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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (23/25) --the 25 is now confirmed
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 22
The villa in Ecuador was only one of Magneto's many strongholds--he had them scattered across the globe, most appropriated from dead Nazis. It was a small place--little more than a country cottage--but it was remote, and close enough to Charles that Erik could get to him in a reasonable amount of time should anything go wrong.
Still, there were complaints: from the shortage of beds to the lack of running water to the absence of electricity, it seemed no one--save perhaps Gambit, Rogue and Wolverine--was particularly impressed by the place.
"This isn't open for debate," Erik had told them, feeling Magneto lurking over his shoulder then, wanting to step in and take over--to get back in the Blackbirds, fly to Stryker's base and raze it to the ground. He had idle fantasies of throwing Charles over his shoulder and taking him someplace safe.
Erik wanted a relationship with Charles based on mutual respect and admiration, whereas Magneto wanted to carry Charles off; to keep him as a concubine. There were days when Erik couldn't remember why he'd ever walked around wearing Magneto's cloak. Clearly the man was unhinged.
And what that said about him, Erik didn't like to contemplate.
Still, he wasn't so far removed from his role as the Brotherhood's leader that he couldn't maintain control of the situation. He had one of the birds out already--had sent Shadowcat, Cyclops and Storm to run surveillance. He wanted to know the minute Stryker made a move. He may not have eyes inside the compound, but he could sure as hell monitor it from afar.
He had Destiny and Darwin searching through the material they'd brought out of the base. It was wealth of information, and should prove useful even if Stryker did discover it was missing. The files on mutant detainment camps alone made the trip worthwhile.
He had the others making the place as habitable as was possible--and by that he meant defensible, because he honestly couldn't care less about the dust that had accumulated, or the gigantic spider that had claimed the washbasin as her home.
More importantly, he had Wolverine agreeing to stay put--this after Erik had been forced to drag him out of the base by his skeleton, Wolverine snarling and growling and complaining about Stryker and how he was going to rip the man to shreds. "You're not touching him," Erik had said, Wolverine going off on a tangent about how it was none of Erik's business and why didn't he just go find his crippled boyfriend and leave Wolverine the fuck alone.
Erik had taken particular care to extract Wolverine's claws while simultaneously bending the metal backwards. Wolverine had howled in pain and promised to disembowel Erik at a later date--though his exact words were far coarser.
Now he was sitting peacefully, smoking the second half of his cigar as he lounged in front of his new domain--he had declared the house too crowded and claimed the woodshed as his preferred residence. He'd agreed to stay only because he felt he owed Charles something--for his life or perhaps his freedom, or maybe even his memories, Erik honestly had no idea--and so long as Charles was still holed up with Stryker, that debt remained unpaid. Erik couldn't care less; just so long as Wolverine didn't wander off and get himself captured again--because then Charles would be pissed.
A shriek from the house drew Erik's attention. He turned in time to see Riptide bolt from the house, looking almost as frazzled as he had upon arrival. The lack of running water was sending him into conniptions. He spotted Erik and picked his way--through long, overgrown weeds and grass, the property unused in many a long year--to Erik's side.
"There are cockroaches the size of rats in there," he said, and given how infrequently the man spoke, it amounted to probably the most words Erik had ever heard him utter--cumulatively.
"I hear one more complaint you're sleeping in the shed with Wolverine."
Riptide's eyes grew wide, even as he glanced over to where Wolverine was still sitting--on an upturned wooden grate that had at one point, Erik suspected, housed local produce. Wolverine caught them looking and bared his teeth--his idea of a smile.
"I'm sure he won't mind," Erik said, but Riptide was already shaking his head, stalking back into the house. Erik didn't need Charles' talents to know he was considering mutiny.
How they were going to last three days in this place, Erik didn't know. He could probably send half of them home, but if something came up and he needed to storm the palace--so to speak--he was probably going to need all the hands he could find.
He was only just now beginning to realize that leaving Charles behind had been a rather large mistake. Erik wasn't exactly made for diplomacy.
He also wasn't particularly good at exercising patience, and now he was expected to sit on his hands and wait until Charles executed his plan and brought Stryker to Genosha. Until Stryker began mobilizing his army, there was nothing for Erik to do save sit around and deal with the many and varied complaints of his followers--most of whom he didn't even particularly like.
This was probably all going to end in bloodshed, Erik realized, and at this rate none of it would be Stryker's. The thought was marginally depressing.
~*~
Charles was vaguely aware that someone was shaking him--firmly, hands wrapped around his shoulders. He fought against the fog threatening to overwhelm him and blinked his eyes open.
"Wake the fuck up, Charles, because otherwise I'm going to have to hurt you, and if I do that, I'm pretty sure Erik will hurt me."
Charles' brain stuttered awake. Slowly, his vision cleared and Mystique's face came into view. She looked equal parts exasperated and terrified. Charles blinked at her, shook his head--regretted it immediately--and then turned his head to discretely cough.
He found he was sitting in his chair, slumped over, Mystique on her knees before him, hands still grasping his shoulders. His vision swam, but he got a good enough look at their surroundings to take in their location.
"Are we in a cage?" he asked, and wasn't that just fantastic--he probably owed Erik something for this.
"Yes, and you need to wake up so that we can come up with a plan," Mystique said. Charles glanced back in her direction and found she was wearing a collar. Ah, so he hadn't dreamed that.
Well, that was okay; he could work with that.
"How long have I been out?" he asked, because it felt like a while--he was stiff and sore and his earlier dose of valium was starting to wear off. Charles reached into his cardigan pocket, his hand coming away empty. He checked the other one, just to be sure, but it was empty too.
Charles cursed, drawing an arched eyebrow from Mystique--though really; he should have thought to allow for this. It was always a distinct possibility. He shook his head--not so bad this time. This complicated things, but it didn't make them impossible.
Mystique had started speaking, but Charles missed the first part of what she'd said. He caught enough of the rest to make a reasonable deduction.
"...I woke up about an hour ago, so I'm guessing a few hours at most." Charles nodded. A few hours sounded right.
"Alright, that's fine. Good."
They were back in that same room where they'd found Wolverine, locked together in one of the undamaged cages. There were no guards this time, and the cage Wolverine had occupied now had a rather large hole in its side--Erik's doing, Charles knew. It wasn't perhaps what he wanted, but it was workable.
"That's fine? That's good? What the hell is wrong with you?" Mystique asked, and Charles could tell she was half a second away from hauling off and slapping him across the face.
He sat up a little straighter in his chair, feeling rather awful, actually. His head was killing him, he was flushed and damp with sweat, and his hands were shaking again.
"I know this seems dire, but I assure you..."
"You assure me? In three days Erik is going to storm this facility to get you out. He's going to walk right into a trap, probably get himself killed in the process--hell, Stryker will probably use either of us to do it--and you assure me?"
She was panicking, Charles realized. Hands coming unbidden to her collar, she scrambled at it, tugging ineffectively, desperate to have it off. Charles reached forward to still her hands.
