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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (21/25ish)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 20
"Logan."
Erik said Logan's name like it tasted bitter--like he wanted to spit. Charles frowned, trying to pinpoint the source of his animosity. Certainly their last encounter with the man hadn't been entirely pleasant, but from the colour of Erik's thoughts, he despised the man.
"Yes, Logan, and from what little I could read of his surface thoughts, I'm fairly certain he's being detained against his will."
Charles watched, frustrated, as Erik shook his head, seeming unable to get past the man's name.
"Explain to me again how it is you went searching for Stryker and ended up finding Logan?" There was definite distaste in Erik's tone--loathing too if his thoughts were any indication.
"I told you, when I couldn't find Stryker, I pulled back and simply allowed minds to call to me. I was hoping Stryker's might jump out, but instead I got pulled towards Logan's."
"Because you and he are such great pals," Erik all but spat. Charles' mind stuttered to a stop, comprehension dawning.
Charles removed Cerebro's helmet from his lap and set it on the ground, then wheeled forward until he was sitting directly in front of Erik. Charles bent his neck to meet Erik's eye.
"Tell me you're joking?"
"What?" Erik asked, seeming taken aback. He was still scowling, though; still thoroughly unimpressed that Charles had found Logan of all people.
"I'm telling you I think Logan is in Stryker's possession, which would mean we have a location on Stryker, and you're worrying about some invented interest you think I have in Logan?"
Erik emitted a sound that would have rivalled any one of Hank's angrier growls. He shook his head.
"First off, we don't know that. Logan could just be in jail--hell, that's probably exactly where he is and good riddance to bad rubbish. Second, I'm not jealous."
Charles arched an eyebrow, because Erik had rather just made his point.
"Logan's in jail, in Argentina, when only a few weeks ago we saw him in New York?"
Erik faltered. "There are trees in Argentina," he said, somewhat lamely.
Charles' expression softened. Somewhere behind him, he heard Hank tinkering with Cerebro. A brush of his thoughts told Charles he was studiously trying not to overhear their argument--Charles wished he could do the same; he was getting a little sick of having it.
"Logan didn't travel to Argentina to cut down trees. Stryker has him. Think about this, Erik. Six of Scott's seven suppliers are in South America. Logan is being held captive in South America. Logan was Stryker's last project. He escaped, so chances are Stryker wanted him back. What are the odds?
"And for the record, you have absolutely no reason to be jealous."
Erik glanced up sharply at that, clearly offended by Charles' attempts to placate.
"Fine, so maybe you're right; maybe Stryker has him, but that still doesn't mean Stryker's in Argentina. We're not risking everything to get Logan out; he can take care of himself. Also, if you'd seen the way he was looking at you, you'd know I have plenty of reason to be jealous."
Colour crept into Erik's cheeks, his thoughts embarrassed. He hated this as much as Charles did. Charles let his tension drain, and then offered Erik a reassuring smile.
"So what if he was looking?" he asked, though having seen Logan's thoughts, Charles knew that he wasn't. "It's not like I'm going to cheat on you."
Charles wasn't certain how he was expecting Erik to respond to that, but he wasn't expecting his eyes to grow wide, his colour to drain or his thoughts to sound alarms, like that had been exactly what Erik was thinking. Charles froze, mildly affronted but also ridiculously hurt.
"How can you even think...?" It was not Erik's thought that stopped Charles mid-sentence.
It was Hank and the overwhelming surge of guilt that came from his direction. Charles turned, face frozen in a mask of disbelief. Hank briefly met his eye; then glanced down at the floor.
"You're kidding, right?" Charles asked. "That was fifteen years ago." He couldn't remember the last time he felt so angry; so betrayed. Hank glanced back up, mouth working, but no sound came out. Charles didn't give him the chance to find his voice. "I know you're not particularly fond of the idea of me and Erik, but this... this is uncalled for. Is there a reason you've been going out of your way to convince my Erik--my Erik--that I am both a drunk and an adulterer?
"That's not... I swear, Charles, that wasn't what I was trying to do."
Erik had come to stand at Charles' side, and even without looking, Charles could tell that he was staring at Hank in abject horror. His thoughts raged with anger and betrayal and suspicion and so much hostility Charles had to push aside his own anger to reach up and place a steadying hand around Erik's wrist.
For some reason, Erik's involvement seemed to bolster Hank's confidence. He squared his shoulders, drew himself to his full height--impressive that--and stepped forward.
"First, I didn't try--and am not trying--to convince Erik you are either of those things. You do drink too much, Charles, and I worry about you, but we've had this argument more times than I can count, so having it again seems rather pointless. You chose to make him a part of your life, and that means all of it. He needed to know about the drinking, even if you don't think it's a problem--even if you still don't think it's a problem."
Charles seethed, but the sight of Hank, expression softening, shoulders drooping, stilled his tongue.
"I don't know why I told him about Moira, and for that I'm sorry. It was a long time ago, and you are a very different person now."
Charles wasn't sure what to make of that. His earlier indignation vanished, Charles left only with lingering hurt and a numb sense of detachment. Hank's remorse was genuine, his guilt overpowering. Erik still stood at Charles' side, clearly uncertain. He was waiting for Charles to decide what to do.
Charles squeezed his wrist, once, and then let his hands come back to his lap. He exhaled slowly before speaking.
"I think I might need some air, possibly some lunch," Charles said, because it was probably getting close to that time, but more importantly, Charles needed the space. He couldn't deal with Hank just yet. "Let's see if I can't make contact with Logan this afternoon, get an idea of where, aside from his coordinates, he is."
Hank recognized the truce for what it was. He nodded and turned back to what he was doing before their altercation. Charles turned to glance up at Erik.
"Do you know anywhere we can grab some chips? I haven't had good chips since I was away at Oxford."
Erik smiled, though it was clear they weren't done discussing this--and that he was still a little confused by what had just happened. "If you mean English style chips, then, yes, I do know a place, though we'll have to drive."
"Fair enough," Charles said, and gestured for Erik to lead the way.
~*~
It had been a long time since Erik had driven with Charles--not since their road trip, ironically enough, given their recent topic of conversation. It was nice to hold a steering wheel, Charles seated next to him, the windows rolled down; salt-kissed air streaming throughout the little black sports car--Charles had laughed and asked if it was stolen. Erik had assured him it was not.
