott's heart lightened. Somehow, these three escaped the slaughter and made it here. It would never make up for the ones they'd lost, but he couldn't help but feel better knowing that a few made it out of the nightmare.
Turning, he offered his back to them as he led his way up the drive.
Adelaide stared at Scott's back, then turned her alien gaze on Pietro. She didn't have to speak. He sucked on his bottom lip, looking at the mansion, at the man, at the gate.
"There are lots of mutants in there," Alice's soft whisper made them both jerk in surprise. She hadn't done more than cry since the escape, and they hadn't expected her to do more now.
"Should we go, or try somewhere else?" Pietro asked, anxiety making him bounce a little on the balls of his feet.
She was silent so long they thought she wouldn't answer. Scott had stopped on the path, but didn't turn and demand they follow. "Go."
Cuddling her closer to his chest, Pietro started after the stranger with Adelaide at his side. They shared a single look, in it, determination and a silent promise to never be taken again flared.
Scott released the breath he'd been holding when he heard the soft crunch of gravel at his back. He'd never force them to come against their will. For any mutant, that would be an act of betrayal, but for them? It would shatter any future trust they might develop. Still, he desperately wanted them inside and safe. Death seemed to hang in the air around them, and he felt like it would snatch them away on the threshold of safety if he wasn't careful.
The harp wire tension in his shoulders eased once he had the heavy oak door shut behind them. IX had proven their defenses weren't unbreathable, but he couldn't deny the psychological comfort of shutting out the horrible world and retreating into safety. The children seemed to agree. Even though they still clustered close together, they no longer looked like they were going to run screaming into the night.
They followed along behind him like a string of ducklings that had accidentally imprinted on a dog. Once they reached the elevator, Scott spoke, "We're going to head down to the infirmary to get you looked over and make sure you're healthy. Then we'll find you some better clothes and get you settled into some guest rooms. Is that alright?"
Alice tucked her face against Pietro's chest, once more checking out of the situation, leaving the choice up to them. Adelaide's tongue flicked out again, tasting the honesty of his words. "Fine." Might as well get it over with. Even though Alice said there were mutants here, she couldn't help but think they'd kick her out the minute they saw her face. Unlike the others, she couldn't play human.
A cheerful ding marked their arrival, and she couldn't keep a sardonic smile off her lips. Everything was clean and perfect, so unlike the hell they'd escaped. Again her tongue flicked out, savoring the sweet air that was free of the taint of terror and blood. That, more than anything else kept her moving forward. If the supposed 'infirmary' was the same type of torture chamber the Doctor had, she would have known it from here.
"Here we are. Dr. McCoy will look you all over. Don't worry, he's very kind even though his mutation makes him look a bit fierce."
That gave Adelaide hope. Maybe she wouldn't be the only odd one here. The door opened, and they'd only taken a step into the room when the scent struck her tongue. It crashed into her like a sword through the heart, rooting her to the spot as her eyes dilated. The pupils expanding so much they took over, leaving them pits of mindless, terrified dark.
Scott and Pietro didn't notice her sudden stop. Instead they moved further into the room. She tried to scream, to break out of the terrified paralysis and tell them to run. Trap! Run, we have to run! But she couldn't speak, couldn't move.
Couldn't even breathe. The taste of IX lingered like honeyed poison on her tongue, locking her in place.
Alice felt the presence of a powerful mutant, and couldn't block it out. All she wanted to do was sleep, and pray she didn't dream. Forcing her eyes open, she turned her head to see what awaited them, be it salvation or more terror.
Before she found the power she'd sensed, her eyes were caught by a familiar face. Hope, more fragile than a butterfly's wing, crumbled to dust. The dragon of memory reared up and attacked, shredding all sense of self.
"Tisk, tisk, little girl. You're going to do what we want in the end, so why do you fight? Be happy! Stryker wants to you for his team. You're such a lucky, lucky little pet. Unlike the rest of the kennel, you have a future! Doesn't that make you happy?" the Doctor cooed at her, petting her hair as if she really were nothing more than an unruly pup who chewed the newspaper.
"But you have to learn, my darling one. You have to learn. IX?"
A boy no taller than her appeared. She was shocked when she felt nothing from him. A human? Before she could figure it out, he grabbed her. No matter how she squirmed and kicked, he held her fast and forced her against the wall. With a skill that proved he'd done this more than a few times, he forced each arm up and shackled her in place, back facing the room. Gripping the back of her shirt, he gave a violent jerk, tearing the material free and exposing her vulnerable back. Then he moved away, leaving her half naked and exposed to whatever the Doctor had in mind.
