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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (5/?)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Back to chapter 4
Magneto was well aware that he was gaping like a fish. He was glad there was no one awake to see it--glad too that Xavier's telepathy couldn't reach him here while his helmet sat on the bureau by his office door. His brain short-circuited for several minutes before he managed, "Chess?"
"Yes, it's a game where two opponents..."
"I know what chess is." Talking to Charles--and there he went again, calling him Charles--was exasperating, and yet Magneto had no desire to hang up. Rather, he sank further back into his chair, letting out a small huff of a laugh that was no doubt lost to the connection's static.
"Ah, do you play then?" Charles sounded quite serious. He also sounded slightly off, not quite as polished as he had the last time they'd spoken, an underlying slur to his words that Magneto couldn't quite place.
"I play," he said. "Well, in fact."
Chess was a game of strategy, a game of tactics, and he was both strategist and tactician; of course he played.
"Oh, how wonderful," Charles said, sounding delighted. Magneto's brain caught up with the conversation.
"Are you drunk?" he asked.
There was a long minute of silence, as Charles--and damn it, when had he stopped thinking of him as Xavier?--considered the question.
"I'm not sure. Certainly I was, and probably I still am, but I feel quite sober, not that I should ever trust myself to judge," Charles answered. He sounded pensive.
The statement called to mind a conversation Magneto had had with Mystique, on their flight back to Genosha, shortly after meeting Charles. He'd asked her to share everything she knew about the man. She'd told him the same story she had before, about Charles' wife who had died in the same crash that took Charles' legs, only this time she'd added what little she knew of the court case that followed. She wasn't certain, but she thought Xavier had received a suspended sentence on charges of vehicular manslaughter and driving under the influence.
Magneto didn't think Charles would appreciate him bringing it up, so he didn't ask.
The silence must have stretched on for longer than Charles was comfortable, because he cleared his throat, humming slightly in a way that suggested he was beginning to feel awkward. Magneto grinned, feeling the thrill of retribution; oh how he loved that the tables had turned.
"So chess. I'm assuming you're issuing a challenge," Magneto said.
Charles barked a laugh. Magneto hated how it warmed him.
"Yes, yes I suppose I am. If you're interested," he said.
There was still the problem of location. Charles was in New York and Magneto was half a world away. Fortunately Magneto had a tidy little solution to that problem.
"I have business in the States today," and technically that wasn't true, but the remote wilds of northern Canada and the rolling forests of Westchester weren't that far removed, not comparatively. He'd simply have Mystique drop him off in New York on the way home, where he could schedule a commercial flight back to Genosha.
"Today?" Charles asked, sounding confused. "No, sorry, don't clarify. Oh, God, what time is it there? I didn't even think, I just..."
"It's all right. You didn't wake me if that's what you're worrying about." He thought perhaps he should get Charles drunk every time they spoke. It took him decidedly off his game. It was nice to come out on top for once. Magneto reveled in it.
"So tomorrow, then," Charles said.
"No, I'll need a day, possibly two. How is Saturday, eight pm, your time?" It occurred to him then that he had no idea what he was doing. Did he really still hope to lure Charles to his side, or was it simply the man's company he craved. Certainly he wanted to see Charles--had thought of him often since their last meeting--but there was something decidedly reckless in delaying his return simply to play chess with the man.
"Saturday is perfect. Will you like to come here, or should we arrange to meet?" In the background, Magneto thought he heard the roar of a car's engine. It fell silent a minute later.
"I'll come to you," Magneto said, wanting now to see the infamous Xavier estate.
"Excellent. I suppose I'll see you then," Charles said. He didn't wait for a respond, making a hasty goodbye, even as he apologized for not being able to talk longer. Magneto replaced the receiver with a soft click and then stared at the telephone as if expecting it to ring again. It didn't. It struck him then that for as much as Charles had been off his game, he was the one left reeling. He couldn't for the life of him trace the conversation back far enough to figure out how it had ended in him agreeing to travel to New York, to play chess. He was starting to think he had underestimated Charles' powers.
Then again, it was entirely possible he had underestimated himself.