"An impractical car," Charles had said while Erik struggled to fit his chair into the trunk--giving up eventually and wedging it in the backseat.
It didn't seem impractical now, the little car flying around the winding bends that characterized the coastline road. Erik's hands rested on the wheel, but he controlled the car with his power, skirting around slower vehicles, entire lines of cars pulling to the shoulder at his command. Indulgence, but Charles seemed impressed and Erik liked showing off.
He brought Charles to a little chip stand that stood on the edge of Genosha's least popular beach--mostly because it was comprised entirely of rock and shell, but also because the tide tended to drag driftwood and seaweed onto the beach and the smell sometimes rivalled that of the fishing docks.
As if on cue, Charles sniffed. "You're certainly going out of your way to show me the finger points of the island today," he said. Erik smiled, feeling all of his earlier uncertainty vanish.
"Trust me, the chips are worth it," Erik said, buying two boxes from a grey-scaled mutant whose azure eyes widened considerably when he recognized Erik--even sans helmet.
They sat on a small patch of sand, Erik perched on the edge of a boulder, Charles in his chair, and ate their chips--the second best Charles had ever eaten, he declared--watching the ocean lap against the shore. The sea was slightly rough today, though the sky was clear, the sun shining brightly.
"I'm not going to cheat on you, you know," Charles said, seemingly out of the blue, though their earlier unfinished conversation was still hanging between them.
"I know," Erik said, because he did. That wasn't what he was worried about.
"I made that mistake once, and almost lost someone. I'm not stupid enough to do it again." It was obvious Charles wasn't reading Erik's mind, because he would have known he didn't need to elaborate or convince Erik--he would have known that Erik trusted him completely in this. Erik's possessiveness, his jealousy, stemmed not from the fear of infidelity, but from the fear that someone someday would take Charles away from him--that someday, Charles would wake up and realize he could do far, far better than Erik.
Still, it was hardly something he could say, so he sat and listened, more than willing to learn more of Charles' past, even if the reassurance was unnecessary.
"I was so young--arrogant, really--and I thought with my telepathy I could get away with anything. I found out the hard way I couldn't. It took me months to convince Moira to take me back. I suppose there's some irony in that--bitter though it may be. If she hadn't she'd probably still be alive today."
Erik found himself sitting perfectly still, unwilling to disrupt the stillness between them. This was something Charles hadn't talked about--something Erik only knew from having read news clippings and the police report he'd forced Mystique to surreptitiously acquire. He was deeply curious, of course, but more than that, he wanted to know--wanted Charles to know--that he could be trusted with this.
"I don't remember much of the accident," Charles said, and even though Erik had been expecting it, it was still a startling thing to hear. "I have this brief memory of staring through a cracked windshield--I read later that I was trapped beneath the steering wheel, which I think must have hurt, but I don't remember feeling any pain, just detachment, like I wasn't really inside my body. But I remember staring through that windshield and seeing nothing but tree--leaves and branches as far as the eye could see.
"I woke up three days and two surgeries later in a hospital bed, unable to feel my legs." Erik couldn't help but reach over and take one of Charles' hands in his. He squeezed briefly. Charles smiled at the gesture, but the smile held no warmth.
"There was a police officer standing at the foot of my bed. He asked me if I was awake, and then calmly told me that I was being placed under arrest pending the charge of vehicular manslaughter."
Charles chuckled, a self-depreciating, entirely dejected sound.
"I had to ask who I'd killed. I didn't know Moira was dead at that point. It was the first I'd heard of it."
"Charles..." Erik said, but Charles waved the words away. He turned his head to meet Erik's eye.
"For the longest time I felt guilt more than anything else, and I couldn't figure out why I wasn't more devastated by her death. For a really long time after I thought perhaps I was incapable of love; like maybe my telepathy made falling in love impossible, or maybe my parents just screwed me up too much to love."
There was another story there, Erik knew, one that would no doubt leave Charles as broken as he looked right now. Erik wanted to say something, to offer some reassurance, but Charles wasn't finished speaking, and his next words took Erik's breath away.
"Then I met you."
Erik couldn't think of anything else to do save set his empty chip container down beside him, lean across the space between them, grasp Charles' face between his hands and pull him into a firm kiss, so he did precisely that. Then he kissed Charles again just because he could, softer this time, nipping a little at Charles' bottom lip. When he pulled away, Charles' earlier distress seemed washed away.
"I trust you Charles, completely. And I know it's not going to go away overnight," Erik said. "And I can't promise I won't react inappropriately when someone else shows an interest in you, but I can promise to try, and you are more than welcome to slap me upside the head if it gets out of hand."
Charles laughed at that, a happy sound that went straight to Erik's heart, swelling it impossibly large. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the sensation. It was still shockingly new.
"I think I can live with that," Charles said. He smiled brightly, and then glanced out over the water. "I hate to say this, but we should probably get back."
Erik didn't particularly want to lose this moment either, but the time for dragging their feet was behind them.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, fighting the urge to bundle Charles off somewhere where he'd be safe--an impractical thought, because if Stryker's plans succeeded then nowhere would be safe.
"I'm sure," Charles said, smiling then, gratitude shining on his face, and Erik knew it was because Erik wasn't coddling him--something that Erik suspected would have mortified Charles to his core. Erik stood.
"Come on, then," he said, levitating Charles' chair to get it over the sand. "You go talk to Logan, and I'll get Mystique to pull some satellite surveillance, see if we can't get a closer look of this Argentina location of yours."
"You'll see Scott, too; see if he's made any headway on his prototype?"
Erik nodded, feeling like time was slowly compressing around them. They'd waited days for Cerebro's construction, railing against an abundance of leisure time, but now that Cerebro was finished and their time was limited, Erik would have given anything for just a few hours to themselves.
Instead he stowed Charles' chair in the car, climbed behind the wheel, and drove them back to the capitol compound.
He left Charles back at Cerebro with a kiss and a promise not to overextend himself. Charles rolled his eyes, but agreed, disappearing behind Cerebro's vault-like door and leaving Erik to himself.
His first order of business was to track down Mystique. He found her in one of the training rooms, sparring with Shadowcat. Erik watched them for a moment, enjoying the clean lines of their forms, appreciating Mystique's lithe agility and Shadowcat's fluid poise. It never ceased to amaze him, the variety in mutantkind--the tremendous potential all of his mutants possessed. He never felt more like a proud father then when he watched them at their best, doing what nature intended.