It didn't take long for her to find out. Agony exploded across her skin with the first lash. He'd given her five that day, and in the days after she earned ten more after each refusal. After each beating, IX would unbind her, and carry her back to her cell. He never spoke to her, not once.
XxXxXxX
The Doctor was distracted. One of the mutants he'd been cutting up died, and he was trying to bring him back. She fought the leather cuffs that held her in place against the wall. When the whippings hadn't worked, he'd decided to give her a practical lesson about what would happen to her if she kept refusing to be useful. She'd been forced to stand and watch what the monster did to all those mutants he deemed 'useless'.
Her wrists were bloody from the struggling she'd been doing most of the day. The blood dripped down her arms, and she could still hear his laughter as he told her to keep struggling because he thought the red and white made her look like a candy cane.
When her hands finally slipped free, leaving a fair bit of skin behind, she was stunned. Her heart felt like it would explode, and all she could do was run.
The scream built, trapped in her lungs, but growing like an underground explosion.
She hadn't gotten far when a hand reached out and caught her. There was darkness, pressure like nothing she'd ever felt before, and utter disorientation. Then they were back in the Doctor's private hell.
The way he'd looked at her froze the marrow in her bones. It was no longer the 'bad puppy' look. No, now he looked at her like she was a bug that needed to be crushed.
"My dear little freak. I've been patient with you, I really have. Perhaps it's because I like blonds. Maybe it's your eyes? Or your pert little tits, but really, this is too much. I'm done playing nice. Put her on the table, and stick around. I'll need you to patch her up when I'm finished."
"No! Please, I'll do it. I'll do anything you want. PLEASE!"
He didn't acknowledge her words, not even with another one of his insane remarks.
She'd fought as if possessed, and nearly broke free before IX struck her in the back of the neck, forcing her body to go limp in his arms. Before she regained her senses she was naked, strapped to the table and no amount of struggling would free her from these straps. The only reason she'd gotten away before was because the Doctor had strapped her to the wall. IX never left any room for attempted escape.
"Hmmm, let's see. I think my dearest Annie Wilkes had the perfect solution for what needed to be done with unruly pets who try and escape. However, I'm quite vexed with you my precious one, so I think a foot just isn't enough to make up for how naughty you've been. No…not nearly enough."
Humming a lullaby under his breath, he'd ignored her begging. "Now, I'd offer you an anesthetic, however I think that would…hmmm, blunt the point of the punishment. Don't you?" He'd grinned at her then, and there was nothing sane in that look.
She remembered the way his fingers stroked almost lovingly over the skin of her thigh, then how the blade cut into her. He'd ignored her shrieks as easily as he'd ignored her pleading. When he'd finally gotten to the bone, he didn't grab a bone saw. Even though she was half out of her mind with agony, what she saw next still managed to penetrate. He had a wire with two handles, one on each end. "This is the best part my dear, let me introduce you to my gigli saw. Did you know back in the day British spies used to carry these around? They make a fine garrote, except instead of just strangling the victim, it cuts them open!" With a high, girlish laugh, he held the tool in front of her horrified eyes, showing her the sharp little teeth.
"They also make superb bone cutters," he purred as he wrapped the wire around her exposed femur. Then he began, pulling one handle then the other, making the teeth rasp into the hard bone with a low ripping sound that reminded her of a zipper being pulled up and down. It was beyond torture, beyond sanity, unspeakable agony. Every rasp of the wire cut deeper into bone, but it was so slow. Minutes seemed to bleed into hours and her voice shattered from the inhuman screams.
Then the bone was finally sheered through. "There we go. See? Easy peasy. Okay, IX heal up the stump." The Doctor loomed over her, he patted her face with a hand stained with her blood. "There, there little pup. I've heard three legged dogs are all the rage this season. Now be a good girl and hush up. Losing a leg sucks, sure, but being blown to bloody bits is a lot worse, kapesh?"
She didn't respond, couldn't respond. Not that she could scream anyway. Her throat was a raw ruin. Then IX was there, and she learned she could keep screaming after all. It felt like he'd dipped the stump where her leg had been in acid. Then, the pain was gone. All of it. Her eyes snapped open, hoping it was just a vivid nightmare, but her leg was still missing. Now the stump was smoothed over as if she'd always been missing a leg.
"Wonderful!" The Doctor clapped like a child who's seen a practically fine magic trick. "Man, you're getting way better at doing that while they scream. I thought she's explode for sure the way she was carrying on."