~*~
Charles stared at the receiver where it hung in its cradle, not quite believing what he had just done--not quite believing that Erik had agreed to come. Behind him, Mr. Thompson cleared his throat, the sound jarring enough that it pulled Charles from his reverie.
"Apologies," he said, turning and wheeling himself towards the car.
The drive back seemed to take an eternity. Thompson rambled on about his grandson, pride and nostalgia colouring his thoughts. Charles let himself get lost in the soothing tones of it, even as his mind drifted. He and Moria had discussed having children; an entire house full, but Charles had never really committed himself to the idea. It was one of the things they'd fought about--that and Charles' work; the never-ending intrusion of it. For someone who had shared Charles' field of study, she was nowhere near as passionate about it as Charles. He'd wondered often if his own mutation, his need to understand his origins, had made the difference.
Or perhaps they'd never been truly suited to one another.
It was startling, how quickly his mood shifted. The space of a drive and he felt his earlier energy sap, leaving him feeling listless and resigned. Only the promise of Erik's visit kept him from wanting to crawl into bed and never escape. It was nice to have something to look forward to.
Hank was waiting when he got home, likely watching out the window, because as soon as they pulled into the lane he was out the door and striding towards the car. He retrieved Charles' chair, despite Thompson's protests and set it next to Charles' door, holding it steady while Charles transferred himself from the car into its leather seat.
His thoughts were panicked; then disappointed when he registered Charles' inebriated state.
"Whatever is the matter?" Charles asked, but Hank schooled his thoughts to artificial calm.
"I had expected you back sooner," he said, "but it's no matter. Did you have a nice time?"
"Yes, quite nice," Charles lied.
There was little more conversation after that, Hank wheeling Charles to his room, even though Charles was more than capable of taking himself. Sometimes Hank hovered over him like a mother hen. Charles permitted it, but only because it provided Hank with a sense of reassuring comfort.
"I have a guest coming to visit on Saturday. I'm not sure if he'll have eaten, so perhaps you could arrange with Mrs. Forrester for a late supper," Charles said when they arrived at their destination. Charles' chair lurched briefly as Hank hesitated, mid step.
"Of course," he said, though Charles could tell, even without the benefit of telepathy, that he was surprised.
Charles didn't blame him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd invited anyone to the mansion. Certainly it had been years. There was an undercurrent of happiness to Hank's thoughts, and Charles could tell he was pleased by the development. It was probably unwise, but Charles refrained from mentioning just who he had invited to the house.
~*~
Magneto waited until they were on the last leg of their journey to tell Mystique of his altered travel arrangements. She glared at him, and then motioned for Destiny to take control of the jet. Magneto followed her reluctantly to the back of the plane. He had known this would happen, and he hated losing focus before a mission. He should have waited until after, but he suspected she would have killed him outright if he had.
"What's in New York?" she asked once they were strapped into the long, low bench that lined the fuselage.
"Nothing. I just have some personal business to take care of," Magneto answered.
"Personal business? Since when do you have personal business?" A fair question. It was only a matter of time before she put two and two together; Mystique knew him well. Magneto waited. "You're kidding me. Xavier?" she finally said, eyes growing wide with shock.
"I'll be a couple of days behind," Magneto said, not bothering to verify her assumption--there was no need. "You can run the debriefing, secure the Wolverine. I'll tie up any loose ends once I get back."
Mystique looked incredulous. It wasn't like him to bail on a mission before it saw completion. He had made it a point of honour to see every mission from start to finish; had been unrelenting on the subject. He told himself that this was different; that this time he wasn't needed. Deprogramming the Wolverine required Emma's talents, not his, and Mystique was more than capable of getting him back to her, and then running the debriefing. In fact there was very little that would be required of him.
He was starting to wonder if Mystique was right, if he should have sat the entire mission out.
"What is this, Erik?" It was Raven who asked the question, under her breath that so that the rest of the team wouldn't overhear. Magneto still scowled, giving her a hard look for her insolence.
"This", he answered, "is none of your business."
She wanted to argue, Eric could tell by the defiant expression that crossed her features, but then Destiny announced their arrival, the jet bucking sharply as it sank towards the earth, and Raven was once again forced to assume the role of Mystique. Magneto remained seated, feeling oddly relieved when Mystique released her straps, stood and headed towards the front of the plane. Ten minutes later they were landing. When next he saw Mystique, she was all business.