It was Shadowcat who noticed him first, hesitating long enough that Mystique got in a solid kick, her foot colliding with Shadowcat's chest and sending her flying backwards--something that never would have happened had Shadowcat been paying attention. Mystique stood, a frown settling over her features.
"You lost focus," she said, but Shadowcat merely nodding in Erik's direction, so Mystique turned, no surprise on her face, only mild annoyance at having been interrupted.
"Did he find Stryker?" There was urgency in her voice--she too was sick of waiting.
"No, he's found Wolverine, and he thinks Stryker's got him, which would mean there's a chance Stryker is where Wolverine is. I need you to hack some satellites."
Mystique's skin rippled, though she didn't change forms--she simply let her sparing tension dissipate, shifting from fighter to commander in the blink of an eye. She nodded Erik towards the door.
"This is going to happen fast once we have a location," Erik said as they left the room and headed into the hall.
"I expected as much. Don't worry, I've already assembled teams and plotted an operation."
Erik gave her a level look. "You knew I was going to agree to his plan," he said.
Mystique nodded. Erik shook his head, because of course she had.
"I have Scott leading the Alpha team--they'll be in charge of distraction. "I have Shadowcat in charge of Beta team--they'll be infiltrating, seeing if they can get their hands on any intel--we might as well take advantage of the situation. Storm's going to run Gamma team--they'll be covering your retreat. I'll need you and Rogue to get me and Charles into the facility."
"We may have to make a detour. If Stryker does have Wolverine, Charles won't want to leave him behind. We'll have to stage a rescue while getting you and Charles into place."
Mystique shook her head, exasperated. "Fun," she said, but she didn't complain.
When Erik was a boy, Schmidt used to tell him stories about Alan Turing's fantastical machine. Schmidt thought it a wonderful concept; thought it might someday revolutionize the world and that it was essential that people like them--mutants--learned to embrace and master the technology.
Years later, when the first modern computers began to surface, Erik had made it a priority to learn their uses--not because of the stories Schmidt had told, but because he had seen it as another means to get close to Schmidt, and at that point in Erik's life, finding and destroying Schmidt had been his only goal.
It still surprised him, though, how quickly these things advanced, and so when Mystique had first proposed they build a mainframe--that they connect it to ARPANET--Erik had been blown away by the potential--the possibilities. It still amazed him, no matter how many times he set foot in this room.
Mystique moved immediately to a monitor, fingers flying over the keyboard like the technology was a part of her--it was hard sometimes to remember that Mystique was almost as old as him; in addition to aging slower, she also adapted to technology at a speed which left Erik's head spinning.
"You know, I remember you mocking me for wanting to connect us to ARPANET," she said, even as she began hacking several of the world government's defence mainframes.
"I didn't mock it. I just said it had no practical applications outside the military or academic research."
Mystique laughed. "You're showing your age, Magneto."
It had been so long since someone had last called him that that Erik found himself rather taken aback. If Mystique noticed, she didn't say anything, instead sorting through satellite feeds, isolating any that showed Argentina--saving those that came anywhere near the coordinates Erik had provided.
"This may take a while," she warned, so Erik nodded, content to leave her to it; to seek out Scott and his prototype.
"Bring whatever you've found to my office later. Also, you're going to need a crash course in dealing with panic attacks."
Mystique glanced up at that, doubt clearly written on her face, but a level glance from Erik made her school her features. She turned back to what she was doing, wisely avoiding comment. She wasn't the only one uncertain about putting Charles in Stryker's hands, but it was too late now; the decision was made, and she had been the one to back it.
~*~
Interlude
Logan woke to a bucket of cold water being thrown unceremoniously into his cell. He sputtered, coming awake instantly. Those fuckers had shocked him unconscious again. It was pointless to throw himself against the bars--adamantium, just like his skeleton--but Logan did it anyway, coming to his feet with a roar and charging the door. He thudded painfully against it.
The guard holding the bucket laughed.
"You keep laughing, bub, 'cause as soon as I get out of here, I'm coming for you first." Logan let his claws extend, reaching through the bars in a desperate bid to shred the guy's face off. The guard stepped back.
"I don't think we have to worry about that. I doubt Stryker's going to be letting you out of your cage anytime soon. It is the best place to keep a wild animal, after all."
Logan spat, hitting the toe of the guard's boot, who wasn't quite fast enough to get out of the way. He scowled and then nodded to his companion, who walked over to a narrow table filled with electronics. He flipped a switch, the bars of Logan's cage coming alive with electricity. The force of it knocked Logan back; he flew through the air, landing against the side of his bunk, back cracking painfully. At least he remained conscious this time.
"Son of a..." he managed, about to start spewing vitriol when suddenly there was someone inside his head.
Logan.
"What the hell," he said aloud, glancing over his shoulder. "Who the fuck said that?"
"Might want to turn down the voltage next time; you've scrambled his brain," the guard wearing Logan's spit said. His companion laughed and turned off the switch. Logan glared at both of them.
Logan, it's Charles Xavier. Please try not to draw attention to the fact that I'm speaking with you.
That was harder to ignore, but Logan managed, going still, trying to make it seem like he was merely recovering from his injuries--which he was, his body slowly mending itself after his electrocution.
We don't have much time. I need as much information as you can give me, and I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to take it and it's not going to be pleasant.
Logan wasn't sure how to respond to that--not without giving himself away. He concentrated all his energy on thinking, No, shit, I remember.
The sound of Xavier' laughter filled his head; it was tinged with guilt. Yes, and I'm still sorry for that. You're being held against your will, by William Stryker, yes?
Logan concentrated. Yes.
The guards were ignoring him again, content that he'd been taught his lesson. Slowly--mostly because his ribs weren't quite healed yet--Logan pushed himself up and sat on the edge of his cot.
I need to see the room you're in. I'm going to slip into your head, so just look around, slowly as to not draw attention to yourself.
Logan nodded before he remembered himself; then concentrated on opening his mind, having no actual idea how this was supposed to work. A second later he became aware of someone inside his head. It felt like someone was looking over his shoulder, breathing against his neck. Logan couldn't say he liked experience, but at this point Xavier was probably his only hope.
Charles Xavier was the last person he'd expected to ever hear from again--even though his head was now filled with the knowledge of how to find the man should he decide to do so--but Logan remembered the power he and that metal bending friend of his possessed, and if anyone could get him out of this mess, it was probably them. Logan had escaped from Stryker's clutches once before--a feat that had cost him his memories--but he doubted he'd manage it a second time, not without help.