"It's easy to ignore when I know what to expect," came the dead reply.
"Yeah, well…deal with that won't you? I don't want a leg lying around rotting." Again with the tittering laugh.
IX grabbed the discarded limb and moved it to a steel exam table. A sob broke from Alice when he reached out and fire leapt from his finger tips to engulf what had once been part of her. For a second, she almost felt the fire eat away her flesh, as if the leg were still attached.
"Mmmmm, I love the smell of roasting pork. Don't you?" The Doctor asked. Neither of them replied and he pouted.
Once the limb was reduced to fine grey ash, the fire vanished, leaving only the burnt pork smell behind. "Oh, take that back to its cell won't you? I'm sure we won't have any more troubles. Will we?" his eyes locked on her white face, the hand print of blood still decorating one cheek like a violent exclamation point.
"N…n…n…n-"
"That's my girl," he whispered, leaning over to plant a gentle, fatherly kiss on her sweaty forehead.
The ear splitting scream tore from her throat, an echo of her mindless howls of memory. With a violent shove, she fell from Pietro's arms and began crawling towards the door. The scream went on and on, and she couldn't stop it. Couldn't control the absolute terror, even know that it would wake the monster up. He would come and grab her. Again the darkness would come and they'd reappear in the Doctor's chamber.
"If you ever try to run away again, I'll take all of your limbs. You'll just be a pretty little head and a torso, the perfect little fuck doll. I'll keep you in a trunk at the foot of my bed."
Alice could feel his hot breath against her ear, and it was too much. Darkness swallowed her whole.
Pietro cursed and spun so fast he was a blur. He saw Adelaide fall, and turned again trying to find the source of the attack. It was then he spotted what the girls already saw. IX. Moving so fast the eye couldn't keep track, he snatched a pair of scissors off the desk and put himself between the girls and the rest of the room.
He didn't attack. Not yet, he didn't dare. IX was beyond legend to them, and even with his advantage Pietro knew he'd die if IX attacked.
Why wasn't he attacking? The body on the bed hadn't stirred, not even after all the screaming. Fighting against the need to stare at IX in case he woke, Pietro scanned the room. Scott was at the side of a bald man in a wheel chair who was clutching his head, and there was a large, blue fuzzy fellow standing near the back who held himself like he wanted to come to them but didn't want to make things worse by frightening them.
"What's going on? Professor?"
Pietro spun again at the first word and might have attacked if woman hadn't looked so genuinely worried. Her red hair spilled around a long night shirt clad body, and as she knelt to check on the fallen girls, he caught the outline of one pert nipple through the thin material.
Some of his confused terror was overwhelmed by teen hormones, and he didn't react when she moved past him to go to the bald man. Instead he eagerly took in her lush back side as she walked by. He swallowed hard before forcing his attention back to more important things.
The girls, protect the girls' dumb ass. Another woman had appeared while he was distracted. Instead of just checking Alice, she moved to pick the girl up. In a flash, Pietro was between them. He shoved the white haired woman away and held the scissors up threateningly. "Back off."
"We mean you no harm," her voice was rich and dusky. It seemed to go straight to his prick and he thought seriously about stabbing himself in the leg. Maybe then he'd be able to focus. Damn it, what is this place? Beautiful women are us? Fuck!
"If you mean us 'no harm' why the fuck is the executioner here?"
"Do you know a man named Remy LeBeau?"
Pietro's shoulder jerked up in a half shrug while his eyes continued to dart from the woman to the bed and back. They made more than one stop at her breasts before leaping up to her amazing blue eyes. "Yeah. He was IX's favorite toy. Disappeared a long time ago. I thought the Doctor killed him." His voice broke slightly on the word kill; his eyes skittered away from hers again. No one asked what happened when people disappeared from the pens. Most of the time IX killed them there, where they could all see, but they all knew whenever the Doctor came for one of them there was a fair chance they'd never return.
Thankfully, the Doctor hadn't been too interested in him. He hadn't even ran afoul of IX. The only time he'd been in the madman's lair was during the initial exam and sample gathering phase. Pietro bit his bottom lip, remembering the single threat he'd received. "You're not all that interesting, so I'll only tell you this once. Be good. If not, well speed doesn't mean piss in the ocean if you're paralyzed from the waist down."
His eyes reluctantly darted to the man in the wheel chair and away again. No, thank you. He'd been good.
