Edited: 3/5/16
Chapter 23 – Impossible Choices
"I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice." - Abraham Lincoln
Storm drifted on a bed of soft clouds. They cradled her in gentle arms of mist. Brilliant shafts of light flitted around her, piercing her fluffy blanket and tickling her skin with spots of heat. Even though a distant part of her mind whispered that clouds should be cold, it felt like she was drifting in a sea of blood warm water, surrounded by her element. Is this Heaven? The thought sat on the surface of her mind like a lily pad, not making an impression, just there.
Something tickled along the side of her throat. Her hand twitched when she tried to brush the strange sensation away, but didn't complete the action. Even though she could feel her body, it was a distant thing, almost inconsequential. Ignoring the tickle, she focused on the clouds, wanting to enjoy the way they curled around her nude form.
The tickle became a burn. It felt like someone had drawn a line of fire on her neck. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. Against her will, the clouds broke up, dropping her back down into herself.
Beep, beep, beep, the repetitive sound drifted into her awareness and helped ground her. The medical ward, she thought before forcing her eyes to open. Her throat still burned, the ache growing in time with her heart beat.
The first thing she saw made her lips twitch into a small smile. Jean's head was pillowed on her lower stomach, one arm flung over her hips. The red head was in a chair next to her bed, but still managed to use her as a cushion. Shifting her right hand, she felt her fingers twined in the other woman's inescapable grip. What happened? She wondered as she studied Jean's sleeping face, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes, her unusually pale skin, and the dry tear tracks marking her cheeks.
Closing her eyes, Storm tried to think back, only to wince when the pain in her neck gave a sharp throb. She reached up with her free hand, and froze when her fingers brushed over the thick bandage circling her neck. Memories crashed into her like a blast from Cyclops's eyes. IX hanging lifeless in his cell, trying to save him, the bite of something sharp in her throat, and then blood.
So much blood.
She shuddered, and then wondered why she was still alive. From what they'd learned of IX, he should have killed her while he had the chance. Storm was glad he hadn't, but couldn't for the life of her figure out why she'd been spared. Not out of the goodness of his heart, I'm sure.
Movement next to her drew Storm's gaze, and made her wince when stitches pulled against tender flesh as she tried to turn her head.
"None of that," Hank said. His large clawed hand rested gently on her forehead, keeping her from turning more. "Those stitches are going to be tender for a few days yet, so try not to turn your head too much."
"What happened?" Storm rasped.
Hank gave her a sad smile. "It appears our caged bird made his bid for freedom. Quite clever of him really. He learns quick, that one. When he realized we could knock him out at any time, he came up with a plan that made knocking him out useless, and had the added benefit of forcing one of us to go to him." Storm frowned up at him, and couldn't stop the faint blush of irritation at having fallen for his trap.
"Once he was free of his cage, he ran into Scott." Storm's eyes widened in fear. "Not to worry, it seems IX wasn't in much of a killing mood, though he did leave our friend with a souvenir to remember him by." Now her face darkened in irritation, silently demanding he get on with it instead of dragging it out. Hank held up his blue hands in surrender. "All right, all right. He gave him a serious cut on the side, but nothing I couldn't handle. After putting Scott down, he made it out into the yard. Unfortunately, he happened upon young Siryn, who promptly flipped out when she saw him covered in blood and screamed. He managed to stab her in the chest, doing some grave damage to her left lung before he was subdued by Peter."
"What…" her voice cracked, and Hank turned to grab a glass of water off the small bedside table. He brought the straw up to her lips for a drink. The water flowed down her throat like cool silk, easing the rasping dryness. "Where did he get the weapon from?" She asked.
Hank snorted. "Of all the innovations I've seen in my time, I've never known a man to make a knife out of a toothbrush." Storm gaped at him.
"A toothbrush? I was almost killed by a toothbrush?" Her voice rose with indignation on the last word as her eyes spit fire at the absurdity of her almost murder. Of all the ways to die, by toothbrush hadn't made it anywhere near the list. Pain twisted her face when her neck gave another sharp pulse in protest to her outburst, and Jean stirred against her stomach. Without thought, she carded her fingers through Jean's hair, coaxing her back down into sleep.
"Oh, right. Time for your next dose of pain killers," Hank gave her a cheerful wink before injecting a dose of medication into her IV drip. "Everyone is stable, and IX won't be pulling another stunt like that one. Xavier put him in The King of Heart's Suite. Frankly, we should have put him there from the start. Then again, who would have guessed the lengths he would go to for a chance to escape?"
Hank's words began to break apart, transforming into fluffy clouds. Storm blinked, wondering what he'd given her, but already too dazed to ask. As the pain in her neck melted away, Storm drifted off on a cloud bank of pain medication.
The sharp throb of pain helped IX claw his way up out of the hole unconsciousness had buried him in. It throbbed viciously in the side of his face, and when he tried to open his mouth, agony screamed inside his head. Ignoring the pain, IX forced his eyes open to study his new cage.
His physical pain was eclipsed by mental anguish at what he saw. The room held zero potential for escape. Reaching down, IX pulled at the edge of his shirt and observed the tiny rip with dismay. Beneath him, he could feel the blanket was made of a similar material. The cloth was a hybrid of paper and cotton. Strong enough not to rip while he moved, but not nearly strong enough to be of use for anything else.
The pain in his face was distantly echoed in his ribs when he stood, but he didn't care. It took less than five minutes to explore every inch of the wretched room, and to learn how entirely trapped he was. The walls were made up of a soft yet indestructible material, same with the floor. The pallet making up his bed was nothing more than a thicker rectangle of the stuff. He had a single papery blanket and one extra set of clothing. The shower was button operated and did not have a shower head. There was no sink, and the toilet was a water-less hole ringed by a higher ridge of soft material.
IX ground his teeth together, ignoring the splintery pain in his jaw as he stood stiffly in the center of the cage. No escape, the thought echoed through his mind like a tidal wave as the pressure of his situation crashed over him, driving him to his knees. It took every scrap of his self-control not to scream while his mind was crushed in the vice of his conditioning.