Help had arrived, in the voice of a soft-mannered telepath--who was simultaneously digging through his memories even as he hijacked Logan's eyes. The experience was just as unpleasant as he remembered.
Slowly, with Xavier' nudging, Logan glanced around the room, taking in the bunker-like space. It was easier having something to focus on. A single door, thick steel and triple bolted, stood between the room and the rest of the complex--and Logan had no memory of anything beyond the door, having been unconscious when he arrived; hell, he wasn't even certain where he was on the planet.
Argentina, Xavier supplied.
Can you get me out? Logan asked.
Yes, we're coming. And that was good enough for Logan. He showed Xavier the cages--three of them, all lined in a neat row, though not connected and none occupied save his own. He showed Xavier the line of tables with their equipment--radios and generators and other crap that Logan couldn't have identified if he'd tried. He showed Xavier the guards, lounging on two chairs now, watching a little black and white television--a soccer match, from the looks of it. He showed Xavier the line of shelves, stocked with blankets and toilet paper and bleach-worn towels.
And he showed Xavier the rack.
They hadn't used it on Logan yet--probably afraid to take him out of his cage--but he'd seen one before, back in Saigon--one of the memories Xavier had given him back, and Logan rather wished he hadn't. The guy they'd stretched on it had given up his secrets inside of minutes. It had been rather effective, if a little barbaric.
You're inside a detention area, Xavier said, and that sounded about right, so Logan nodded--again forgetting himself. Alright, hold tight; we're on our way
Hey, Logan thought, not quite sure if Xavier was still around. He felt more than heard Xavier's sudden attention. Make sure you bring me a cigar.
It was hard to tell, but he thought Xavier might be smiling. Logan leaned back and did the same, casting a glance in the direction of his guards. The first thing he was going to do after Xavier and his metal bending boyfriend sprang him from this joint was tear those two to pieces.
Then he was going after Stryker.
~*~
Erik stared in horror at Cyclops' prototype, even as Cyclops explained how it worked--and more importantly, how it didn't work.
"So we have no idea if this is what they actually look like," Erik clarified when Cyclops was finished.
"No, but Charles should be able to telepathically project its true outward appearance, once he's seen the real things."
Erik nodded. He lifted the thing and held it gingerly in the palm of his hand. It was heavy. Its matching bracelet--the one Mystique would wear--was heavy too. They felt like a matching pair of shackles. Erik hated them.
"I want these things destroyed after this is done," he said, slipping them both back into the velvet bag Cyclops had provided. They clinked together inside the bag, though Scott had promised they were impervious to damage--adamantium, and they were lucky they had some on hand from a previous experiment, otherwise acquiring it might have taken weeks.
Cyclops nodded, still standing at ease, awaiting Magneto's next instruction. Erik was distracted by a warm, Charles-like presence in his head.
I've spoken to Logan, Charles said. He hasn't seen Stryker, but he recognizes some of his men. He's being held in some sort of detainment area; inside what he thinks is a larger compound. They have him locked in a cage. Erik scowled at that, because he'd told Charles he might end up in a cage, and apparently he wasn't far from the mark.
Where are you? Erik thought.
On my way to our rooms. Ms. Carter's meeting me there. I have a few personal things to take care of.
Alright, I'll be there shortly; I have a few things to sort out here, Erik said, turning his attention back to Cyclops. Out loud he said, "Get your team ready. We're going to do this hot, so I need you ready to leave at a moment's notice. Erik trusted Cyclops to take care of what was necessary.
Cyclops saluted and moved towards the door. Erik glanced down at the bag in his hand and then set it on his desk. When he glanced up again, Mystique had taken Cyclops' place.
"It looks like Charles was right; there is a facility," she said without preamble. "Remote, too; like you wouldn't build something that remote unless you wanted it to stay hidden. Without his coordinates, we never would have spotted it."
Not waiting for an invitation, Mystique spread several satellite images--print quality, so Erik had to squint to make out the tiny squares that were meant to represent buildings--out over the top of the desk.
"The big facility is here," she said, tapping a blank area that read like a mountain range.
"Inside the mountain?" Erik asked. Mystique nodded. "That sounds like Stryker."
"Exactly." Mystique was smiling; all coiled energy and anticipation. It had been too long since he'd last had his people out on an actual mission. He'd let Charles distract him to the point of getting soft.
"How long do you need?" Erik asked, because this would all come down to Mystique. There was no one he trusted to plan this mission; not even himself, Erik too close to think objectively.
"Rush?" Mystique asked. Erik nodded his head. Mystique reached between them, grabbed Erik's hand, and pulled his wrist towards her, checking the time--it was hard to wear a watch when you preferred to strut around naked, Erik imagined.
"At least twelve hours. 0400 tomorrow morning, not a minute earlier." Erik calculated. Four hour flight if they pushed the blackbirds, six hour time difference; they'd be showing up on Stryker's doorstep at two o'clock in the morning, local time. That wouldn't work.
"You can have a little longer than that. 0800," Erik said, Mystique nodded, turned and then left the room.
And now that there was actually a timetable, Erik found himself growing tense. It wasn't his usual pre-mission tension; the heady anticipation that Erik tended to feel before going into battle. No, this was something else, a sensation almost akin to dread, clawing at his stomach until he thought he might be sick.
It was not a sensation he was used to experiencing. Erik shook it off, stood and went in search of Charles.
~*~
"I don't like this plan," Linda said, laying out supplies on the newly sterilized bathroom counter. She'd washed her hands twice since they started.
"I can't guarantee I will have the facilities to do this myself, and we have no idea how long I will be there."
"I'm giving you three days, after that I'm coming in to take you out," Erik said, appearing suddenly in the doorway. He glanced first to Charles, then to Linda, and then to the counter. Confusion coloured his thoughts. Charles felt himself flush, mortified, but this was Erik and he had promised not to keep secrets from him any longer.
"Linda is fixing me with a Foley catheter. I'll be able to keep it in for several weeks if necessary," Charles held up his hand when it looked like Erik might object. "It'll attach to a bag, so I won't have to self-cath every time I need to urinate."
Erik seemed startled by that, but his expression quickly settled, and he nodded, coming forward then to run a hand over Charles' head.