He only drew attention to the unsteadiness of his own.
"Oh God," she said, seizing his hands then, noticing the tremors. "Is this a panic attack? I can't remember what she told me to do--I swear I'm going to..."
"Breathe," Charles said, snatching his hands back and folding them into his lap. "I'm not having a panic attack," which, given the circumstances was rather surprising. "You, on the other hand..." he let that float between them. Mystique looked scandalized. "I'm going to tell you something, but only because it's probably necessary that you know, but please, don't be alarmed, and please, trust me when I say we will be fine. I promise you."
Mystique looked skeptical, but she nodded--and Charles couldn't tell if her agreement came because of his relationship with Erik, or because of Charles' reputation. Charles exhaled.
"I am in the midst of acute alcohol withdrawal, but I promise you I will be fine."
Mystique's eyes grew impossibly wide--so wide in fact that Charles wasn't entirely certain eyes were physically capable of growing to that size. It was entirely possible Mystique was using her mutation to accentuate their size. They glowed unnaturally bright in the low light of their prison cell.
"You what?" she said. Charles shrugged.
"Apparently I have a drinking problem," he answered with as much self-depreciation as he could muster given the seriousness of the topic. "But that's not what's important."
He didn't get a chance to explain what was important, their conversation interrupted by Stryker's arrival. He strode into the room as though he owned the place--and belatedly Charles realized that he did--a team of soldiers flanking his heels. There was no hesitation in his movement--he walked purposely to the side of their cell, coming to stand before them. There, he stared down at them, a look of distaste twisting his mouth into an ugly line.
Without saying anything, he held out his hand. One of the soldiers stepped forward and placed two bracelets into his hand.
"Here's what I'm curious about," he said. "I've got Raven Darkholme, aka Mystique, right hand woman to Magneto, the world's foremost mutant terrorist, bent on the destruction of the human race. And at her side, working with her, colluding with her, I've got Professor Charles Xavier, noted scholar, geneticist and proponent of peaceful coexistence between mutants and humans--which will never happen, but it's a lovely thought. Something isn't adding up here, and you two are going to explain what that something is.
Charles could have answered--would have answered--but instead he watched as Mystique rose to her feet, stepped up to the bars, and spat at Stryker. She missed, but her point was taken.
"I didn't think it would be that easy, and while there are plenty of ways I could get you to talk, I think given the circumstances we should aim for efficiency, which is where these collars come in handy. You see, they don't transfer your powers--your abilities--to the controller; no, nothing as brash as that. They coerce obedience. If I'm connected to your collar, you don't get a choice in disobeying me."
Here Stryker chose one of the collars, seemingly at random, and slid it around his wrist, fastening it with an audible click.
"Ah, Ms. Darkholme," he said. Mystique visibly paled. It was a startling thing to witness. Charles rolled forward and reached out for her hand.
"It's alright. Just answer his questions," he said, giving a brief squeeze. Mystique didn't look reassured, but some of the tension left her shoulders.
"Exactly, Ms. Darkholme. And you will start by telling me what you were doing here."
There was nothing to suggest Mystique was being coerced--no struggle or shift in her facial features. She simply opened her mouth and out came the truth, exactly as Stryker had asked. She didn't even seem particularly concerned by it--and that, Charles thought, was perhaps the most interesting part of all. He was learning so much about these collars. They were fascinating, frightful things.
"The plan was for Charles to use his telepathy to manipulate you into attacking Genosha before you're ready. If we can get you onto Genoshian soil, then we can detain you until we get UN sanctioning to have you charged with mutant rights violations."
Stryker cocked his head to the side. "Well, I have to admit, that does sound like something Charles Xavier might have come up with. It still doesn't explain Magneto's role in all of this. He's hardly the diplomatic sort."
And here, if Charles could, he would have stayed Mystique's tongue, because knowing their plans was fine--it suited Charles' plan just fine--but knowing the connection between Erik and Charles made them both vulnerable--Erik more so than him--and Charles didn't want to give Stryker even an ounce of advantage.
But, Stryker had asked, and so Mystique answered.
"He's not. He wanted to kill you and destroy your work, but Charles convinced him to try a diplomatic approach."
Charles could tell that that interested Stryker very much. He leaned forward intently. "And pray tell; how has Charles Xavier done the impossible? How has he bent the mind of the great Magneto?"
"Magneto's in love with him," Mystique said without pause, and now Charles could see the horror in her eyes--the pleading for escape from whatever control Stryker had over her. He gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.
Whatever Stryker had been expecting, it wasn't that. He stood, frozen in place, absolutely gobsmacked by the news; his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with surprise. He stuttered several times, and then huffed out a barking laugh.
"Oh, that is precious. Absolutely precious." To Charles he said, "You have my condolences."
"What do you plan on doing with us?" Charles said, wanting to deflect the conversation. For the first time since their meeting, Charles saw Stryker hesitate. The message was clear; he hadn't decided yet.
"For now I thought I'd let you enjoy the ambiance," he said, reaching down to unclasp the bracelet around his wrist. Mystique visibly sagged once it was released. "All this new information; I believe I need time to consider it." Stryker didn't add anything else, nodding instead to his troops and then following them from the room. Charles waited until he was gone to release Mystique's hand.
"Are you alright?" he asked. Mystique turned to glare daggers at him.
"How can you ask that? How is any of this alright?"
She was clearly rattled by the experience--not that Charles blamed her, but still, he had a few tricks left up his sleeve. He suspected she needed one right about now, so he offered his most winning smile and said, Because my collar doesn't work.
And now it was Mystique who looked gobsmacked. Her eyes grew round--almost as big as before--but before she could comment--give the game away, so to speak--Charles continued.
Or rather, I should say it works, but there are loopholes that any reasonably powerful telepath can easily slip through. I suspected as much the first time I saw Scott's schematics.
"You mean you..." Charles shushed her, bringing a trembling finger to his mouth. She frowned at it, but ceased speaking.
We don't know who's listening, and we want Stryker to think my collar is functioning. Please believe me when I say I knew this was a possibility--a high probability, so to speak--and I have planned for it. It changes nothing unless you give me away. If you need to speak to me, simply think the thought--I will hear it.
Mystique hesitated, as though she was working out how best to think a thought. She began slowly. Why didn't you tell us?
Charles' smile turned sad. Because if Erik had known he never would have allowed my coming, and it is essential that we get Stryker onto Genoshian soil. And because if you'd known you would have told Stryker and then we would have been in a good deal of trouble.
To anyone watching them it would look like they were staring intently at one another, so Charles glanced away, looking out the bars and sending Mystique the thought to do the same. She did, relaxing her stance into something between defeat and defiance--a little more realistic for the cameras, her mind reasoned.
I don't understand. He knows our plan now; he's not going to walk willingly into a trap.
That's where you're wrong. I anticipated him finding out, Charles said. Confusion spiked in Mystique's thoughts.