"Something's not right," she said, following him off the jet, body coiled tight with tension.
"Yes, I was expecting a reception," Magneto said. Instead there was no one, the entire site devoid of life.
It left him feeling twitchy, all his focused energy going to waste. He realized then that he'd been looking for a fight--hoping for one--but more than that, he had been expecting one. To find nothing was unsettling.
"The base is underground; perhaps they don't monitor the surface." Having secured the jet, Destiny had followed them outside. She sounded vexed. Magneto knew her irritation stemmed from her inability to see today's outcome. Whatever had blocked Emma's telepathy from breaching the base was also blocking Destiny's foresight.
"I don't like it," Magneto said, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd gone somewhere his instincts had told him not to. He tried not to think about the reasons for his eagerness, wanting to believe they had everything to do with shutting Striker down, and nothing to do with getting safely to New York. "You two see if you can't find a back way in. Take Pyro and Storm with you. I'll take Shadowcat and Riptide and go in through the front."
The front was little more than a culvert through the dam, easily overlooked had Mystique not secured the base's blueprints. Steel doors stood barrier, but they were little match for Magneto's power. A flick of his wrist sent them imploding inwards. Inside, he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but this wasn't it. In place of soldiers and resistance, they found nothing. Magneto wanted to strike something. Power surged through his blood, the taste of copper heavy on his tongue. He remained tense and ready as they wound their way through deserted corridors. The air was stale; the darkness far-reaching and still they found nothing. They base had been abandoned.
The only signs of life they encountered were rats and the occasional scurry of insects. They had reached what appeared to be some sort of control room when Mystique appeared with the others in tow. She shook her head when Magneto glanced questioningly in her direction. Whatever had happened here, they were too late.
"Did they get word we were coming?" Magneto asked. Mystique shrugged, but Destiny shook her head.
"There's a room, beyond my sight, but it is there we will find the answers," she said.
Magneto gestured for her to lead the way, Destiny following the path as it unfolded in her mind's eye. She led them to another set of doors, these designed with bolts that ran from the steel into the rock of the earth. Pulling them out would have brought the ceiling down around them, so Magneto took the time to release the locks, the process slow and aggravating.
Eventually the door opened and they were inside. Unlike the rest of the base, which looked as if its occupants had simply wandered away, the inside of this room was chaos. It had obviously been a laboratory of some sort and was filled with medical equipment, examination tables, medical machines and a series of tanks.
The sight of it was enough to trigger a flashback--not unusual, even after all these years--Magneto temporarily transported back to his childhood, tension coiling in his chest until he could no longer breathe. Outwardly, he appeared only contemplative, but Mystique, who knew him well, immediately appeared at his side, placing a steadying hand on his wrist. The images shattered, metal scalpels and leather restraints giving way to the present even as the tension in his chest eased and his breathing grew regular. He shot Mystique a grateful look and reminded himself that that was a long time ago, that he was no longer that boy.
Whoever had been in this room had destroyed it before leaving. Long gouges, spaced four apart, the size of a large man's hand, were carved into walls and equipment alike. The floor was stained with blood, though there were no bodies that Magneto could see--and certainly he would not have missed the stench of rotting flesh, a smell he was intimately familiar with.
"I want to know what happened," Magneto ordered. His team sprang into action, eager to be doing something, still keyed up and ready for battle, disappointed that they had found none. Magneto knew how they felt.
It took some time, most of the records purged, the base carefully swept clean of incriminating evidence, but eventually they pieced together enough to know that subject x--and Magneto had no doubt they were talking about the Wolverine--was responsible for the surrounding destruction.
"Do they still have him, or did he escape?" That was the question Magneto wanted answered, though either way it meant danger for them. The Wolverine was a weapon, designed exclusively for the purpose of assassinating mutants, and whether on his own or in the hands of Striker, he was still a threat. Magneto didn't like the prospect of being hunted.
And damn it, this was not how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to be on his way to New York right now, secure in the knowledge that Mystique was taking the Wolverine back to Genosha, that come morning Emma would be in the process of breaking through Striker's programming, turning the Wolverine to their side. There was no possible way he could justify breaking off his search, even if only for the duration of a chess match.