"Is it painful?" he asked.
"No, but in all likelihood he's going to end up with an infection," Linda answered in Charles' place. Erik's eyebrows rose.
"I have already promised to keep the site clean. It's fine, Erik. I will be fine." Charles didn't particularly want to go into the rest of it--like the fact that he'd need to self-administer an enema shortly before leaving and then regulate his food intake so that he could avoid dealing with his other bodily functions during his time away.
Erik's earlier question came back to him then, Charles finding himself confused, because he couldn't fathom what would have made Erik ask such a thing--he already knew Charles used catheters and this was hardly that different--certainly not different enough to warrant being called painful. Without going deeper, Charles scratched the surface of Erik's thoughts and found the nagging centre of worry that Erik was doing his best to ignore. It wasn't just this upcoming mission--or Charles' role in it--or any of the other myriad of things they had fought about in the last few days.
"I look unwell," Charles said when he found it. Erik seemed startled, but he relaxed a second later, shaking his head in a manner that was meant to be chastising.
"You look pale, and you're sweating a little, and you have very pronounced bags under your eyes. Tell me you're not coming down with something, because otherwise we're calling this off right now."
Linda glanced up sharply at that, already reaching for her supply bag. She pulled out a thermometer and shoved it gracelessly under Charles' tongue. Erik watched, seeming content. A spike of admiration--and incredulity because she was still human--ran through his thoughts. Charles sighed, feeling put upon. He assessed.
He wasn't feeling sick, only tired and little unfocused. Pre-mission jitters, he told himself, and it seemed a plausible explanation. He waited until Linda removed the cold piece of glass from beneath his tongue to answer.
"I think I may require a decent night's sleep before we leave, but aside from that, I feel fine," he said. Erik continued to look skeptical. He glanced to Linda--who was currently feeling Charles' glands--for confirmation.
"No fever, no swollen lymph nodes; if it's anything, it's just a cold," she said. Erik nodded, appeased.
"We're scheduled to leave at 0800 tomorrow morning. You two finish up here while I head out and pick us up some food. We'll make it an early night," Erik said. Charles nodded. "Ms. Carter, when you're done, if you could find Mystique, I need you to give her a crash course in dealing with any problems that might crop up."
"He means the panic attacks," Charles added, rolling his eyes.
"Or you get sick, or end up with an infection--I want full contingencies here, Charles, and I'm not taking no for an answer."
Charles wanted to object--he wasn't a child--but Erik's expression brooked no argument, so Charles relented. Erik thanked him with a nod, and then swept out of the room, closing the door behind them, granting Charles some privacy. Linda moved to the sink to wash her hands a third time, even as she said, "Drop the pants."
The hands that Charles brought to his belt were trembling slightly. He told himself it was only nerves. The lie sounded implausible, even to his ears.
On to chapter 22
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 20
"Logan."
Erik said Logan's name like it tasted bitter--like he wanted to spit. Charles frowned, trying to pinpoint the source of his animosity. Certainly their last encounter with the man hadn't been entirely pleasant, but from the colour of Erik's thoughts, he despised the man.
"Yes, Logan, and from what little I could read of his surface thoughts, I'm fairly certain he's being detained against his will."
Charles watched, frustrated, as Erik shook his head, seeming unable to get past the man's name.
"Explain to me again how it is you went searching for Stryker and ended up finding Logan?" There was definite distaste in Erik's tone--loathing too if his thoughts were any indication.
"I told you, when I couldn't find Stryker, I pulled back and simply allowed minds to call to me. I was hoping Stryker's might jump out, but instead I got pulled towards Logan's."
"Because you and he are such great pals," Erik all but spat. Charles' mind stuttered to a stop, comprehension dawning.
Charles removed Cerebro's helmet from his lap and set it on the ground, then wheeled forward until he was sitting directly in front of Erik. Charles bent his neck to meet Erik's eye.
"Tell me you're joking?"
"What?" Erik asked, seeming taken aback. He was still scowling, though; still thoroughly unimpressed that Charles had found Logan of all people.
"I'm telling you I think Logan is in Stryker's possession, which would mean we have a location on Stryker, and you're worrying about some invented interest you think I have in Logan?"
Erik emitted a sound that would have rivalled any one of Hank's angrier growls. He shook his head.
"First off, we don't know that. Logan could just be in jail--hell, that's probably exactly where he is and good riddance to bad rubbish. Second, I'm not jealous."
Charles arched an eyebrow, because Erik had rather just made his point.
"Logan's in jail, in Argentina, when only a few weeks ago we saw him in New York?"
Erik faltered. "There are trees in Argentina," he said, somewhat lamely.
Charles' expression softened. Somewhere behind him, he heard Hank tinkering with Cerebro. A brush of his thoughts told Charles he was studiously trying not to overhear their argument--Charles wished he could do the same; he was getting a little sick of having it.
"Logan didn't travel to Argentina to cut down trees. Stryker has him. Think about this, Erik. Six of Scott's seven suppliers are in South America. Logan is being held captive in South America. Logan was Stryker's last project. He escaped, so chances are Stryker wanted him back. What are the odds?
"And for the record, you have absolutely no reason to be jealous."
Erik glanced up sharply at that, clearly offended by Charles' attempts to placate.
"Fine, so maybe you're right; maybe Stryker has him, but that still doesn't mean Stryker's in Argentina. We're not risking everything to get Logan out; he can take care of himself. Also, if you'd seen the way he was looking at you, you'd know I have plenty of reason to be jealous."
Colour crept into Erik's cheeks, his thoughts embarrassed. He hated this as much as Charles did. Charles let his tension drain, and then offered Erik a reassuring smile.
"So what if he was looking?" he asked, though having seen Logan's thoughts, Charles knew that he wasn't. "It's not like I'm going to cheat on you."
Charles wasn't certain how he was expecting Erik to respond to that, but he wasn't expecting his eyes to grow wide, his colour to drain or his thoughts to sound alarms, like that had been exactly what Erik was thinking. Charles froze, mildly affronted but also ridiculously hurt.
"How can you even think...?" It was not Erik's thought that stopped Charles mid-sentence.
It was Hank and the overwhelming surge of guilt that came from his direction. Charles turned, face frozen in a mask of disbelief. Hank briefly met his eye; then glanced down at the floor.