Wrapping his arms around his middle, IX bowed his head and fought a silent battle to hold his mind together for as long as possible. He knew he was breaking, but refused to shatter without a fight.
My life belongs to my wielder, I cannot break here. I will not.
Still, the unbearable pressure grew, and IX felt his mind begin to buckle under the strain. Darkness ate the world, slashing into him with midnight claws as they drug him down into the abyss.
"He's unconscious."
"Bring him to the medical ward."
"Are you sure that's wise?"
"We have no choice my friend. Not anymore."
Growling under his breath, Hank entered the small cell and felt the fur along his neck rise. If it were up to him, he'd leave the kid here to rot. He bent down and grabbed IX around the waste before tossing him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Again, he was shocked by the youth's light weight. So much destruction contained in such a tiny package. "They should have named you C4 instead of 9," he growled at the limp body.
Not happy with the thought of letting the little hell cat back into his domain, Hank forced himself to take his burden to the Professor. If he so much as twitches wrong, I'm going to rip his head off, he decided.
After Storm woke up for the second time, Hank had given her the go ahead to return to her rooms. Jean went with to make sure the white haired woman had everything she'd need. The memory made his lips twitch, especially the exasperated look on Storm's face. He knew that she'd only put up with the telepath's mother hening for so long before she lost it. Ah well, she'll still have Scott to badger, and he's too much of a love struck fool to tell her to go stuff it. He wasn't pleased that Siryn was still in the medical wing, still recovering from her surgery. They couldn't move her yet, and he didn't want IX anywhere near her.
"Are you sure we should do this here?" He demanded as he all but threw IX down onto empty bed.
Xavier didn't say anything over the rough handling of their captive. Instead he sighed and rubbed at his temple. "Yes. He'll need to be awake for me to delve as deeply into his mind as I have to."
"What are you planning?" Hank demanded, his sharp blue eyes locking on Xavier's tired ones.
"I'm going to do what I must. His mind is on the verge of collapse. If I cannot find a way to stabilize him and remove the compulsion, then he'll become a vegetable. If this doesn't work…" Again he sighed. The sound held the weight of the world in it, and Hank bit the inside of his cheek. But he couldn't keep silent, not this time.
"Would that really be such a bad thing?"
Xavier's eyes narrowed. "What IX did is inexcusable, but I can't sit back and listen to another person's mind literally tear itself to pieces. I'm not that strong." Hank flinched at the words.
Not meeting the bald man's eyes, Hank began to strap IX down to the bed with padded cuffs that they'd installed for this purpose. It made him uncomfortable to have another mutant tied down in his lab, and he couldn't help feeling like some sort of mad scientist. This is so wrong. Why did doing the right thing feel so wrong sometimes? It's death, madness, or Xavier, of those three choices, I'd pick Xavier every time.
Once IX had been strapped down tight enough to keep a snake in place, Hank injected him with the cure to the sedative.
The darkness became less oppressive, and a familiar scent tickled his nose. It was the whiff of antiseptic that clung to all medical labs. Keeping his breathing steady, IX twitched. The slight movement painted a picture in his mind, and IX wondered if he'd misjudged them after all.
Padded cuffs bound him at ankle and wrists to the bed. More straps crossed over his forehead, chest, stomach, thighs, and calves, ensuring total immobility.
Escape, complete the mission, escape, ESCAPE! Rational thought was fractured by the impossible commands. Clenching his teeth, IX thrashed violently against the bonds holding him to the table to no avail.
"Release me," the words were a distorted snarl, hissed between his teeth. IX didn't feel the light touch on his temples.
You must relax.
The three simple words fell into the maelstrom of his thoughts like delicate snowflakes. Instead of being torn to shreds by the chaos around them, they grew and became a new compulsion greater than the one destroying his mind.
Numbness settled around IX's distraught mind like a shot of Novocaine to the brain. IX's eyes snapped open, and locked on the sharp blue eyes hovering above his face. Against his will, his body relaxed into the bed as all fight drained out of him.
"You are the other telepath," IX said, the words dead of emotion.
"I am. We haven't been formally introduced. I am Charles Xavier, and the head of this establishment."
"I see." What are you going to do to me? He thought, unwilling to ask the question out loud. Xavier's jaw tightened when he saw the memories attached to that question. So man mutants he'd help strap to tables just like this one, and their often gruesome ends.
Fighting the rage he felt at the inhumanity of what was done to those innocents, and the part IX played in their destruction, Charles gave him a faint smile. "I'm going to save you."
IX's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because everyone deserves a chance at salvation." IX snorted at the absurd declaration.
Before IX could ask another question, Xavier focused. Part of his attention continued to act as a buffer between IX and the overwhelming need to complete his mission, while the rest dove into the mutant's thoughts.
IX's breath hissed as he sucked in a sharp breath. Memories began to play out in the back of his mind, and he knew the telepath was crawling in his thoughts, rifling through them like a deck of cards. Even knowing what was happening, he couldn't feel it while his powers were blocked, nor could he defend against it. "Get out of my mind."
No.
Xavier flicked through IX's thoughts, first wanting answers. Suddenly, a crystal clear image flooded IX's mind of a young woman bound to a lab table, her face was sweat soaked, and a scream tore itself from her throat as the doctor injected her with something. He narrowed his eyes, anger washed through him like the tide coming in, but he refused to act on it. Clever, he thought. Even though IX was no longer able to tear his mind down and force him into memories, he was deliberately throwing memories at Xavier that were designed to infuriate and distract him. But not clever enough.
He took control of the thoughts, wresting them back in the direction he wanted them to go. It was similar to breaking an unruly horse, his thoughts became the bit he used to force IX to yield. Still he tried to buck the control.