Charles tried to convey his logic; tried to impart that he had known, practically from the moment he couldn't find Stryker--even back in New York--that Stryker likely had one of Erik's helmets--and the Brotherhood really should have extended their patents on the things--and that he wouldn't remove it unless he was absolutely certain he had Charles under his control. How better to give Stryker control than to allow him to collar Charles himself--to act as Charles' controller? It was the only way they could ensure Stryker would let his guard down enough to remove his helmet--to trust himself unprotected in Charles' presence.
And it had obviously worked, because the Stryker who had appeared outside their cell hadn't been wearing a helmet.
The advantage to him having our plans is that now he thinks he has the tactical advantage. If anything, him knowing will only ensure that he acts as we want him to, because right now he thinks he's already sprung the trap and is in the process of setting his own.
Or at least, Charles hoped Stryker would see things that way. His entire plan hinged on Stryker playing by Charles' rules without ever realizing Charles was aware of the game.
Mystique was watching him again, staring at him like she'd never seen him before in her life. Charles calmly met her eye.
"Nothing personal," she said, "but you are one scary son of a bitch. Remind me never to get on your bad side."
Charles couldn't help but laugh at that.
"Will it make me less scary if I request your assistance in draining my urine bag?" he asked.
Mystique made a face, but she nodded, albeit a little reluctantly. Charles offered a sympathetic smile and then began walking her through the process.
~*~
Erik had spent a few nights here once, when he was younger--shortly after he'd killed two Nazis in a bar in Argentina, not too far from where Charles was currently infiltrating Stryker's base. It was here he'd first come across Charles' work. A book Charles had written on the subject of genetic mutation had occupied a space on the bookshelf--cleared now, most of the titles books the Nazis deemed worthy of escaping their fires--and Erik had wanted nothing to do with those books.
It hadn't outright theorized on the existence of mutants--it was written before Charles' manifesto--but there was enough subtext throughout the book to pique Erik's interest--and Erik still didn't know why he'd picked it up, why it had interested him enough to flip through it in the short space of time between killing two Nazis in a bar and putting a coin through Schmidt's head. A few weeks later, after Schmidt was dead and Erik's life's work had come to its conclusion, Erik had pulled the book from his bag--he also didn't know why he'd taken it with him--noted the author and had gone looking for more.
A week later he'd found Charles' manifesto and his life had changed.
It was funny how Charles kept doing that--especially now that he actually knew the man, Erik more changed by the last few weeks than the whole of his life so far.
Evening was approaching, the whole day vanishing before him and all Erik could think of was Charles. It wasn't just that he was worried for the other man--he was--or that he missed the other man--he did--but that this marked the first night he would crawl into bed and sleep on his own since Charles had come to Genosha. Erik wasn't looking forward to it--which, when he thought about it, was utterly ridiculous, because he had spent the whole of his life sleeping alone; years and years compared to a handful of nights, and Erik had no idea how it was that Charles had come to so fully occupy every corner of his life in so short a period of time.
Erik wasn't sure what he'd do if he lost Charles now.
But he was safe--he had to be safe--and was more than capable of taking care of himself; of accomplishing his part in the mission. And he had Mystique, whom Erik trusted more than anyone in the world--save perhaps Charles now. She was both competent and resourceful; she could without a doubt handle this situation.
"I don't want to talk about it, because I can't say I give a damn, but you look like you could use a drink."
Of all the people Erik had anticipated seeking him out, Wolverine was not one of them. Still, it stood to reason; Wolverine was a solitary creature and Erik had retreated outside to be alone. It was only natural their paths would cross.
Wolverine--and even as he thought it a Charles-like voice in his head said, Logan--had brought a bottle of something--the bottle was far too old to read its label anymore, the glass fogged with age and chipped around the neck and base with neglect. He held it out for Erik's inspection.
"Pretty sure it's rum, but I've tasted better turpentine, so who knows. It'll get you drunk."
Erik accepted the bottle, pausing with it midway to his mouth before he thought of Charles. He lowered the bottle, stared at it--and even from here he could smell the pungency of the liquor--and then handed it back.
"No thanks," he said. Logan shook his head in a suit yourself sort of way, and then chugged from the bottle.
"Wasn't nice, what your boyfriend did--giving me back those memories like that. But he got me out of Dodge and brought me a stogie, and now he's off saving the world, or some such shit, so I guess he's alright by me."
Erik shook his head, even as he found himself chuckling, just under his breath. "I'm sure Charles will appreciate you saying so."
Erik wasn't sure he did. He still didn't want Wolverine--Logan--anywhere near Charles, but fate and circumstance seemed to be charting Erik's course these days, so he was learning to tolerate things he might otherwise have found intolerable.
Like Logan deciding he wanted Erik's company. He settled himself next to Erik, sat on the steps of the Blackbird's extended ramp. Soft blue light from inside the plane illuminated the space, seeming a single point of light in otherwise unending darkness. Erik glanced to the south and east, seeking out Charles with his thoughts. There was no answer, and Erik was no telepath, so he bent his head to stare at his feet instead.
"Not that we're talking about it, but can I ask: If this guy means so much to you, why the fuck are you here and not tearing Stryker limb from limb?"
It was a hard question to answer, because Erik had been thinking the exact same thing; why exactly was he risking Charles when there was an easier solution?
"Because Charles wants us to be better men, and what Charles wants, Charles gets," Erik answered.
Logan grunted, patting absently at his pockets. His expression became forlorn. "You don't happen to have any cigars about, do ya?" he asked. Erik shook his head.
He was about to give Logan directions to the nearest town--because undoubtedly they would need supplies beyond what they'd brought and sending Logan to fetch them would at least keep the man occupied and out of trouble--but a spot of light filling the distant horizon drew his attention. Erik stood abruptly, moving away from the Blackbird's light to watch her twin approach. His entire body tensed with anticipation.
It seemed an eternity before she was on the ground, Erik restless by the time the ramp lowered and Cyclops descended. He spotted Erik and moved to meet him.
"You look ready to invade a country," he said. Erik scowled.
"Anything?"
Cyclops shook his head. "It's quiet--a little too quiet given the day they've had. They haven't even bothered cleaning up the mess."
Erik frowned at that. He glanced to the Blackbird, then back towards the horizon, still hoping for some connection with Charles--this despite Charles telling him there wouldn't be.
"I need to see for myself," Erik said, already moving towards the bird. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. Magneto flared with indignation. He glared, letting his full rage settle over his features.
Cyclops looked unperturbed. "I appreciate that you're a little close to this situation, but we need to be a little less rash here. For one thing, we don't have anywhere near enough fuel to be flying to and from the base every time you feel the need to get in a look. For another, every time we do fly over to the base, we risk being spotted, and that will put the Professor in danger."
Something inside Magneto caved; Cyclops' logic too close to Charles' for him to do anything but relent. It was Erik who stepped back, releasing a breath even as he inclined his head.
"We're still doing daily runs," Erik said, because they had budgeted enough fuel for that, "and tomorrow I'll be going with." Cyclops nodded his agreement, undoubtedly thinking the compromise fair.