"You're kidding, right?" Charles asked. "That was fifteen years ago." He couldn't remember the last time he felt so angry; so betrayed. Hank glanced back up, mouth working, but no sound came out. Charles didn't give him the chance to find his voice. "I know you're not particularly fond of the idea of me and Erik, but this... this is uncalled for. Is there a reason you've been going out of your way to convince my Erik--my Erik--that I am both a drunk and an adulterer?
"That's not... I swear, Charles, that wasn't what I was trying to do."
Erik had come to stand at Charles' side, and even without looking, Charles could tell that he was staring at Hank in abject horror. His thoughts raged with anger and betrayal and suspicion and so much hostility Charles had to push aside his own anger to reach up and place a steadying hand around Erik's wrist.
For some reason, Erik's involvement seemed to bolster Hank's confidence. He squared his shoulders, drew himself to his full height--impressive that--and stepped forward.
"First, I didn't try--and am not trying--to convince Erik you are either of those things. You do drink too much, Charles, and I worry about you, but we've had this argument more times than I can count, so having it again seems rather pointless. You chose to make him a part of your life, and that means all of it. He needed to know about the drinking, even if you don't think it's a problem--even if you still don't think it's a problem."
Charles seethed, but the sight of Hank, expression softening, shoulders drooping, stilled his tongue.
"I don't know why I told him about Moira, and for that I'm sorry. It was a long time ago, and you are a very different person now."
Charles wasn't sure what to make of that. His earlier indignation vanished, Charles left only with lingering hurt and a numb sense of detachment. Hank's remorse was genuine, his guilt overpowering. Erik still stood at Charles' side, clearly uncertain. He was waiting for Charles to decide what to do.
Charles squeezed his wrist, once, and then let his hands come back to his lap. He exhaled slowly before speaking.
"I think I might need some air, possibly some lunch," Charles said, because it was probably getting close to that time, but more importantly, Charles needed the space. He couldn't deal with Hank just yet. "Let's see if I can't make contact with Logan this afternoon, get an idea of where, aside from his coordinates, he is."
Hank recognized the truce for what it was. He nodded and turned back to what he was doing before their altercation. Charles turned to glance up at Erik.
"Do you know anywhere we can grab some chips? I haven't had good chips since I was away at Oxford."
Erik smiled, though it was clear they weren't done discussing this--and that he was still a little confused by what had just happened. "If you mean English style chips, then, yes, I do know a place, though we'll have to drive."
"Fair enough," Charles said, and gestured for Erik to lead the way.
~*~
It had been a long time since Erik had driven with Charles--not since their road trip, ironically enough, given their recent topic of conversation. It was nice to hold a steering wheel, Charles seated next to him, the windows rolled down; salt-kissed air streaming throughout the little black sports car--Charles had laughed and asked if it was stolen. Erik had assured him it was not.
"An impractical car," Charles had said while Erik struggled to fit his chair into the trunk--giving up eventually and wedging it in the backseat.
It didn't seem impractical now, the little car flying around the winding bends that characterized the coastline road. Erik's hands rested on the wheel, but he controlled the car with his power, skirting around slower vehicles, entire lines of cars pulling to the shoulder at his command. Indulgence, but Charles seemed impressed and Erik liked showing off.
He brought Charles to a little chip stand that stood on the edge of Genosha's least popular beach--mostly because it was comprised entirely of rock and shell, but also because the tide tended to drag driftwood and seaweed onto the beach and the smell sometimes rivalled that of the fishing docks.
As if on cue, Charles sniffed. "You're certainly going out of your way to show me the finger points of the island today," he said. Erik smiled, feeling all of his earlier uncertainty vanish.
"Trust me, the chips are worth it," Erik said, buying two boxes from a grey-scaled mutant whose azure eyes widened considerably when he recognized Erik--even sans helmet.
They sat on a small patch of sand, Erik perched on the edge of a boulder, Charles in his chair, and ate their chips--the second best Charles had ever eaten, he declared--watching the ocean lap against the shore. The sea was slightly rough today, though the sky was clear, the sun shining brightly.
"I'm not going to cheat on you, you know," Charles said, seemingly out of the blue, though their earlier unfinished conversation was still hanging between them.
"I know," Erik said, because he did. That wasn't what he was worried about.
"I made that mistake once, and almost lost someone. I'm not stupid enough to do it again." It was obvious Charles wasn't reading Erik's mind, because he would have known he didn't need to elaborate or convince Erik--he would have known that Erik trusted him completely in this. Erik's possessiveness, his jealousy, stemmed not from the fear of infidelity, but from the fear that someone someday would take Charles away from him--that someday, Charles would wake up and realize he could do far, far better than Erik.
Still, it was hardly something he could say, so he sat and listened, more than willing to learn more of Charles' past, even if the reassurance was unnecessary.
"I was so young--arrogant, really--and I thought with my telepathy I could get away with anything. I found out the hard way I couldn't. It took me months to convince Moira to take me back. I suppose there's some irony in that--bitter though it may be. If she hadn't she'd probably still be alive today."
Erik found himself sitting perfectly still, unwilling to disrupt the stillness between them. This was something Charles hadn't talked about--something Erik only knew from having read news clippings and the police report he'd forced Mystique to surreptitiously acquire. He was deeply curious, of course, but more than that, he wanted to know--wanted Charles to know--that he could be trusted with this.
"I don't remember much of the accident," Charles said, and even though Erik had been expecting it, it was still a startling thing to hear. "I have this brief memory of staring through a cracked windshield--I read later that I was trapped beneath the steering wheel, which I think must have hurt, but I don't remember feeling any pain, just detachment, like I wasn't really inside my body. But I remember staring through that windshield and seeing nothing but tree--leaves and branches as far as the eye could see.
"I woke up three days and two surgeries later in a hospital bed, unable to feel my legs." Erik couldn't help but reach over and take one of Charles' hands in his. He squeezed briefly. Charles smiled at the gesture, but the smile held no warmth.
"There was a police officer standing at the foot of my bed. He asked me if I was awake, and then calmly told me that I was being placed under arrest pending the charge of vehicular manslaughter."
Charles chuckled, a self-depreciating, entirely dejected sound.
"I had to ask who I'd killed. I didn't know Moira was dead at that point. It was the first I'd heard of it."
"Charles..." Erik said, but Charles waved the words away. He turned his head to meet Erik's eye.