And wasn't it ridiculous that that was his greatest concern.
"Either way we're screwed," Mystique said, answering Magneto's question. "It took us months to uncover this operation. If they have him, it'll take twice as long to find him a second time. If he's on his own... he could be anywhere."
Magneto snarled. Mystique was right. Across the room, a metal examination table vibrated sharply. Mystique's eyes grew wide, having never before seen Magneto lose control. Magneto released a breath through clenched teeth and the table settled.
"We'll start with the usual channels. And put out a word that we're offering sanctuary. If he did this and managed to escape, it could be that he's running from Striker's men." It was a small hope, but one he clung to nonetheless. His life would be made so much easier if Wolverine was made to come to them.
He was expecting Mystique to spring into action, but instead she merely stared at him, thoughtful expression on her face. Magneto frowned, wondering what he'd missed.
"You know, there might be another way," she eventually said. Magneto motioned for her to continue. "Xavier. You have scheduled a date with him, haven't you?"
"It's not a date," Magneto said, too fast--far too fast. "He wants to play chess," he amended lamely, not quite certain why he felt the need to share that bit of information.
"Date, romantic chess tournament; I don't care. The point is you seem to like this guy, and for reasons I can't fathom, he seems to like you. He's also in possession of a machine capable of extending his telepathy to every corner of the globe, more or less, and that means..."
"He can find the Wolverine," Magneto finished. It hadn't occurred to him to ask for Charles' help, but now that he thought of it, Cerebro was exactly the tool they needed. Months of searching compressed to hours--it was almost too good to be true. And Charles would help, because even though their ideologies didn't exactly align, he would still see a fellow mutant in need of help.
A small part of Magneto's brain whispered excitedly that it also meant not having to break off his date--chess match, he thought fiercely--with Charles, something he'd been loath to do.
"Exactly," Mystique said, smiling brightly.
"Then I guess we should get me to New York." He was reasonably certain, especially given the circumstances, that Charles wouldn't mind him bumping up their meeting. What was twelve hours between potential friends?
On to chapter 6
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Back to chapter 4
Magneto was well aware that he was gaping like a fish. He was glad there was no one awake to see it--glad too that Xavier's telepathy couldn't reach him here while his helmet sat on the bureau by his office door. His brain short-circuited for several minutes before he managed, "Chess?"
"Yes, it's a game where two opponents..."
"I know what chess is." Talking to Charles--and there he went again, calling him Charles--was exasperating, and yet Magneto had no desire to hang up. Rather, he sank further back into his chair, letting out a small huff of a laugh that was no doubt lost to the connection's static.
"Ah, do you play then?" Charles sounded quite serious. He also sounded slightly off, not quite as polished as he had the last time they'd spoken, an underlying slur to his words that Magneto couldn't quite place.
"I play," he said. "Well, in fact."
Chess was a game of strategy, a game of tactics, and he was both strategist and tactician; of course he played.
"Oh, how wonderful," Charles said, sounding delighted. Magneto's brain caught up with the conversation.
"Are you drunk?" he asked.
There was a long minute of silence, as Charles--and damn it, when had he stopped thinking of him as Xavier?--considered the question.
"I'm not sure. Certainly I was, and probably I still am, but I feel quite sober, not that I should ever trust myself to judge," Charles answered. He sounded pensive.
The statement called to mind a conversation Magneto had had with Mystique, on their flight back to Genosha, shortly after meeting Charles. He'd asked her to share everything she knew about the man. She'd told him the same story she had before, about Charles' wife who had died in the same crash that took Charles' legs, only this time she'd added what little she knew of the court case that followed. She wasn't certain, but she thought Xavier had received a suspended sentence on charges of vehicular manslaughter and driving under the influence.
Magneto didn't think Charles would appreciate him bringing it up, so he didn't ask.
The silence must have stretched on for longer than Charles was comfortable, because he cleared his throat, humming slightly in a way that suggested he was beginning to feel awkward. Magneto grinned, feeling the thrill of retribution; oh how he loved that the tables had turned.
"So chess. I'm assuming you're issuing a challenge," Magneto said.