IX closed his eyes in a vain attempt to sever the connection when he felt Xavier's mind bite deeper into his own. As with his confinement, he fought with grim determination, refusing to submit even when the battle was impossible to win.
That won't help you. The thought slithered into his head like a serpent, its scales dragging memories to the surface of his mind. He felt the telepath slowly pick apart his thought process on the escape, and could almost taste the man's reluctant admiration.
I see, Xavier thought, echoing IX's previous words. The assassin was more clever than he'd given him credit for, and more observant. Even with the limited interactions between him and the X-Men, he'd judged them accurately and formulated a plan that nearly bore fruit. IX hadn't forgotten the telepath even though he could no longer feel mental intrusions, and he'd used his growing madness as a shield to hide deeper plots. Xavier had been fooled by the surface breakdown simply because he couldn't see how anyone could function when their mind was unraveling. More importantly, he now understood why IX hadn't killed when given the opportunity. Very clever indeed. It was a simple twist on the land mine philosophy. Land mines weren't designed to kill. They were designed to maim, to create victims who would then need to be tended to.
If IX had killed Storm and Scott, there would be nothing standing between him and the instant vengeance of the rest of the mutants in the institute. Instead he'd created an injury serious enough to hold up both himself and Hank, following it by disabling another adult fighter without killing him, thus creating more injured that had to be tended to. His patience had come close to an end when confronted by Siryn, and he would have killed her if Peter hadn't interfered, but before that the plan had unfolded perfectly. The final piece of the puzzle was as elegant as the rest. He wanted to cause enough damage to hold them up, but not so much that they would instantly seek revenge and go after him.
It disturbed the Professor how well IX had pegged him. I wouldn't have gone after him. Not until all the wounded had been tended too, and by then he would have made it back to his handlers. Again, IX's mind tried to twist him off into a different direction, but he tightened his grip, ignoring the lance of pain that shot through the smaller mutant's mind. He couldn't afford gentleness now.
Forcing himself deeper into IX's memories, he followed their trek across the country while they hunted Remy. He sensed IX's reluctance to kill, and his absolute resolve to do as ordered. That gave him a bit of hope. It showed that IX wasn't a complete sociopath. If he can form even small connections with other people, perhaps there's something here to salvage after all.
Xavier was stunned at the amount of damage IX could take, and understood better how he'd been able to keep from falling into madness sooner. With mental fingers, he sifted through the string of battles he'd fought with Remy. Then, reluctantly, he explored IX's life with Stryker and everything it entailed. His stomach rebelled against the atrocities committed in the facility, but he refused to break the connection to get sick. Any hope he might have felt at the faint connection IX had with Remy died as he watched those horrors play out.
The cunning he'd applied while dealing with the X-Men had been turned on his own kind when it came to their destruction. While IX didn't feel pleasure in killing, it didn't bother him either. In truth, the small assassin felt nothing for his victims, positive or negative. That frightening level of indifference made his skin crawl. He would have returned with the rest of his team and would have had no qualms in capturing or killing everyone here. Digging through the memories, he saw IX and the X-Team perform similar operations, though none of the enclaves had been as large as Xavier's.
IX killed without question or remorse.
After an unbearable amount of time, Xavier made it to the end of IX and X's time as Stryker's hounds. It felt like he'd waded naked through a swamp of filth. So much blood. He'd long lost count of the number of lives lost to IX's relentless skill.
Now, let's see where you came from. Originally, he'd believed that IX and X were Stryker's creations, but as he mined the memories, he learned that wasn't the case. They were as much a leash on the military man as they were on the hostage mutants.
Pain lanced through his temples, making Xavier jerk away from IX as the passive mutant struck. While he'd been exploring the Stryker memories, IX had gone quiet. Xavier thought that meant the small man had finally given up. He was wrong. Memories crashed into his mind, every agonizing experience IX could recall in full vivid detail. He could almost feel the whip ripping his own back apart, bones shattered, knives tore through flesh, and he burned.
Cursing, Xavier broke the connection. So much pain all at once caught him off guard.
IX choked back a cry of agony as the mental connection was abruptly severed. With the telepath out of his head, the mental protections the man offered collapsed as well. The compulsion to complete the mission lashed through his raw mind like a whip made of liquid flame. It flayed him alive, burning through his thoughts and leaving him trembling on the verge of mental shutdown.
Xavier jerked forward again when he saw IX's pupils blow wide. Blood flowed down the bound mutant's cheeks from his bitten bottom lip, and his breath accelerated to the point where hyperventilation became a threat. Before IX's mind crumbled, Xavier reestablished control.
Be Calm. Numbness spread over IX's wounded mind like a healing balm.
Protect…Your…Wielder…
IX tried to focus, but exhaustion pulled at his mind like the soft shackles that held him to the bed. The need to keep the telepath from his Wielder's memories thrummed in time with his heartbeat, but it was a distant call that couldn't pierce the artificial calm forced on him. There had been too much mental trauma over the past few days, and his reserves had finally run dry. Shock flitted along the edge of his consciousness, teasing him with the promise of rest.
Bracing himself for another blast of remembered pain if IX wasn't done rebelling, Xavier sank back down into the sea of memories. IX failed to attack again, but he wasn't foolish enough to let his guard down. It wasn't the pain that worried him, though it hadn't been pleasant, it was IX. The teen's mind felt fragile around him, and he thought one more blow like the last would destroy it. No, I won't let that happen.
Then he found the face of true evil. He studied the elderly man, watched silently as IX offered the man his life for a perceived failure, saw the way X had been caged and bound. The man's name was never spoken within IX's hearing, and Xavier found himself stunned at the depth of IX connection to the nameless man. He looked at the stranger as though he were the very center of his world. It wasn't love, not even close, but it was something greater than obsession.
Xavier knew instinctively that IX would do anything the man said, no matter the cost to himself or anyone else. If he told him to burn down the world, he'd do it. That level of absolute power made Xavier's soul ache.