"For the longest time I felt guilt more than anything else, and I couldn't figure out why I wasn't more devastated by her death. For a really long time after I thought perhaps I was incapable of love; like maybe my telepathy made falling in love impossible, or maybe my parents just screwed me up too much to love."
There was another story there, Erik knew, one that would no doubt leave Charles as broken as he looked right now. Erik wanted to say something, to offer some reassurance, but Charles wasn't finished speaking, and his next words took Erik's breath away.
"Then I met you."
Erik couldn't think of anything else to do save set his empty chip container down beside him, lean across the space between them, grasp Charles' face between his hands and pull him into a firm kiss, so he did precisely that. Then he kissed Charles again just because he could, softer this time, nipping a little at Charles' bottom lip. When he pulled away, Charles' earlier distress seemed washed away.
"I trust you Charles, completely. And I know it's not going to go away overnight," Erik said. "And I can't promise I won't react inappropriately when someone else shows an interest in you, but I can promise to try, and you are more than welcome to slap me upside the head if it gets out of hand."
Charles laughed at that, a happy sound that went straight to Erik's heart, swelling it impossibly large. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the sensation. It was still shockingly new.
"I think I can live with that," Charles said. He smiled brightly, and then glanced out over the water. "I hate to say this, but we should probably get back."
Erik didn't particularly want to lose this moment either, but the time for dragging their feet was behind them.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, fighting the urge to bundle Charles off somewhere where he'd be safe--an impractical thought, because if Stryker's plans succeeded then nowhere would be safe.
"I'm sure," Charles said, smiling then, gratitude shining on his face, and Erik knew it was because Erik wasn't coddling him--something that Erik suspected would have mortified Charles to his core. Erik stood.
"Come on, then," he said, levitating Charles' chair to get it over the sand. "You go talk to Logan, and I'll get Mystique to pull some satellite surveillance, see if we can't get a closer look of this Argentina location of yours."
"You'll see Scott, too; see if he's made any headway on his prototype?"
Erik nodded, feeling like time was slowly compressing around them. They'd waited days for Cerebro's construction, railing against an abundance of leisure time, but now that Cerebro was finished and their time was limited, Erik would have given anything for just a few hours to themselves.
Instead he stowed Charles' chair in the car, climbed behind the wheel, and drove them back to the capitol compound.
He left Charles back at Cerebro with a kiss and a promise not to overextend himself. Charles rolled his eyes, but agreed, disappearing behind Cerebro's vault-like door and leaving Erik to himself.
His first order of business was to track down Mystique. He found her in one of the training rooms, sparring with Shadowcat. Erik watched them for a moment, enjoying the clean lines of their forms, appreciating Mystique's lithe agility and Shadowcat's fluid poise. It never ceased to amaze him, the variety in mutantkind--the tremendous potential all of his mutants possessed. He never felt more like a proud father then when he watched them at their best, doing what nature intended.
It was Shadowcat who noticed him first, hesitating long enough that Mystique got in a solid kick, her foot colliding with Shadowcat's chest and sending her flying backwards--something that never would have happened had Shadowcat been paying attention. Mystique stood, a frown settling over her features.
"You lost focus," she said, but Shadowcat merely nodding in Erik's direction, so Mystique turned, no surprise on her face, only mild annoyance at having been interrupted.
"Did he find Stryker?" There was urgency in her voice--she too was sick of waiting.
"No, he's found Wolverine, and he thinks Stryker's got him, which would mean there's a chance Stryker is where Wolverine is. I need you to hack some satellites."
Mystique's skin rippled, though she didn't change forms--she simply let her sparing tension dissipate, shifting from fighter to commander in the blink of an eye. She nodded Erik towards the door.
"This is going to happen fast once we have a location," Erik said as they left the room and headed into the hall.
"I expected as much. Don't worry, I've already assembled teams and plotted an operation."
Erik gave her a level look. "You knew I was going to agree to his plan," he said.
Mystique nodded. Erik shook his head, because of course she had.
"I have Scott leading the Alpha team--they'll be in charge of distraction. "I have Shadowcat in charge of Beta team--they'll be infiltrating, seeing if they can get their hands on any intel--we might as well take advantage of the situation. Storm's going to run Gamma team--they'll be covering your retreat. I'll need you and Rogue to get me and Charles into the facility."
"We may have to make a detour. If Stryker does have Wolverine, Charles won't want to leave him behind. We'll have to stage a rescue while getting you and Charles into place."
Mystique shook her head, exasperated. "Fun," she said, but she didn't complain.
When Erik was a boy, Schmidt used to tell him stories about Alan Turing's fantastical machine. Schmidt thought it a wonderful concept; thought it might someday revolutionize the world and that it was essential that people like them--mutants--learned to embrace and master the technology.
Years later, when the first modern computers began to surface, Erik had made it a priority to learn their uses--not because of the stories Schmidt had told, but because he had seen it as another means to get close to Schmidt, and at that point in Erik's life, finding and destroying Schmidt had been his only goal.
It still surprised him, though, how quickly these things advanced, and so when Mystique had first proposed they build a mainframe--that they connect it to ARPANET--Erik had been blown away by the potential--the possibilities. It still amazed him, no matter how many times he set foot in this room.
Mystique moved immediately to a monitor, fingers flying over the keyboard like the technology was a part of her--it was hard sometimes to remember that Mystique was almost as old as him; in addition to aging slower, she also adapted to technology at a speed which left Erik's head spinning.
"You know, I remember you mocking me for wanting to connect us to ARPANET," she said, even as she began hacking several of the world government's defence mainframes.
"I didn't mock it. I just said it had no practical applications outside the military or academic research."
Mystique laughed. "You're showing your age, Magneto."
It had been so long since someone had last called him that that Erik found himself rather taken aback. If Mystique noticed, she didn't say anything, instead sorting through satellite feeds, isolating any that showed Argentina--saving those that came anywhere near the coordinates Erik had provided.
"This may take a while," she warned, so Erik nodded, content to leave her to it; to seek out Scott and his prototype.
"Bring whatever you've found to my office later. Also, you're going to need a crash course in dealing with panic attacks."
Mystique glanced up at that, doubt clearly written on her face, but a level glance from Erik made her school her features. She turned back to what she was doing, wisely avoiding comment. She wasn't the only one uncertain about putting Charles in Stryker's hands, but it was too late now; the decision was made, and she had been the one to back it.