Charles barked a laugh. Magneto hated how it warmed him.
"Yes, yes I suppose I am. If you're interested," he said.
There was still the problem of location. Charles was in New York and Magneto was half a world away. Fortunately Magneto had a tidy little solution to that problem.
"I have business in the States today," and technically that wasn't true, but the remote wilds of northern Canada and the rolling forests of Westchester weren't that far removed, not comparatively. He'd simply have Mystique drop him off in New York on the way home, where he could schedule a commercial flight back to Genosha.
"Today?" Charles asked, sounding confused. "No, sorry, don't clarify. Oh, God, what time is it there? I didn't even think, I just..."
"It's all right. You didn't wake me if that's what you're worrying about." He thought perhaps he should get Charles drunk every time they spoke. It took him decidedly off his game. It was nice to come out on top for once. Magneto reveled in it.
"So tomorrow, then," Charles said.
"No, I'll need a day, possibly two. How is Saturday, eight pm, your time?" It occurred to him then that he had no idea what he was doing. Did he really still hope to lure Charles to his side, or was it simply the man's company he craved. Certainly he wanted to see Charles--had thought of him often since their last meeting--but there was something decidedly reckless in delaying his return simply to play chess with the man.
"Saturday is perfect. Will you like to come here, or should we arrange to meet?" In the background, Magneto thought he heard the roar of a car's engine. It fell silent a minute later.
"I'll come to you," Magneto said, wanting now to see the infamous Xavier estate.
"Excellent. I suppose I'll see you then," Charles said. He didn't wait for a respond, making a hasty goodbye, even as he apologized for not being able to talk longer. Magneto replaced the receiver with a soft click and then stared at the telephone as if expecting it to ring again. It didn't. It struck him then that for as much as Charles had been off his game, he was the one left reeling. He couldn't for the life of him trace the conversation back far enough to figure out how it had ended in him agreeing to travel to New York, to play chess. He was starting to think he had underestimated Charles' powers.
Then again, it was entirely possible he had underestimated himself.
~*~
Charles stared at the receiver where it hung in its cradle, not quite believing what he had just done--not quite believing that Erik had agreed to come. Behind him, Mr. Thompson cleared his throat, the sound jarring enough that it pulled Charles from his reverie.
"Apologies," he said, turning and wheeling himself towards the car.
The drive back seemed to take an eternity. Thompson rambled on about his grandson, pride and nostalgia colouring his thoughts. Charles let himself get lost in the soothing tones of it, even as his mind drifted. He and Moria had discussed having children; an entire house full, but Charles had never really committed himself to the idea. It was one of the things they'd fought about--that and Charles' work; the never-ending intrusion of it. For someone who had shared Charles' field of study, she was nowhere near as passionate about it as Charles. He'd wondered often if his own mutation, his need to understand his origins, had made the difference.
Or perhaps they'd never been truly suited to one another.
It was startling, how quickly his mood shifted. The space of a drive and he felt his earlier energy sap, leaving him feeling listless and resigned. Only the promise of Erik's visit kept him from wanting to crawl into bed and never escape. It was nice to have something to look forward to.
Hank was waiting when he got home, likely watching out the window, because as soon as they pulled into the lane he was out the door and striding towards the car. He retrieved Charles' chair, despite Thompson's protests and set it next to Charles' door, holding it steady while Charles transferred himself from the car into its leather seat.
His thoughts were panicked; then disappointed when he registered Charles' inebriated state.
"Whatever is the matter?" Charles asked, but Hank schooled his thoughts to artificial calm.
"I had expected you back sooner," he said, "but it's no matter. Did you have a nice time?"
"Yes, quite nice," Charles lied.
There was little more conversation after that, Hank wheeling Charles to his room, even though Charles was more than capable of taking himself. Sometimes Hank hovered over him like a mother hen. Charles permitted it, but only because it provided Hank with a sense of reassuring comfort.
"I have a guest coming to visit on Saturday. I'm not sure if he'll have eaten, so perhaps you could arrange with Mrs. Forrester for a late supper," Charles said when they arrived at their destination. Charles' chair lurched briefly as Hank hesitated, mid step.
"Of course," he said, though Charles could tell, even without the benefit of telepathy, that he was surprised.