For the time being, there was little else Erik could do save attempt some sleep. He left Cyclops and Logan glaring at one another, and headed for the house.
~*~
Charles was trying desperately not to be sick--something that was undoubtedly making Mystique nervous, because she kept casting worried glances in his direction. I'm fine, he kept telling her, but really, he wasn't. He was far, far from fine. Still, so long as he had his full mental capacity it wasn't a problem.
Charles tried to believe this, really he did.
A particularly violent wave of nausea had him sputtering over the steel bucket they'd provided for use as a toilet. It was already filled with the contents of Charles' bag, and Mystique had used it once, so the smell was atrocious. It made his nausea worse, Charles gagging despite his best efforts not to. This was of course exactly when the door swung open and two soldiers entered the room.
Mystique was on her feet instantly, stance widening as though she was preparing to fight. Charles swallowed against the bile in his throat--he hadn't eaten since that morning, which, while boding well for his bowels, wasn't doing his stomach any favours.
"Boss wants to see you," one of the guards said. They were each wearing a bracelet.
Charles could feel the link, now that he was looking for it--feel where it ebbed and pulsed, making it easy to slip through the cracks and maintain his own control. Charles eyed the guard wearing his. The other was wearing Mystique's and looked more than a little pleased about it.
"Just the cripple," he said, coming to the cage's door. "You and me, we're going to have some fun."
And that Charles couldn't allow, so he extended his telepathy even as he spoke into Mystique's mind. I've got this, he said, twisting the man's thought--and there were times when Charles truly understood Erik's hatred of humanity--until it was an innocuous thing. Charles' guard would take Charles to see Stryker and Mystique's would sit meekly by the television set until his companion returned.
It was funny, feeling how the link from bracelet to collar was meant to work. Charles' guard ordered him from the cell, commanding Charles to follow him from the room. Charles felt the tiny thread of compulsion--the desire to do this man's bidding--even as it rippled and wavered, dissolving to dust with a single touch. Still, Charles knew what was expected of him, so he affected a neutral expression and followed the man from the room.
As he left, he heard the cage door lock, followed by the sound of the television set clicking to life.
He was brought to the same room they'd first taken him to, when Charles' collar had been nothing but an illusion, Mystique still wearing her false skin. Stryker was standing next to a bank of monitors, watching the room Charles had just left. Mystique sat, cross-legged on the room's only cot, while he guard cheered at the television set, the picture too grainy too see what he was watching.
"Lost his nerve, did he?" Stryker asked the guard wearing Charles' bracelet. He hadn't turned from the monitors, and did so now, arching an eyebrow. Charles brushed aside the tendril of suspicion.
"I don't know, Sir," Charles' guard answered.
"Well, I did warn him; she's probably full of disease. God knows what sorts of things these mutants carry." Even without seeing his mind, Charles would have known the disdain Stryker had for mutants. To him they were little more than parasites; a plague on humanity. They repulsed him; the thought of touching one, of fucking one, abhorrent to him.
Stryker turned to meet Charles' eye then, simultaneously holding out his hand for Charles' bracelet. The guard removed it swiftly, handed it over, saluted and then left. Stryker ordered the others from the room. Throughout the proceedings, Charles sat silently, hands folded neatly on his lap. It took every ounce of his willpower to project the image of how he wanted to look--strong and confident, yet resigned to his fate--instead of letting Stryker see how he actually looked--shaky and green and on the verge of death
"I have a few options, and you're going to help me decide which is best," Stryker said once they were alone, and Charles could see from the shape of his thoughts that Stryker was more interested in Charles' reaction than Charles' opinion.
"It occurs to me that I have a very powerful telepath at my disposal, but more than that, I have a very powerful telepath's invention at my disposal. Tell me truthfully now; if I connected you to your Cerebro, could you seek out all the world's mutants and destroy them?"
"Yes," Charles said simply, because he could. "Although, if you're thinking of taking me back to New York, I should tell you that Cerebro is no longer there."
It was a risk, volunteering the information--even if it was a lie--but Charles suspected Stryker was too shocked by the news to question Charles' willingness to cooperate.
"And where exactly is Cerebro?" Stryker asked. Charles knew that he had little understanding of what exactly Cerebro was or what it did; only that it was a device Charles used to amplify his telepathy. It could be the size of a toaster for all Stryker knew.
"I had it dismantled and rebuilt inside Genosha's capital compound," Charles said, steering the conversation back to Genosha--the goal was always Genosha.
Stryker huffed at that. "That seems a little strange. Why would you do that, unless..." He paused, looking vaguely shocked and more than a little disgusted. "Could it be that Magneto's not the only one stupid enough to have fallen in love?"
Charles didn't dignify the question with an answer--and technically Stryker hadn't asked him to. Still, Stryker took his silence as confirmation.
"That's sweet, really. I can hardly believe it, but it's sweet. You know, in some countries you would be seen as a criminal." Stryker's thoughts suggested that he did; for him the concept was almost as revolting as Charles' mutation.
"So would you," Charles said, "for what you're doing here."
"True enough; though not the ones that count. So our second option: I can keep you here and wait for your boyfriend to come looking--how long did he give you, by the way?"
"Three days," Charles answered, fighting his instinctual reluctance. This was not the direction Charles wanted Stryker's thoughts to go. He gave them a slight nudge.
"In three days then, when Magneto shows up, I can have you tear him apart, molecule by molecule--a fitting betrayal if I do say so myself. He'll bring his friends--he always does--and you'll destroy them too, and then Genosha, leaderless, defenseless, will fall. Perhaps I'll turn it into a penal colony for mutants. We need somewhere to ship you lot off to."
A minute ago Charles suspected Stryker would have sounded convinced, but now there was hesitation in his tone--creeping doubt that twisted itself into suspicion. Charles congratulated himself.
"Unless that's your plan--we sit here waiting while Magneto strengthens Genosha's defenses. Well, out with it; what is your contingency?"
Charles maintained a level look even as he lied. "I didn't have one. It didn't seem necessary; we thought this would work."
"Arrogance," Stryker boomed, shaking his head. His thoughts were running in circles now, his paranoia almost palpable. For the briefest of moments, Charles felt a stab of sympathy towards the man. This was his son's doing, Charles knew--the mutant had kept Stryker and his late wife locked in an illusion for the better part of ten years. It was no wonder Stryker was so utterly, utterly broken.
He would make no decision with Charles in the room, Charles realized, so Charles subtly suggested Stryker dismiss him, steering is thoughts in the direction of Genosha as he did so. It was like trying to tame a wild bear, Stryker both skittish and hostile, his mind railing against influence. Still, Charles planted the seed, enough to ease his worry when Stryker summoned back Charles' guard, transferred the bracelet, and then ordered Charles from the room.
Charles went quietly, hoping their meeting would be enough to set their course. Charles wasn't sure he'd have the strength to do this again tomorrow.