How did this man gain such control over another living person? It was beyond horrifying. Gritting his teeth, Xavier forced himself to go deeper still. He had to understand what was done to the mutant if he had any chance to undue it.
Another ray of hope flashed through the next cluster of memories. He observed how IX found small ways to twist his orders to spare the Native American. While the assassin had never flat out refused an order, he managed to skate around the edges of a couple during that time.
4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492
All thought came to a screaming halt for Xavier as he observed the instant change in IX's mind when those numbers were whispered into his head. He recognized the voice as IX's master. Impossible. It couldn't be that easy, that horrible. Could it?
Xavier dug deeper still. He watched the multiple massacres. The tiny town of Second Chance that didn't get a Third. The Matron and her doomed creations of mingled human flesh and weaponry. And finally, the very scientists who'd created him.
Ice flowed through Xavier's veins. He finally understood what he'd so blithely held captive in his school. If IX had managed to escape, his orders might not have been to capture, but to annihilate. In his mind's eye, it wasn't a small cluster of rough buildings IX crept through but the bedrooms in the Manor. How easily the assassin could have ended their lives without waking a single soul. Then his home would have gone up in poisoned flames, burning their remains to fine ash.
Licking his parchment dry lips, Xavier marshaled his strength and pushed forward. How was such an atrocity created? As a silent observer, he watched IX and X train together, and how the tiny male inevitably always lost. He saw their first battle, and the failed battles of the convicts IX so easily terminated.
Then he reached the cancerous heart of the matter. He kept his distance from the deadly training, instead focusing on the brutal mental conditioning that tied IX's very will to a number. Xavier witnessed the diabolical mental stripping that formed the cruel foundation of a mind that had once been human, but was now a living weapon with untold destructive potential.
Xavier's hands shook while he drifted back up to the surface of IX's mind. The options were as clear as they were devastating. He could let go, allow the assassin's mind to destroy itself. Or…
Or.
That single word hung in his mind like an ill omen. Just thinking about what came after made his soul feel black with self-loathing. Could he do what had to be done? Could he truly take up this sword and master him? Perhaps, in da right hand, he can be turned from sword ta shield, eh? Remy's words returned to him, and tasted like bitter ash on his tongue. How could he even consider taking absolute control over another human being? Because it was that, or kill him. An equally impossible choice.
Please God, let this be the right choice.
Xavier's breath rattled in his throat like a death gasp as he drew in air. "4285." Instantly, IX's mind went silent. Hauntingly calm and empty, the mind waited for him to finish. To take control. Clenching his fists, Xavier said "8284910583-210982905729-8492."
A low sob escaped him after the last number fell from his lips. He felt IX's mind twist, the very foundation of his being wrenched out of place only to resettle around him. Now he was at the center of this deadly creature's universe, and his word became law. It felt like rape, no worse. There was no word for what he'd just done.
Hear me IX, all previous orders given are no longer valid. Is that understood?
"Yes, sir." The dead voice filled Xavier's mind, and it felt like a collar snapping around his neck. Trembling, he pulled out of the assassin's mind, and distantly felt satisfied that it didn't fall back into chaos. Instead he was again reminded of Remy. IX's mind was like a cold, still pool, perfectly calm and waiting for him to dip a finger into it to create a ripple of action.
Swallowing back bile, Xavier nodded. "Good. Rest now." Empty green eyes slid shut at the command, and that was one insult too many for his stomach to handle.
"Trash can," he managed to choke out, holding on long enough for Hank to shove the bucket into his hands. Acid burned up his throat, followed by what felt like everything he'd ever eaten. Even when there was nothing left to come up, his stomach continued to grind. Every part of him felt unclean, and he even though he knew it wouldn't help, he needed to take a scalding hot bath. Nothing would undo what he'd done.
"Charles? What happened?" Hank's hesitant voice drew him out of his miserable thoughts.
A muscle jumped in Xavier's jaw, and it was a strain to force his mouth open. He didn't want to admit what he'd done, as if speaking it out loud would make it irrevocable. "Mr. Lebeau was correct. At heart, IX is a weapon," he swallowed. "One I've taken control of," he admitted in shamed whisper.
Xavier didn't have to look up to see the look of horror on Hank's face. The silence grew heavy around them before Hank spoke. The words dropped into the darkness like falling porcelain dolls to shatter on the floor. "We should have let him die."
Thumbing the control on his chair, Xavier turned his back on Hank and headed for the door. He couldn't defend his actions, not when he'd felt IX's mind lock on him, accepting him as the new anchor to his existence. "Please return IX to his cell."
Not yet willing to trust Xavier's control, Hank drugged IX again before removing the straps holding him to the table. Even then, he tensed, ready for the assassin to rear up and attack. Instead, the teen remained limp. Reaching out, Hank rested the palm of his hand against IX's slender throat. His claws were dark against the pale skin, and his lips pealed back to reveal sharp fangs as he squeezed. The skin dimpled under the pressure. How easy it would be to close his hand and tear that bit of flesh free. Minutes crawled by as he stood, still as a gargoyle, holding the life of another in the palm of his hand. How many lives have you crushed? He wondered, knowing he could ask Xavier if he ever wanted to know, and also knowing he never would. Bad enough that he knew about the tiny town that no longer existed.
Bad enough. Everything with IX came down to levels of awful, from the distasteful to mind bendingly horrific. "I should kill you," he whispered, willing his hand to close. The soft pulse whispered against the sensitive pad of his thumb, and its steady beat felt like an insult to every victim whose hearts had been forever silenced. Killing him was the right thing to do.
The only thing to do. So why couldn't he do it? A pained laugh that wanted to be a sob escaped his lips. Who was he to condemn Charles's choice when he could do no better? "What pathetic fools we are. I hope we don't regret this idiotic act of mercy." Releasing IX's fragile neck, he scooped the youth up and again tossed him haphazardly over his shoulder. Even though he wasn't willing to kill IX, that didn't mean he had to be kind.