Charles didn't blame him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd invited anyone to the mansion. Certainly it had been years. There was an undercurrent of happiness to Hank's thoughts, and Charles could tell he was pleased by the development. It was probably unwise, but Charles refrained from mentioning just who he had invited to the house.
~*~
Magneto waited until they were on the last leg of their journey to tell Mystique of his altered travel arrangements. She glared at him, and then motioned for Destiny to take control of the jet. Magneto followed her reluctantly to the back of the plane. He had known this would happen, and he hated losing focus before a mission. He should have waited until after, but he suspected she would have killed him outright if he had.
"What's in New York?" she asked once they were strapped into the long, low bench that lined the fuselage.
"Nothing. I just have some personal business to take care of," Magneto answered.
"Personal business? Since when do you have personal business?" A fair question. It was only a matter of time before she put two and two together; Mystique knew him well. Magneto waited. "You're kidding me. Xavier?" she finally said, eyes growing wide with shock.
"I'll be a couple of days behind," Magneto said, not bothering to verify her assumption--there was no need. "You can run the debriefing, secure the Wolverine. I'll tie up any loose ends once I get back."
Mystique looked incredulous. It wasn't like him to bail on a mission before it saw completion. He had made it a point of honour to see every mission from start to finish; had been unrelenting on the subject. He told himself that this was different; that this time he wasn't needed. Deprogramming the Wolverine required Emma's talents, not his, and Mystique was more than capable of getting him back to her, and then running the debriefing. In fact there was very little that would be required of him.
He was starting to wonder if Mystique was right, if he should have sat the entire mission out.
"What is this, Erik?" It was Raven who asked the question, under her breath that so that the rest of the team wouldn't overhear. Magneto still scowled, giving her a hard look for her insolence.
"This", he answered, "is none of your business."
She wanted to argue, Eric could tell by the defiant expression that crossed her features, but then Destiny announced their arrival, the jet bucking sharply as it sank towards the earth, and Raven was once again forced to assume the role of Mystique. Magneto remained seated, feeling oddly relieved when Mystique released her straps, stood and headed towards the front of the plane. Ten minutes later they were landing. When next he saw Mystique, she was all business.
"Something's not right," she said, following him off the jet, body coiled tight with tension.
"Yes, I was expecting a reception," Magneto said. Instead there was no one, the entire site devoid of life.
It left him feeling twitchy, all his focused energy going to waste. He realized then that he'd been looking for a fight--hoping for one--but more than that, he had been expecting one. To find nothing was unsettling.
"The base is underground; perhaps they don't monitor the surface." Having secured the jet, Destiny had followed them outside. She sounded vexed. Magneto knew her irritation stemmed from her inability to see today's outcome. Whatever had blocked Emma's telepathy from breaching the base was also blocking Destiny's foresight.
"I don't like it," Magneto said, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd gone somewhere his instincts had told him not to. He tried not to think about the reasons for his eagerness, wanting to believe they had everything to do with shutting Striker down, and nothing to do with getting safely to New York. "You two see if you can't find a back way in. Take Pyro and Storm with you. I'll take Shadowcat and Riptide and go in through the front."
The front was little more than a culvert through the dam, easily overlooked had Mystique not secured the base's blueprints. Steel doors stood barrier, but they were little match for Magneto's power. A flick of his wrist sent them imploding inwards. Inside, he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but this wasn't it. In place of soldiers and resistance, they found nothing. Magneto wanted to strike something. Power surged through his blood, the taste of copper heavy on his tongue. He remained tense and ready as they wound their way through deserted corridors. The air was stale; the darkness far-reaching and still they found nothing. They base had been abandoned.
The only signs of life they encountered were rats and the occasional scurry of insects. They had reached what appeared to be some sort of control room when Mystique appeared with the others in tow. She shook her head when Magneto glanced questioningly in her direction. Whatever had happened here, they were too late.
"Did they get word we were coming?" Magneto asked. Mystique shrugged, but Destiny shook her head.
"There's a room, beyond my sight, but it is there we will find the answers," she said.