On to chapter 24
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 22
The villa in Ecuador was only one of Magneto's many strongholds--he had them scattered across the globe, most appropriated from dead Nazis. It was a small place--little more than a country cottage--but it was remote, and close enough to Charles that Erik could get to him in a reasonable amount of time should anything go wrong.
Still, there were complaints: from the shortage of beds to the lack of running water to the absence of electricity, it seemed no one--save perhaps Gambit, Rogue and Wolverine--was particularly impressed by the place.
"This isn't open for debate," Erik had told them, feeling Magneto lurking over his shoulder then, wanting to step in and take over--to get back in the Blackbirds, fly to Stryker's base and raze it to the ground. He had idle fantasies of throwing Charles over his shoulder and taking him someplace safe.
Erik wanted a relationship with Charles based on mutual respect and admiration, whereas Magneto wanted to carry Charles off; to keep him as a concubine. There were days when Erik couldn't remember why he'd ever walked around wearing Magneto's cloak. Clearly the man was unhinged.
And what that said about him, Erik didn't like to contemplate.
Still, he wasn't so far removed from his role as the Brotherhood's leader that he couldn't maintain control of the situation. He had one of the birds out already--had sent Shadowcat, Cyclops and Storm to run surveillance. He wanted to know the minute Stryker made a move. He may not have eyes inside the compound, but he could sure as hell monitor it from afar.
He had Destiny and Darwin searching through the material they'd brought out of the base. It was wealth of information, and should prove useful even if Stryker did discover it was missing. The files on mutant detainment camps alone made the trip worthwhile.
He had the others making the place as habitable as was possible--and by that he meant defensible, because he honestly couldn't care less about the dust that had accumulated, or the gigantic spider that had claimed the washbasin as her home.
More importantly, he had Wolverine agreeing to stay put--this after Erik had been forced to drag him out of the base by his skeleton, Wolverine snarling and growling and complaining about Stryker and how he was going to rip the man to shreds. "You're not touching him," Erik had said, Wolverine going off on a tangent about how it was none of Erik's business and why didn't he just go find his crippled boyfriend and leave Wolverine the fuck alone.
Erik had taken particular care to extract Wolverine's claws while simultaneously bending the metal backwards. Wolverine had howled in pain and promised to disembowel Erik at a later date--though his exact words were far coarser.
Now he was sitting peacefully, smoking the second half of his cigar as he lounged in front of his new domain--he had declared the house too crowded and claimed the woodshed as his preferred residence. He'd agreed to stay only because he felt he owed Charles something--for his life or perhaps his freedom, or maybe even his memories, Erik honestly had no idea--and so long as Charles was still holed up with Stryker, that debt remained unpaid. Erik couldn't care less; just so long as Wolverine didn't wander off and get himself captured again--because then Charles would be pissed.
A shriek from the house drew Erik's attention. He turned in time to see Riptide bolt from the house, looking almost as frazzled as he had upon arrival. The lack of running water was sending him into conniptions. He spotted Erik and picked his way--through long, overgrown weeds and grass, the property unused in many a long year--to Erik's side.
"There are cockroaches the size of rats in there," he said, and given how infrequently the man spoke, it amounted to probably the most words Erik had ever heard him utter--cumulatively.
"I hear one more complaint you're sleeping in the shed with Wolverine."
Riptide's eyes grew wide, even as he glanced over to where Wolverine was still sitting--on an upturned wooden grate that had at one point, Erik suspected, housed local produce. Wolverine caught them looking and bared his teeth--his idea of a smile.
"I'm sure he won't mind," Erik said, but Riptide was already shaking his head, stalking back into the house. Erik didn't need Charles' talents to know he was considering mutiny.
How they were going to last three days in this place, Erik didn't know. He could probably send half of them home, but if something came up and he needed to storm the palace--so to speak--he was probably going to need all the hands he could find.
He was only just now beginning to realize that leaving Charles behind had been a rather large mistake. Erik wasn't exactly made for diplomacy.
He also wasn't particularly good at exercising patience, and now he was expected to sit on his hands and wait until Charles executed his plan and brought Stryker to Genosha. Until Stryker began mobilizing his army, there was nothing for Erik to do save sit around and deal with the many and varied complaints of his followers--most of whom he didn't even particularly like.
This was probably all going to end in bloodshed, Erik realized, and at this rate none of it would be Stryker's. The thought was marginally depressing.
~*~
Charles was vaguely aware that someone was shaking him--firmly, hands wrapped around his shoulders. He fought against the fog threatening to overwhelm him and blinked his eyes open.
"Wake the fuck up, Charles, because otherwise I'm going to have to hurt you, and if I do that, I'm pretty sure Erik will hurt me."
Charles' brain stuttered awake. Slowly, his vision cleared and Mystique's face came into view. She looked equal parts exasperated and terrified. Charles blinked at her, shook his head--regretted it immediately--and then turned his head to discretely cough.
He found he was sitting in his chair, slumped over, Mystique on her knees before him, hands still grasping his shoulders. His vision swam, but he got a good enough look at their surroundings to take in their location.
"Are we in a cage?" he asked, and wasn't that just fantastic--he probably owed Erik something for this.
"Yes, and you need to wake up so that we can come up with a plan," Mystique said. Charles glanced back in her direction and found she was wearing a collar. Ah, so he hadn't dreamed that.
Well, that was okay; he could work with that.
"How long have I been out?" he asked, because it felt like a while--he was stiff and sore and his earlier dose of valium was starting to wear off. Charles reached into his cardigan pocket, his hand coming away empty. He checked the other one, just to be sure, but it was empty too.
Charles cursed, drawing an arched eyebrow from Mystique--though really; he should have thought to allow for this. It was always a distinct possibility. He shook his head--not so bad this time. This complicated things, but it didn't make them impossible.
Mystique had started speaking, but Charles missed the first part of what she'd said. He caught enough of the rest to make a reasonable deduction.
"...I woke up about an hour ago, so I'm guessing a few hours at most." Charles nodded. A few hours sounded right.
"Alright, that's fine. Good."
They were back in that same room where they'd found Wolverine, locked together in one of the undamaged cages. There were no guards this time, and the cage Wolverine had occupied now had a rather large hole in its side--Erik's doing, Charles knew. It wasn't perhaps what he wanted, but it was workable.
"That's fine? That's good? What the hell is wrong with you?" Mystique asked, and Charles could tell she was half a second away from hauling off and slapping him across the face.
He sat up a little straighter in his chair, feeling rather awful, actually. His head was killing him, he was flushed and damp with sweat, and his hands were shaking again.
"I know this seems dire, but I assure you..."
"You assure me? In three days Erik is going to storm this facility to get you out. He's going to walk right into a trap, probably get himself killed in the process--hell, Stryker will probably use either of us to do it--and you assure me?"
She was panicking, Charles realized. Hands coming unbidden to her collar, she scrambled at it, tugging ineffectively, desperate to have it off. Charles reached forward to still her hands.