Logan glared up at the white plaster of his ceiling as if the material had spent the last hour and a half talking shit about his mother. Not that he remembered his mother, but that wasn't the point. The headache he was beginning to think of as a permanent fixture in his skull continued to throb behind his eyes. It didn't pulse in time with his heartbeat, nope, it ebbed and flowed with X's pissed off mood.
Ever since IX had been dragged back into the school bloody and unconscious, the animal locked in the back of his mind howled his fury. At this point, Logan would have gladly sacrificed his healing ability for a bottle of aspirin strong enough to kill the pounding headache. He just wanted to sleep, but that wasn't happening any time soon if the past hour was any indication.
"Fuck it," he growled, pulling himself out of bed. The kiddies should all be asleep. If they weren't? So what. It wasn't like any of them could hurt him, and as long as IX was out of the picture, he wouldn't hurt them either. So everything was fine. That and he couldn't stand the thought of spending another second hidden away in this room. Bad enough he had a monster locked inside his head, he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life in a cage too.
"I'm going out for a walk, Chuck," he said sarcastically to the empty room. Someone sighed in the back of his mind, and Logan fought back a grin at the exasperated sound. Fine, try not to get into trouble, won't you? The smile wilted a bit around the edges at the exhausted thought. The Professor sounded like death run over twice, and he almost asked if the man was all right before he let it go. He was an adult, and hardly needed Logan to hold his hand. If he needed that sort of thing, Logan was certain there were plenty of bleeding hearts willing to sit and listen to his problems.
Some of the aching tension bled out of Logan's shoulders when he stepped out of the elevator onto the main floor of the Manson. Even though it was a bit too stuffy for him, it was a thousand times better than the underground. While he couldn't recall where he and IX once lived, he had a feeling it wasn't much different from Xavier's secret lair.
Walking silently through the dark first floor, he noticed all the random little signs of the children who called this place home. Notes were crumpled and forgotten along the base boards, a backpack left hanging on the back of a chair, a random sock tucked behind a plant, and the mingled scents of countless adolescents.
He made it to the front door without running into, or being attacked by anyone. It was a pleasant change of pace. The pounding headache eased with the first caress of wind across his face. Tilting his head back, Logan drew a deep breath and held it, savoring the small taste of freedom. X seemed to settle a bit in his cage, and Logan wondered if part of the creature's problem was simply feeling trapped inside.
Outside was better. And outside with IX is better still, snarling, Logan squashed the thought before it could take root. The distant pines called to him, and for a brief instant, he saw them draped in snow. Shaking his head, he looked again and found them darkly green in the moonlight. The air on his skin was warm and rich with the beginning of summer, not fanged with winter. Unease bushed over him like stepping through a spider's web, but he refused to acknowledge it. Doesn't matter, not like I wouldn't have seen a winter forest before, he thought. X rumbled in the back of his mind and he swore the noise held a drop of amusement.
Forcing his mind away from his aggravatingly blank memory, Logan reached behind him to shut the door. The handle was pulled out of his grip when the door popped back open. "Where do you think you're…oh," the red head he'd rescued from IX's clutches stared at him with wide startled eyes. A faint blush painted her cheeks and she offered him a shaky smile. "Sorry, I thought you were a student trying to sneak out after curfew."
Logan's nostrils flared, taking in the heady scent of feminine arousal. It twined around him like a playful Siamese, tantalizing his senses. It wasn't nearly as intoxicating as IX's scent, but Logan's body still reacted to it the same way a lone wolf would respond to the scent of a bitch in heat. Not someone to mate with for life, but for a season of pups? Perhaps. If nothing else, she might be able to help him forget his fixation on a certain young man who had no business fanaticizing over.
He studied her wide green eyes. The shade was wrong, so were the emotions swirling inside them, but still. The color was another point in her favor. A roguish smile curled his lips, and his body hardened further when her blush deepened. "I, um, never had a chance to thank you."
"No problem," Logan held a hand out to her, the grin grew when he heard her heartbeat speed up as her pupils dilated. More pheromones flooded the small space between them. Instead of taking his hand, she pulled back.
A frown touched her smooth lips, contradicting all the other signals her body gave. "No. I'm sorry. I need to go check on the children." With that, she turned and fled, slamming the door in his face. A low rumbling laugh escaped him, and Logan expected to hear her shoot the lock home. Suddenly, he felt like the big bad wolf, and couldn't help but laugh again. Perhaps things wouldn't be as dull around here as he thought they would be.
Jean leaned her back against the door and fought back the mortified blush staining her cheeks. What are you thinking? Well that was obvious, wasn't it? She hadn't been thinking. If she'd been single and ran across Logan in a bar there was no question in her mind that she would have gone home with him. What a terrifying thought. She was not a woman who gave into feelings of the flesh. Whenever a question came up of which to follow, the head or the heart, she'd choose her brain every time. But Goddess above, he tripped her trigger bad. Something about the man hit all the right physical buttons and made her want to fling herself at him like a cat in heat.
Just thinking it filled her with a strange mix of pleasure and shame. She'd never had instant chemistry with someone before, and it was a little overwhelming. Scott filled her mind, and the scale dipped all the way over into shame. How could she even think about something like that when she had such a wonderful man already? Rubbing her eyes, she promised herself that no matter what, she wouldn't give in to her base impulses. Her relationship with Scott was worth far more to her than a tumble in the hay with a bad boy.
Logan was the sort of man for a night of wicked entertainment, but Scott was the man she wanted to marry and build a family with. Too bad those two worlds are almost always mutually exclusive, she thought wistfully before heading upstairs to make her rounds.
Sir, what are your orders?
Xavier groaned into his pillow and seriously considered ignoring the thought. How can he possibly know what time it is? In the past three weeks, IX had reached out to him via thoughts three times a day. At 6 in the morning, 12 in the afternoon, and 6 in the evening without fail. During the week, it wasn't so bad since he woke up early anyway, but couldn't the assassin take the weekends off? He could tell IX to stop, but he cringed away from the thought of giving him commands. Even the one he regularly gave left a bitter taste on his tongue as if he'd bitten into an aspirin.