Magneto gestured for her to lead the way, Destiny following the path as it unfolded in her mind's eye. She led them to another set of doors, these designed with bolts that ran from the steel into the rock of the earth. Pulling them out would have brought the ceiling down around them, so Magneto took the time to release the locks, the process slow and aggravating.
Eventually the door opened and they were inside. Unlike the rest of the base, which looked as if its occupants had simply wandered away, the inside of this room was chaos. It had obviously been a laboratory of some sort and was filled with medical equipment, examination tables, medical machines and a series of tanks.
The sight of it was enough to trigger a flashback--not unusual, even after all these years--Magneto temporarily transported back to his childhood, tension coiling in his chest until he could no longer breathe. Outwardly, he appeared only contemplative, but Mystique, who knew him well, immediately appeared at his side, placing a steadying hand on his wrist. The images shattered, metal scalpels and leather restraints giving way to the present even as the tension in his chest eased and his breathing grew regular. He shot Mystique a grateful look and reminded himself that that was a long time ago, that he was no longer that boy.
Whoever had been in this room had destroyed it before leaving. Long gouges, spaced four apart, the size of a large man's hand, were carved into walls and equipment alike. The floor was stained with blood, though there were no bodies that Magneto could see--and certainly he would not have missed the stench of rotting flesh, a smell he was intimately familiar with.
"I want to know what happened," Magneto ordered. His team sprang into action, eager to be doing something, still keyed up and ready for battle, disappointed that they had found none. Magneto knew how they felt.
It took some time, most of the records purged, the base carefully swept clean of incriminating evidence, but eventually they pieced together enough to know that subject x--and Magneto had no doubt they were talking about the Wolverine--was responsible for the surrounding destruction.
"Do they still have him, or did he escape?" That was the question Magneto wanted answered, though either way it meant danger for them. The Wolverine was a weapon, designed exclusively for the purpose of assassinating mutants, and whether on his own or in the hands of Striker, he was still a threat. Magneto didn't like the prospect of being hunted.
And damn it, this was not how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to be on his way to New York right now, secure in the knowledge that Mystique was taking the Wolverine back to Genosha, that come morning Emma would be in the process of breaking through Striker's programming, turning the Wolverine to their side. There was no possible way he could justify breaking off his search, even if only for the duration of a chess match.
And wasn't it ridiculous that that was his greatest concern.
"Either way we're screwed," Mystique said, answering Magneto's question. "It took us months to uncover this operation. If they have him, it'll take twice as long to find him a second time. If he's on his own... he could be anywhere."
Magneto snarled. Mystique was right. Across the room, a metal examination table vibrated sharply. Mystique's eyes grew wide, having never before seen Magneto lose control. Magneto released a breath through clenched teeth and the table settled.
"We'll start with the usual channels. And put out a word that we're offering sanctuary. If he did this and managed to escape, it could be that he's running from Striker's men." It was a small hope, but one he clung to nonetheless. His life would be made so much easier if Wolverine was made to come to them.
He was expecting Mystique to spring into action, but instead she merely stared at him, thoughtful expression on her face. Magneto frowned, wondering what he'd missed.
"You know, there might be another way," she eventually said. Magneto motioned for her to continue. "Xavier. You have scheduled a date with him, haven't you?"
"It's not a date," Magneto said, too fast--far too fast. "He wants to play chess," he amended lamely, not quite certain why he felt the need to share that bit of information.
"Date, romantic chess tournament; I don't care. The point is you seem to like this guy, and for reasons I can't fathom, he seems to like you. He's also in possession of a machine capable of extending his telepathy to every corner of the globe, more or less, and that means..."
"He can find the Wolverine," Magneto finished. It hadn't occurred to him to ask for Charles' help, but now that he thought of it, Cerebro was exactly the tool they needed. Months of searching compressed to hours--it was almost too good to be true. And Charles would help, because even though their ideologies didn't exactly align, he would still see a fellow mutant in need of help.
A small part of Magneto's brain whispered excitedly that it also meant not having to break off his date--chess match, he thought fiercely--with Charles, something he'd been loath to do.
"Exactly," Mystique said, smiling brightly.
"Then I guess we should get me to New York." He was reasonably certain, especially given the circumstances, that Charles wouldn't mind him bumping up their meeting. What was twelve hours between potential friends?
On to chapter 6