He only drew attention to the unsteadiness of his own.
"Oh God," she said, seizing his hands then, noticing the tremors. "Is this a panic attack? I can't remember what she told me to do--I swear I'm going to..."
"Breathe," Charles said, snatching his hands back and folding them into his lap. "I'm not having a panic attack," which, given the circumstances was rather surprising. "You, on the other hand..." he let that float between them. Mystique looked scandalized. "I'm going to tell you something, but only because it's probably necessary that you know, but please, don't be alarmed, and please, trust me when I say we will be fine. I promise you."
Mystique looked skeptical, but she nodded--and Charles couldn't tell if her agreement came because of his relationship with Erik, or because of Charles' reputation. Charles exhaled.
"I am in the midst of acute alcohol withdrawal, but I promise you I will be fine."
Mystique's eyes grew impossibly wide--so wide in fact that Charles wasn't entirely certain eyes were physically capable of growing to that size. It was entirely possible Mystique was using her mutation to accentuate their size. They glowed unnaturally bright in the low light of their prison cell.
"You what?" she said. Charles shrugged.
"Apparently I have a drinking problem," he answered with as much self-depreciation as he could muster given the seriousness of the topic. "But that's not what's important."
He didn't get a chance to explain what was important, their conversation interrupted by Stryker's arrival. He strode into the room as though he owned the place--and belatedly Charles realized that he did--a team of soldiers flanking his heels. There was no hesitation in his movement--he walked purposely to the side of their cell, coming to stand before them. There, he stared down at them, a look of distaste twisting his mouth into an ugly line.
Without saying anything, he held out his hand. One of the soldiers stepped forward and placed two bracelets into his hand.
"Here's what I'm curious about," he said. "I've got Raven Darkholme, aka Mystique, right hand woman to Magneto, the world's foremost mutant terrorist, bent on the destruction of the human race. And at her side, working with her, colluding with her, I've got Professor Charles Xavier, noted scholar, geneticist and proponent of peaceful coexistence between mutants and humans--which will never happen, but it's a lovely thought. Something isn't adding up here, and you two are going to explain what that something is.
Charles could have answered--would have answered--but instead he watched as Mystique rose to her feet, stepped up to the bars, and spat at Stryker. She missed, but her point was taken.
"I didn't think it would be that easy, and while there are plenty of ways I could get you to talk, I think given the circumstances we should aim for efficiency, which is where these collars come in handy. You see, they don't transfer your powers--your abilities--to the controller; no, nothing as brash as that. They coerce obedience. If I'm connected to your collar, you don't get a choice in disobeying me."
Here Stryker chose one of the collars, seemingly at random, and slid it around his wrist, fastening it with an audible click.
"Ah, Ms. Darkholme," he said. Mystique visibly paled. It was a startling thing to witness. Charles rolled forward and reached out for her hand.
"It's alright. Just answer his questions," he said, giving a brief squeeze. Mystique didn't look reassured, but some of the tension left her shoulders.
"Exactly, Ms. Darkholme. And you will start by telling me what you were doing here."
There was nothing to suggest Mystique was being coerced--no struggle or shift in her facial features. She simply opened her mouth and out came the truth, exactly as Stryker had asked. She didn't even seem particularly concerned by it--and that, Charles thought, was perhaps the most interesting part of all. He was learning so much about these collars. They were fascinating, frightful things.
"The plan was for Charles to use his telepathy to manipulate you into attacking Genosha before you're ready. If we can get you onto Genoshian soil, then we can detain you until we get UN sanctioning to have you charged with mutant rights violations."
Stryker cocked his head to the side. "Well, I have to admit, that does sound like something Charles Xavier might have come up with. It still doesn't explain Magneto's role in all of this. He's hardly the diplomatic sort."
And here, if Charles could, he would have stayed Mystique's tongue, because knowing their plans was fine--it suited Charles' plan just fine--but knowing the connection between Erik and Charles made them both vulnerable--Erik more so than him--and Charles didn't want to give Stryker even an ounce of advantage.
But, Stryker had asked, and so Mystique answered.
"He's not. He wanted to kill you and destroy your work, but Charles convinced him to try a diplomatic approach."
Charles could tell that that interested Stryker very much. He leaned forward intently. "And pray tell; how has Charles Xavier done the impossible? How has he bent the mind of the great Magneto?"
"Magneto's in love with him," Mystique said without pause, and now Charles could see the horror in her eyes--the pleading for escape from whatever control Stryker had over her. He gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.
Whatever Stryker had been expecting, it wasn't that. He stood, frozen in place, absolutely gobsmacked by the news; his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with surprise. He stuttered several times, and then huffed out a barking laugh.
"Oh, that is precious. Absolutely precious." To Charles he said, "You have my condolences."
"What do you plan on doing with us?" Charles said, wanting to deflect the conversation. For the first time since their meeting, Charles saw Stryker hesitate. The message was clear; he hadn't decided yet.
"For now I thought I'd let you enjoy the ambiance," he said, reaching down to unclasp the bracelet around his wrist. Mystique visibly sagged once it was released. "All this new information; I believe I need time to consider it." Stryker didn't add anything else, nodding instead to his troops and then following them from the room. Charles waited until he was gone to release Mystique's hand.
"Are you alright?" he asked. Mystique turned to glare daggers at him.
"How can you ask that? How is any of this alright?"
She was clearly rattled by the experience--not that Charles blamed her, but still, he had a few tricks left up his sleeve. He suspected she needed one right about now, so he offered his most winning smile and said, Because my collar doesn't work.
And now it was Mystique who looked gobsmacked. Her eyes grew round--almost as big as before--but before she could comment--give the game away, so to speak--Charles continued.
Or rather, I should say it works, but there are loopholes that any reasonably powerful telepath can easily slip through. I suspected as much the first time I saw Scott's schematics.
"You mean you..." Charles shushed her, bringing a trembling finger to his mouth. She frowned at it, but ceased speaking.
We don't know who's listening, and we want Stryker to think my collar is functioning. Please believe me when I say I knew this was a possibility--a high probability, so to speak--and I have planned for it. It changes nothing unless you give me away. If you need to speak to me, simply think the thought--I will hear it.
Mystique hesitated, as though she was working out how best to think a thought. She began slowly. Why didn't you tell us?
Charles' smile turned sad. Because if Erik had known he never would have allowed my coming, and it is essential that we get Stryker onto Genoshian soil. And because if you'd known you would have told Stryker and then we would have been in a good deal of trouble.
To anyone watching them it would look like they were staring intently at one another, so Charles glanced away, looking out the bars and sending Mystique the thought to do the same. She did, relaxing her stance into something between defeat and defiance--a little more realistic for the cameras, her mind reasoned.
I don't understand. He knows our plan now; he's not going to walk willingly into a trap.
That's where you're wrong. I anticipated him finding out, Charles said. Confusion spiked in Mystique's thoughts.