"No, he escaped and like you ended up here for sanctuary. IX and X came to…"
"Kill him. Yeah, I get it now. Guess that explains why they've been gone so long. So what the hell? How come you guys aren't a pile of bloody bits?" Pietro demanded. He reached up to run his fingers through his grey hair and nearly stabbed himself in the eye with the scissors still clutched in his fist. Heat burned his cheeks as he tucked them into his pocket.
"How about we get the girls up off the floor and into one of the beds and then talk about it? My name is Ororo by the way, or you can call me Storm if you prefer. The woman who came in before me is Jean, over there by Professor Xavier. Hank is back there. He'll want to have a look at the three of you before too much longer," Storm said, offering the sort of smile he'd dream about later.
"Er…yeah. Sorry. You know, about before."
"It's understandable." Moving slowly, she bent and gathered Adelaide into her arms. Pietro already had Alice tucked against his chest again.
Once they were tucked in the two beds farthest from IX, Dr. McCoy got to work checking their vitals.
"So, care to tell me how you guys aren't all dead?" Instead of skepticism, the words held a hint of hero worship.
Storm felt her cheeks heat at the tone. "It was Professor Xavier. He's a very powerful telepath and was able to defeat them. IX's mind was badly damaged during the attack, and he's in a coma. Odds are good he'll never wake from it, but even if he does, he's going to have to relearn just about everything. He's no longer a threat to you or anyone else."
Pietro snorted. "Okay, yeah that's freaking awesome and all but you should kill him. Just saying, we'll all be way safer if he was dead." Storm frowned at him, but couldn't silence the small voice in her heart that agreed.
"How about you? We…we went to the compound after Remy told us about it, but we were too late to save anyone."
Pietro swallowed hard, fighting the lingering terror. It had only been a few hours ago, but it felt like forever. And yet, it also felt like he was still strapped in his cage, listening to each gun shot as Zero worked his way towards him. The screams rang in his head.
"I don't know what happened, but they decided killing all of us sounded like a great idea and sent Zero and Wraith to do it. Zero was shooting everyone, but I dunno, I guess Wraith couldn't handle it. He pulled Adelaide out and vanished. That's his power, he's a teleporter. Anyway, so he pulled Adelaide out, then me, then Alice. He gave Adelaide some money and an old card with this address on it. Told us to come here. And here we are."
"What happened after he brought Alice?"
"No idea, he never came back."
Storm nodded, remembering the cell that held two bodies. One an adult black man, the other a little boy.
"Well, how about you let Dr. McCoy have a look at you? After that we'll see about getting you guys something to eat and figure out the room situation."
Warmth cradled Xavier's mind, gently drawing him out of the nightmarish memories. The strain of the day left his shields weak. When first Adelaide and then Alice saw IX, he'd been sucked down right along with them while they drowned in memories. It was like he and they were one, and their memories became a reality.
A flash back, locking them into the past and him along with them. It was too much. Jean's arms wrapped around his shoulders while her mind formed a protective wall around his. Rest now, we'll take care of everything. Rest. He could have fought the mental command, but didn't. Instead, he allowed himself to be drawn down into healing darkness.
"He'll sleep for the rest of the night. Can you put him to bed Scott?" Jean asked. He said nothing about the tear tracks that marked her face, or what they'd seen. The girl's screams would haunt his nights enough as it was. He honestly didn't want the details, though he'd probably have to know about them sooner rather than later.
Stepping forward, he hugged her. They clung to each other and silently prayed that nothing else would happen tonight. Finally, Jean nudged him. Scott sighed, not ready to let go but knowing he had to. With a soft, lingering kiss, he left to tend to Charles.
Looking around, she saw that Storm had the boy well in hand before she turned her attention to Hank. "How are they?"
"They've gone through a lot, and they're both in mild shock. I think the little blond has shut down completely. They're all on the thin side, but I wasn't able to find any obvious wounds. I gave the girls a mild sedative to help them rest easily through the night, but it would be best if we moved them to one of the guest rooms so they won't have to face IX again."
Jean looked down at Alice and felt her heart break from the burden of memories she'd been hit with at the same time as Xavier. She'd been able to shield enough not to live them, but she'd seen enough. "Yeah. That would be for the best."
Magic pooled inside his skull. Its waves lapped gently over the damaged tissue, bathing it in healing light. Like when he was a child, the power didn't require his conscious thoughts to mend his wounds. Instead of a quick rush of power directed by will, this was like a spring rain. It soaked into him throughout the night.
As dawn broke, IX's eyes opened.
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