Remain in your cell.
Yes, sir.
Three times a day. Every day. For the past three weeks. Intellectually, he knew it was a vast improvement over what the situation had been, but still, he was reaching the end of his patience. While IX was a threat, it was reasonable to keep him locked up. However, the threat had been completely neutralized. Was it fair to keep him imprisoned now that he no longer sought to escape? Should he remain locked up as punishment for the harm he'd caused?
It was a problem he'd been fighting with since taking control of IX. Every day he monitored the mutant's thought and they remained calm. Calm and waiting. That was the problem slowly driving Xavier crazy. Even though IX never said it, not even in his thoughts, he sensed the assassin waiting for Xavier to give him a purpose. Without that, IX was trapped in a limbo of waiting. It was why he continued reaching out, requesting orders.
Xavier hated it, but he couldn't continue denying the truth. When he'd taken control of IX, he thought that would be the end of it. That he'd be able to keep IX locked away, and not have to worry about it anymore. He'd foolishly assumed that if he didn't give IX orders that the assassin would begin to take control of his own life back, and wouldn't need Xavier's hand to guide him.
IX be needin' a hand ta 'old him. Be it for violence or protection, he'll always need a guidin' hand. Again Remy's words came back to haunt him. Xavier was beginning to think Remy was some sort of mad prophet who'd stumbled upon them, left his twin gifts of random human weapons, and then left again after giving his ridiculously accurate insights. He hadn't wanted to take up the sword that was IX, but tucking him away in the back of a closet wouldn't solve the problem.
Maybe there wasn't a solution to be found, but he had to try. By taking control, he became responsible for the assassin. It was his duty to do what he could for IX. Closing his eyes, he thought over his plan and cringed. Xavier knew it was the best choice, but he wasn't looking forward to sharing it with his staff. I'll wait until after they've all had their coffee. Maybe I can talk Hank into spiking it with something that will calm their nerves before the meeting. It was a pleasant thought, but then he'd have to explain why he wanted to drug the X-Men and Hank was one of the ones who was going to freak out, so that was a no go.
"No." The word wasn't shouted, but it was solid, like running face first into a brick wall. There was no level of compromise in the single syllable. Jean's green eyes blazed with all the emotion she hadn't shoved into her negation. Her hands clenched on her upper arms so hard she knew she'd have bracelets of bruises there later. Scott reached out and rested his hand against one of hers.
"Jean."
"No, Charles. IX is dangerous, or have you forgotten what he did less than a month ago?" This time her voice wavered, raising near the end to a shout.
"I haven't forgotten."
"Then why would you even consider doing something so absurd? Are you trying to get us killed?" The water glasses on the conference table began to tremble with her fury.
"Jean," Scott warned. Scowling, she closed her eyes and focused on controlling her power. With a final tinkle, the glasses fell silent and still.
She wasn't the only one scowling. Expressions ranged from pained confusion to downright fury. Well, this is going swimmingly, Xavier thought, and wished he could fast forward time. Holding back an exasperated sigh, Charles continued. "No. I have no intention of allowing anyone to die at IX's hands."
"You can't guarantee that!" Jean shouted, her rage a thin mask for the terror she felt. The last time the demon had escaped, he'd nearly taken two of the most important people in her life away. And the Professor was willing to overlook that? No. Absolutely not going to happen.
"I can." Charles hadn't confided in anyone else about what happened, and he didn't relish sharing it now, but there was no choice. "The training IX underwent after he was captured by the scientists was…extensive. He has no freewill of his own, and is reliant on a handler to control his actions. I was able to transfer the position of handler to myself. He will not act against my orders, no more than he was able to act against the orders of his first handler." The word handler vexed him, but was still better than wielder. IX had been dehumanized enough, and at least a handler deals with living beings and not weapons. He'd chalk it up as a step in the right direction.
"I don't believe you," Jean whispered.
Xavier frowned. "You may take a look into his mind if you wish to examine it yourself." She paled so fast he thought she might faint.
Scott shot him a glare for even suggesting it. "That was uncalled for." Closing his eyes, Xavier gave a single nod, accepting the rebuke.
"A test then. I've given him a single order since taking control, and that's for him to remain in his cell. Let's open the door. If he goes out, then we'll know he can disobey. If he remains in, then we'll give my idea a shot," Xavier offered.
"No, we can't trust him. He's already attacked one of the students," it was Scott's turn to jump on the band wagon.
"One of the conditions will be that he cannot harm the students or staff."
"I still don't like it. His power is unlike anything we've seen before," Hank added.
"Would you be satisfied if he continued to wear the restraining collar?" Charles said, not thinking it was necessary, but if it allowed the rest of the staff to feel comfortable in the little assassin's presence, then it was worth it.
A tiny bit of tension went out of Jean's shoulders, and though she hated it, her solid no started to waiver slightly. Without access to his powers, Jean thought she could take him out of it came to that.
"Also, do you really want to spend the rest of his life staring at him?" Xavier's eyes lit with wary amusement. Now that IX wasn't losing his mind, he was dreadfully boring to watch. Sleep, eat breakfast, exercise, rest, eat lunch, exercise, meditate, eat supper, shower, sleep, repeat. IX was a creature of habit it seemed.
Jean pouted, and Storm couldn't help but laugh at her friend. The red head was a leading voice in how much time they wasted watching IX, even though she refused to let him go unwatched either. It was a rather bizarre conflict between paranoid terror and mind numbing boredom. "Traitor," Jean hissed at Storm, but she couldn't keep the small smile off her face either.
"In the past, IX committed heinous crimes, but he is also a victim. While it is easy for us to forget that in light of his behavior, it doesn't change the fact that he is as deserving of our help and support as Logan, Alice, Adelaide, Pietro, or any of the other students we've taken in over the years. He never asked to be turned into a weapon, and if not for a twist of fate, that could have been any one of us," Xavier's gaze found Scott's.