Charles tried to convey his logic; tried to impart that he had known, practically from the moment he couldn't find Stryker--even back in New York--that Stryker likely had one of Erik's helmets--and the Brotherhood really should have extended their patents on the things--and that he wouldn't remove it unless he was absolutely certain he had Charles under his control. How better to give Stryker control than to allow him to collar Charles himself--to act as Charles' controller? It was the only way they could ensure Stryker would let his guard down enough to remove his helmet--to trust himself unprotected in Charles' presence.
And it had obviously worked, because the Stryker who had appeared outside their cell hadn't been wearing a helmet.
The advantage to him having our plans is that now he thinks he has the tactical advantage. If anything, him knowing will only ensure that he acts as we want him to, because right now he thinks he's already sprung the trap and is in the process of setting his own.
Or at least, Charles hoped Stryker would see things that way. His entire plan hinged on Stryker playing by Charles' rules without ever realizing Charles was aware of the game.
Mystique was watching him again, staring at him like she'd never seen him before in her life. Charles calmly met her eye.
"Nothing personal," she said, "but you are one scary son of a bitch. Remind me never to get on your bad side."
Charles couldn't help but laugh at that.
"Will it make me less scary if I request your assistance in draining my urine bag?" he asked.
Mystique made a face, but she nodded, albeit a little reluctantly. Charles offered a sympathetic smile and then began walking her through the process.
~*~
Erik had spent a few nights here once, when he was younger--shortly after he'd killed two Nazis in a bar in Argentina, not too far from where Charles was currently infiltrating Stryker's base. It was here he'd first come across Charles' work. A book Charles had written on the subject of genetic mutation had occupied a space on the bookshelf--cleared now, most of the titles books the Nazis deemed worthy of escaping their fires--and Erik had wanted nothing to do with those books.
It hadn't outright theorized on the existence of mutants--it was written before Charles' manifesto--but there was enough subtext throughout the book to pique Erik's interest--and Erik still didn't know why he'd picked it up, why it had interested him enough to flip through it in the short space of time between killing two Nazis in a bar and putting a coin through Schmidt's head. A few weeks later, after Schmidt was dead and Erik's life's work had come to its conclusion, Erik had pulled the book from his bag--he also didn't know why he'd taken it with him--noted the author and had gone looking for more.
A week later he'd found Charles' manifesto and his life had changed.
It was funny how Charles kept doing that--especially now that he actually knew the man, Erik more changed by the last few weeks than the whole of his life so far.
Evening was approaching, the whole day vanishing before him and all Erik could think of was Charles. It wasn't just that he was worried for the other man--he was--or that he missed the other man--he did--but that this marked the first night he would crawl into bed and sleep on his own since Charles had come to Genosha. Erik wasn't looking forward to it--which, when he thought about it, was utterly ridiculous, because he had spent the whole of his life sleeping alone; years and years compared to a handful of nights, and Erik had no idea how it was that Charles had come to so fully occupy every corner of his life in so short a period of time.
Erik wasn't sure what he'd do if he lost Charles now.
But he was safe--he had to be safe--and was more than capable of taking care of himself; of accomplishing his part in the mission. And he had Mystique, whom Erik trusted more than anyone in the world--save perhaps Charles now. She was both competent and resourceful; she could without a doubt handle this situation.
"I don't want to talk about it, because I can't say I give a damn, but you look like you could use a drink."
Of all the people Erik had anticipated seeking him out, Wolverine was not one of them. Still, it stood to reason; Wolverine was a solitary creature and Erik had retreated outside to be alone. It was only natural their paths would cross.
Wolverine--and even as he thought it a Charles-like voice in his head said, Logan--had brought a bottle of something--the bottle was far too old to read its label anymore, the glass fogged with age and chipped around the neck and base with neglect. He held it out for Erik's inspection.
"Pretty sure it's rum, but I've tasted better turpentine, so who knows. It'll get you drunk."
Erik accepted the bottle, pausing with it midway to his mouth before he thought of Charles. He lowered the bottle, stared at it--and even from here he could smell the pungency of the liquor--and then handed it back.
"No thanks," he said. Logan shook his head in a suit yourself sort of way, and then chugged from the bottle.
"Wasn't nice, what your boyfriend did--giving me back those memories like that. But he got me out of Dodge and brought me a stogie, and now he's off saving the world, or some such shit, so I guess he's alright by me."
Erik shook his head, even as he found himself chuckling, just under his breath. "I'm sure Charles will appreciate you saying so."
Erik wasn't sure he did. He still didn't want Wolverine--Logan--anywhere near Charles, but fate and circumstance seemed to be charting Erik's course these days, so he was learning to tolerate things he might otherwise have found intolerable.
Like Logan deciding he wanted Erik's company. He settled himself next to Erik, sat on the steps of the Blackbird's extended ramp. Soft blue light from inside the plane illuminated the space, seeming a single point of light in otherwise unending darkness. Erik glanced to the south and east, seeking out Charles with his thoughts. There was no answer, and Erik was no telepath, so he bent his head to stare at his feet instead.
"Not that we're talking about it, but can I ask: If this guy means so much to you, why the fuck are you here and not tearing Stryker limb from limb?"
It was a hard question to answer, because Erik had been thinking the exact same thing; why exactly was he risking Charles when there was an easier solution?
"Because Charles wants us to be better men, and what Charles wants, Charles gets," Erik answered.
Logan grunted, patting absently at his pockets. His expression became forlorn. "You don't happen to have any cigars about, do ya?" he asked. Erik shook his head.
He was about to give Logan directions to the nearest town--because undoubtedly they would need supplies beyond what they'd brought and sending Logan to fetch them would at least keep the man occupied and out of trouble--but a spot of light filling the distant horizon drew his attention. Erik stood abruptly, moving away from the Blackbird's light to watch her twin approach. His entire body tensed with anticipation.
It seemed an eternity before she was on the ground, Erik restless by the time the ramp lowered and Cyclops descended. He spotted Erik and moved to meet him.
"You look ready to invade a country," he said. Erik scowled.
"Anything?"
Cyclops shook his head. "It's quiet--a little too quiet given the day they've had. They haven't even bothered cleaning up the mess."
Erik frowned at that. He glanced to the Blackbird, then back towards the horizon, still hoping for some connection with Charles--this despite Charles telling him there wouldn't be.
"I need to see for myself," Erik said, already moving towards the bird. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. Magneto flared with indignation. He glared, letting his full rage settle over his features.
Cyclops looked unperturbed. "I appreciate that you're a little close to this situation, but we need to be a little less rash here. For one thing, we don't have anywhere near enough fuel to be flying to and from the base every time you feel the need to get in a look. For another, every time we do fly over to the base, we risk being spotted, and that will put the Professor in danger."
Something inside Magneto caved; Cyclops' logic too close to Charles' for him to do anything but relent. It was Erik who stepped back, releasing a breath even as he inclined his head.
"We're still doing daily runs," Erik said, because they had budgeted enough fuel for that, "and tomorrow I'll be going with." Cyclops nodded his agreement, undoubtedly thinking the compromise fair.
For the time being, there was little else Erik could do save attempt some sleep. He left Cyclops and Logan glaring at one another, and headed for the house.
~*~
Charles was trying desperately not to be sick--something that was undoubtedly making Mystique nervous, because she kept casting worried glances in his direction. I'm fine, he kept telling her, but really, he wasn't. He was far, far from fine. Still, so long as he had his full mental capacity it wasn't a problem.
Charles tried to believe this, really he did.
A particularly violent wave of nausea had him sputtering over the steel bucket they'd provided for use as a toilet. It was already filled with the contents of Charles' bag, and Mystique had used it once, so the smell was atrocious. It made his nausea worse, Charles gagging despite his best efforts not to. This was of course exactly when the door swung open and two soldiers entered the room.
Mystique was on her feet instantly, stance widening as though she was preparing to fight. Charles swallowed against the bile in his throat--he hadn't eaten since that morning, which, while boding well for his bowels, wasn't doing his stomach any favours.
"Boss wants to see you," one of the guards said. They were each wearing a bracelet.
Charles could feel the link, now that he was looking for it--feel where it ebbed and pulsed, making it easy to slip through the cracks and maintain his own control. Charles eyed the guard wearing his. The other was wearing Mystique's and looked more than a little pleased about it.
"Just the cripple," he said, coming to the cage's door. "You and me, we're going to have some fun."
And that Charles couldn't allow, so he extended his telepathy even as he spoke into Mystique's mind. I've got this, he said, twisting the man's thought--and there were times when Charles truly understood Erik's hatred of humanity--until it was an innocuous thing. Charles' guard would take Charles to see Stryker and Mystique's would sit meekly by the television set until his companion returned.
It was funny, feeling how the link from bracelet to collar was meant to work. Charles' guard ordered him from the cell, commanding Charles to follow him from the room. Charles felt the tiny thread of compulsion--the desire to do this man's bidding--even as it rippled and wavered, dissolving to dust with a single touch. Still, Charles knew what was expected of him, so he affected a neutral expression and followed the man from the room.
As he left, he heard the cage door lock, followed by the sound of the television set clicking to life.
He was brought to the same room they'd first taken him to, when Charles' collar had been nothing but an illusion, Mystique still wearing her false skin. Stryker was standing next to a bank of monitors, watching the room Charles had just left. Mystique sat, cross-legged on the room's only cot, while he guard cheered at the television set, the picture too grainy too see what he was watching.
"Lost his nerve, did he?" Stryker asked the guard wearing Charles' bracelet. He hadn't turned from the monitors, and did so now, arching an eyebrow. Charles brushed aside the tendril of suspicion.
"I don't know, Sir," Charles' guard answered.
"Well, I did warn him; she's probably full of disease. God knows what sorts of things these mutants carry." Even without seeing his mind, Charles would have known the disdain Stryker had for mutants. To him they were little more than parasites; a plague on humanity. They repulsed him; the thought of touching one, of fucking one, abhorrent to him.
Stryker turned to meet Charles' eye then, simultaneously holding out his hand for Charles' bracelet. The guard removed it swiftly, handed it over, saluted and then left. Stryker ordered the others from the room. Throughout the proceedings, Charles sat silently, hands folded neatly on his lap. It took every ounce of his willpower to project the image of how he wanted to look--strong and confident, yet resigned to his fate--instead of letting Stryker see how he actually looked--shaky and green and on the verge of death
"I have a few options, and you're going to help me decide which is best," Stryker said once they were alone, and Charles could see from the shape of his thoughts that Stryker was more interested in Charles' reaction than Charles' opinion.
"It occurs to me that I have a very powerful telepath at my disposal, but more than that, I have a very powerful telepath's invention at my disposal. Tell me truthfully now; if I connected you to your Cerebro, could you seek out all the world's mutants and destroy them?"
"Yes," Charles said simply, because he could. "Although, if you're thinking of taking me back to New York, I should tell you that Cerebro is no longer there."
It was a risk, volunteering the information--even if it was a lie--but Charles suspected Stryker was too shocked by the news to question Charles' willingness to cooperate.
"And where exactly is Cerebro?" Stryker asked. Charles knew that he had little understanding of what exactly Cerebro was or what it did; only that it was a device Charles used to amplify his telepathy. It could be the size of a toaster for all Stryker knew.
"I had it dismantled and rebuilt inside Genosha's capital compound," Charles said, steering the conversation back to Genosha--the goal was always Genosha.
Stryker huffed at that. "That seems a little strange. Why would you do that, unless..." He paused, looking vaguely shocked and more than a little disgusted. "Could it be that Magneto's not the only one stupid enough to have fallen in love?"
Charles didn't dignify the question with an answer--and technically Stryker hadn't asked him to. Still, Stryker took his silence as confirmation.
"That's sweet, really. I can hardly believe it, but it's sweet. You know, in some countries you would be seen as a criminal." Stryker's thoughts suggested that he did; for him the concept was almost as revolting as Charles' mutation.
"So would you," Charles said, "for what you're doing here."
"True enough; though not the ones that count. So our second option: I can keep you here and wait for your boyfriend to come looking--how long did he give you, by the way?"
"Three days," Charles answered, fighting his instinctual reluctance. This was not the direction Charles wanted Stryker's thoughts to go. He gave them a slight nudge.
"In three days then, when Magneto shows up, I can have you tear him apart, molecule by molecule--a fitting betrayal if I do say so myself. He'll bring his friends--he always does--and you'll destroy them too, and then Genosha, leaderless, defenseless, will fall. Perhaps I'll turn it into a penal colony for mutants. We need somewhere to ship you lot off to."
A minute ago Charles suspected Stryker would have sounded convinced, but now there was hesitation in his tone--creeping doubt that twisted itself into suspicion. Charles congratulated himself.
"Unless that's your plan--we sit here waiting while Magneto strengthens Genosha's defenses. Well, out with it; what is your contingency?"
Charles maintained a level look even as he lied. "I didn't have one. It didn't seem necessary; we thought this would work."
"Arrogance," Stryker boomed, shaking his head. His thoughts were running in circles now, his paranoia almost palpable. For the briefest of moments, Charles felt a stab of sympathy towards the man. This was his son's doing, Charles knew--the mutant had kept Stryker and his late wife locked in an illusion for the better part of ten years. It was no wonder Stryker was so utterly, utterly broken.
He would make no decision with Charles in the room, Charles realized, so Charles subtly suggested Stryker dismiss him, steering is thoughts in the direction of Genosha as he did so. It was like trying to tame a wild bear, Stryker both skittish and hostile, his mind railing against influence. Still, Charles planted the seed, enough to ease his worry when Stryker summoned back Charles' guard, transferred the bracelet, and then ordered Charles from the room.
Charles went quietly, hoping their meeting would be enough to set their course. Charles wasn't sure he'd have the strength to do this again tomorrow.
On to chapter 24