Shame burned Scott's cheeks. When he'd first come into his power, he'd been captured by one of Stryker's splinter groups. He'd only been held for a couple of days before Xavier and Erik found the compound and saved him and the others. That had been a stroke of pure luck. One of the girls captured the day before him had been approached by Xavier to attend his school. She'd been taken before her parents could decide, and because Xavier was familiar with her mind, he was able to locate her and the rest of the children who'd been taken.
Would I have turned out like IX if Xavier hadn't found me? He didn't know, and that simple truth swayed him. He didn't like what IX had done to them, but he couldn't bring himself to condemn the youth to life in solitary confinement for something outside of his control. As long as Xavier could keep him in hand, then it was their duty to try and undo some of the damage.
"Fine. Let's do the test and see."
Jean shot him a dark look, but didn't oppose his decision. Although Xavier's argument was a bit of a low blow, there was enough truth in it that she couldn't let her fear overwhelm good sense.
Logan sat with his arms folded over his barrel like chest as he watched the back and forth. If it were up to him, he'd leave IX where he was. Then he wouldn't have to think about the short male, or his delicious scent. At least not outside of dreams. If he was forced to interact with IX on a regular basis, it would make it a hell of a lot more difficult to wallow in his self-imposed denial.
His eyes drifted over to Jean, and he grinned when Scott caught him looking. Even through the visor he could feel the glare trying to burn a hole into his forehead. Not long after his first actual meeting with Jean, Xavier introduced him to the students and told them not to bother him. Who he was tore through the school like wildfire, but one low growl was enough to make even the most foolhardy bucks back the fuck up. Flirting with Jean had the added bonus of pissing Cyclops off, and that made life all the more entertaining.
"Hank, if you would?" Xavier's voice put an end to his teasing.
With a few clicks, an image appeared imbedded in the table. It showed the outside of IX's cell. The screen split, and another view popped up showing the inside of the cell. IX sat on his pallet, eyes half closed and legs crossed. Another click let the door slide open. "Well, that looks cozy," Logan couldn't keep the low growl out of his throat. The room made a jail cell look well stocked.
"Shhh," Storm hissed back, her eyes riveted on the screen. At first, IX didn't appear to react. Then his head tilted toward the door and his eyes opened fully.
Heat throbbed in Logan's groin as he watched IX stand and stretch. He had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing out loud. He'd forgotten how beautiful his little mate was. Wait, mate? What the fuck. I don't have a mate.
IX padded silently to the open door and looked out at the corridor for a long moment. Everyone held their breath, waiting to see if he would obey or not. Without taking a single step outside of the room, and having satisfied himself that no one was coming, IX returned to his former position, completely ignoring the open doorway.
Jean could do nothing but stare in astonishment. Even staring at the screen, she couldn't believe he wasn't going to make a run for it.
"Professor?" She demanded, needing to know what IX was thinking, yet unwilling to reach out and find out for herself. There was nothing in the world that could entice her to enter that mind again, no matter how safe the Professor claimed it to be.
Xavier smiled, and her heart sank, already knowing that she wasn't going to be able to come up with an argument against freeing the menace. It's like vouching for a Sith lord to become a student, she thought childishly, and mentally stuck her tongue out at him. A low chuckle slipped past Xavier's guard, and the others gave him an irritated look. No one did inside jokes like a pair of telepaths.
"When the door opened, he reported it to me and asked for orders," he said the last word a bit sourly. "In fact, that's his favorite past time. He asks for orders three times a day. Frankly, I think he'd make an excellent waiter."
Logan snorted, trying to picture IX as a waiter and failing utterly.
Jean huffed. "All right!" Much of the color faded from her face, but she force herself to continue. "We'll give this a trial run. He has to keep the power suppressant, and cannot under any circumstances harm a student or staff member, and he has to stay in the cell under lock down at night." She racked her brain, trying to think of any other stipulations that might make this insane task less dangerous. It still felt like they were enrolling a tiger though. Even a hand raised tiger could decide to turn and eat its owner one fine day. Jean just hoped that never happened. I'm sure that's what all the people who own wild animals think too. Oh it'll never happen to me. Right. This is crazy.
"That's reasonable. I'll call him in."
"What? No! I mean…" Jean bit her tongue against the now instinctual terror she had of the teen. Her neck ached, and in her mind she could hear the echo of her bones snapping. But, if they were going to do this, she'd have to learn to tolerate being in the same room as him. There was no way she'd let herself have a panic attack in front of her students just because he was in her class. It was too bad they didn't have more teachers, then she could have pawned him off on someone else. That thought made her feel small, but she couldn't help it. IX may have left physical scars on Scott, Storm, and Siryn, but he'd left psychic scars on her that ran just as deep. "Call him," she forced the words out and it felt like cut her throat along the way.
Again IX's head tilted slightly, and Jean realized it was a small tell for when Xavier was in contact with him. Her heart skipped a beat when he stood and walked out the door without the slightest hesitation. She wasn't the only one who was anxious. Hank's fingers flew over the keys, and screens switched as he tracked the teen through the halls until he reached the conference room.
There was a short knock on the door, and the sound made Jean jump. For some reason she'd expected him to slam the door open and start blasting them all like some sort of cheap thriller movie.
Of course, that didn't happen. Instead he opened the door and had no weapons. Then again, he'd made a hell of a weapon out of a damned toothbrush, but he wasn't carrying anything with him this time. Every muscle in her body seemed to lock up when his eyes caught on hers for an instant before passing her by.
IX scanned the room, marking each individual in turn and cataloging the entrances and exits before his gaze settled heavily on Xavier.
He stood at attention, his face blank and eyes locked on Xavier's in silent demand.
"Please, take a seat," Xavier said, indicating the chair across from his. All around the table, people stiffened, not expecting an attack, but unable to hold back the instinctive reaction to a past threat. IX didn't even look at them. Instead, he sat and waited with infinite patience for Xavier to speak.
Logan's fists clenched under the table, his claws seemed to throb in their fleshy sheaths. X snarled in his mind, shoving at the door of his cage, wanting to go to his mate. Right, his mate. Fuck. Can this get any more Jerry Springer? And today: What to do when your inner psychopath has claimed a Mate. He choked on a half hysterical laugh and everyone turned to stare at him. Everyone but IX, and for some reason that miffed the feral. Even though he'd refuse it to his dying breath, he wanted those emerald eyes to fall on him. To see him. To want him.
Gritting his teeth, he turned and gave Jean a playful smile. She gave a shaky smile back, and he felt the urge to growl. With IX in the same room, her green gaze was little more than a pale imitation. Her scent held nothing to IX's even though hers was shot through with pheromones and his was painfully clean of them. His scent was a siren's call, always trying to tempt him out into the water to drown. No, he thought and glared down at the table top. He would not lust after a child. Nope. Not going to do it.
The glare intensified until he could stand it no longer. Without a word, Logan stood up and walked stiffly out of the room without looking at anyone. Scott smirked after him. In the three weeks the feral had relentlessly pursued his woman, he'd developed a deep hatred of the man. Now, his gaze studied the slight weapon. Maybe things weren't always what they seemed.
IX fought the impulse to reach out and grab X as he passed. Not X any more. That thought cut him unexpectedly, and he turned away from it, once more focusing on his new wielder. Finally, after weeks of inactivity, he'd been called. Something close to excitement teased the edges of his thoughts.
"Your mission," Xavier frowned, almost said 'if you choose to accept it' but managed to keep it back before he continued. He cleared his throat. "Your mission is to pose as a student."
IX blinked at him. "What is my objective?"
That almost tripped him up, but after thinking furiously he said, "Your objective is observation. I want you to craft a more realistic mask of humanity and the only way you'll learn to do that is through interaction and observation of your peers."
The small assassin shifted slightly in his chair. "Is there something you'd like to add?" He asked, wanting to keep the conversation verbal so everyone could follow along.
"I am not trained in long term infiltration missions." That was an understatement. His training was good enough to hold up under limited scrutiny, but it didn't take long for people to begin noticing his oddities. His training had centered almost exclusively on assassination. He was not suited well for undercover work. That had always been Wade's and Wraith's forte.
Xavier frowned as he followed IX's thoughts. "The students will know who you are. It is not an infiltration mission, but a training mission," he offered, hoping that would satisfy IX. His plan was simple. He would force IX to create a mask of humanity, and then have him wear it always. People who wear masks risk becoming the mask they wear, and in this case, Xavier was counting on it. In a way, he was treating IX like someone with a phobia. Immersion therapy.
The plan felt a little too devious for his liking, but it was the only form of rehabilitation he could come up with that had any sort of chance of working. If they were lucky, he might even make a few friends who could help humanize him. Xavier wasn't going to hold his breath, but anything was possible. For now, he wanted IX to focus on a mission where he didn't have to kill anyone.
"Here are the mission parameters. You are forbidden from harming any of the students or staff. If there is an outside attack on the Mansion, one of your duties is to protect the students to the best of your abilities. For now, we are going to keep your power locked down for an observation period. You will return to your cell for lock down every night at 9:30. Treat the staff with respect, and follow their directives. Do you have any questions?" Xavier went over it again in his mind to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
"No, sir."
"Very good. You'll begin classes starting Monday. This weekend, you'll complete the placement exams so we'll know where to put you. I want you to study hard and do your best. Is that understood?" Xavier added. He knew IX had no formal schooling, but didn't think it would be hard for him to catch up. Even without pain, he was a fast study.
"Yes, sir."
Xavier blinked, realizing that he'd forgotten an important part of the whole thing. IX had been their captive for so long that he'd forgotten that he hadn't been formally introduced to any of them. "My apologies, allow me to introduce you to my colleagues. To my left is Doctor Jean Grey. Next to her is Scott Summers also known as Cyclops, and to my right is Doctor Hank McCoy also known as Beast, and next to him is Ororo Munroe also known as Storm."
IX committed each name to memory and didn't bother offering his designation. They all knew it. "What's your name?" His eyes shifted to trace over Storm's face before dropping down to her throat and the thin line of scar tissue.
Seeing where he was looking, Storm clenched her hand into a fist to keep from bringing it up to hide the mark. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cringe. Instead, she sat up straighter and stared him down.
IX noted her challenging gaze, and held it without difficulty. "IX."
She huffed. "What is your real name?"
"IX is the only designation I have."
Storm frowned, unhappy with the response. 9 wasn't a name at all, but it would have to do for the time being. "Very well," she straightened a small stack of work books before pushing them lightly over to IX. "Please work through these today and return them to me when you're finished."
IX accepted the books and returned his attention to Xavier. "You may return to your cell. Let me know when you've finished."
"Yes, sir." IX stood and took his leave without another word.
Jean tracked his progress with troubled eyes. When the door slid shut she slumped back into her chair. "This is a mistake."
Xavier shrugged. It might be, but it was the best they could make of a bad situation. "Tomorrow we'll set up a meeting with the students who were most affected by IX and let them know what's going to happen. Then we'll introduce IX to the rest of the students' tomorrow night at dinner." Xavier turned to Scott, "We'll need to get him settled. Move him out of the King of Heart's suite and into one of the other cells so that he'll have a little more room. We'll also need to add a desk for him to work at and get him some clothes."
"I'll take care of it," he said, not pleased with the assignment but understanding the Professor's motives. He didn't want to leave IX alone with the women either, even though they'd smack him a good one of they caught him thinking it. Jean was right, this was a horrible idea.
Author's Note: Okay, please don't freak out about the whole Jean/Logan thing. I know that's going to drive a lot of people crazy, but it's necessary. Without it, there will never be IX/X/Logan goodness.
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