~*~
Interlude
Logan woke to a bucket of cold water being thrown unceremoniously into his cell. He sputtered, coming awake instantly. Those fuckers had shocked him unconscious again. It was pointless to throw himself against the bars--adamantium, just like his skeleton--but Logan did it anyway, coming to his feet with a roar and charging the door. He thudded painfully against it.
The guard holding the bucket laughed.
"You keep laughing, bub, 'cause as soon as I get out of here, I'm coming for you first." Logan let his claws extend, reaching through the bars in a desperate bid to shred the guy's face off. The guard stepped back.
"I don't think we have to worry about that. I doubt Stryker's going to be letting you out of your cage anytime soon. It is the best place to keep a wild animal, after all."
Logan spat, hitting the toe of the guard's boot, who wasn't quite fast enough to get out of the way. He scowled and then nodded to his companion, who walked over to a narrow table filled with electronics. He flipped a switch, the bars of Logan's cage coming alive with electricity. The force of it knocked Logan back; he flew through the air, landing against the side of his bunk, back cracking painfully. At least he remained conscious this time.
"Son of a..." he managed, about to start spewing vitriol when suddenly there was someone inside his head.
Logan.
"What the hell," he said aloud, glancing over his shoulder. "Who the fuck said that?"
"Might want to turn down the voltage next time; you've scrambled his brain," the guard wearing Logan's spit said. His companion laughed and turned off the switch. Logan glared at both of them.
Logan, it's Charles Xavier. Please try not to draw attention to the fact that I'm speaking with you.
That was harder to ignore, but Logan managed, going still, trying to make it seem like he was merely recovering from his injuries--which he was, his body slowly mending itself after his electrocution.
We don't have much time. I need as much information as you can give me, and I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to take it and it's not going to be pleasant.
Logan wasn't sure how to respond to that--not without giving himself away. He concentrated all his energy on thinking, No, shit, I remember.
The sound of Xavier' laughter filled his head; it was tinged with guilt. Yes, and I'm still sorry for that. You're being held against your will, by William Stryker, yes?
Logan concentrated. Yes.
The guards were ignoring him again, content that he'd been taught his lesson. Slowly--mostly because his ribs weren't quite healed yet--Logan pushed himself up and sat on the edge of his cot.
I need to see the room you're in. I'm going to slip into your head, so just look around, slowly as to not draw attention to yourself.
Logan nodded before he remembered himself; then concentrated on opening his mind, having no actual idea how this was supposed to work. A second later he became aware of someone inside his head. It felt like someone was looking over his shoulder, breathing against his neck. Logan couldn't say he liked experience, but at this point Xavier was probably his only hope.
Charles Xavier was the last person he'd expected to ever hear from again--even though his head was now filled with the knowledge of how to find the man should he decide to do so--but Logan remembered the power he and that metal bending friend of his possessed, and if anyone could get him out of this mess, it was probably them. Logan had escaped from Stryker's clutches once before--a feat that had cost him his memories--but he doubted he'd manage it a second time, not without help.
Help had arrived, in the voice of a soft-mannered telepath--who was simultaneously digging through his memories even as he hijacked Logan's eyes. The experience was just as unpleasant as he remembered.
Slowly, with Xavier' nudging, Logan glanced around the room, taking in the bunker-like space. It was easier having something to focus on. A single door, thick steel and triple bolted, stood between the room and the rest of the complex--and Logan had no memory of anything beyond the door, having been unconscious when he arrived; hell, he wasn't even certain where he was on the planet.
Argentina, Xavier supplied.
Can you get me out? Logan asked.
Yes, we're coming. And that was good enough for Logan. He showed Xavier the cages--three of them, all lined in a neat row, though not connected and none occupied save his own. He showed Xavier the line of tables with their equipment--radios and generators and other crap that Logan couldn't have identified if he'd tried. He showed Xavier the guards, lounging on two chairs now, watching a little black and white television--a soccer match, from the looks of it. He showed Xavier the line of shelves, stocked with blankets and toilet paper and bleach-worn towels.
And he showed Xavier the rack.
They hadn't used it on Logan yet--probably afraid to take him out of his cage--but he'd seen one before, back in Saigon--one of the memories Xavier had given him back, and Logan rather wished he hadn't. The guy they'd stretched on it had given up his secrets inside of minutes. It had been rather effective, if a little barbaric.
You're inside a detention area, Xavier said, and that sounded about right, so Logan nodded--again forgetting himself. Alright, hold tight; we're on our way
Hey, Logan thought, not quite sure if Xavier was still around. He felt more than heard Xavier's sudden attention. Make sure you bring me a cigar.
It was hard to tell, but he thought Xavier might be smiling. Logan leaned back and did the same, casting a glance in the direction of his guards. The first thing he was going to do after Xavier and his metal bending boyfriend sprang him from this joint was tear those two to pieces.
Then he was going after Stryker.
~*~
Erik stared in horror at Cyclops' prototype, even as Cyclops explained how it worked--and more importantly, how it didn't work.
"So we have no idea if this is what they actually look like," Erik clarified when Cyclops was finished.
"No, but Charles should be able to telepathically project its true outward appearance, once he's seen the real things."
Erik nodded. He lifted the thing and held it gingerly in the palm of his hand. It was heavy. Its matching bracelet--the one Mystique would wear--was heavy too. They felt like a matching pair of shackles. Erik hated them.
"I want these things destroyed after this is done," he said, slipping them both back into the velvet bag Cyclops had provided. They clinked together inside the bag, though Scott had promised they were impervious to damage--adamantium, and they were lucky they had some on hand from a previous experiment, otherwise acquiring it might have taken weeks.
Cyclops nodded, still standing at ease, awaiting Magneto's next instruction. Erik was distracted by a warm, Charles-like presence in his head.
I've spoken to Logan, Charles said. He hasn't seen Stryker, but he recognizes some of his men. He's being held in some sort of detainment area; inside what he thinks is a larger compound. They have him locked in a cage. Erik scowled at that, because he'd told Charles he might end up in a cage, and apparently he wasn't far from the mark.
Where are you? Erik thought.
On my way to our rooms. Ms. Carter's meeting me there. I have a few personal things to take care of.
Alright, I'll be there shortly; I have a few things to sort out here, Erik said, turning his attention back to Cyclops. Out loud he said, "Get your team ready. We're going to do this hot, so I need you ready to leave at a moment's notice. Erik trusted Cyclops to take care of what was necessary.
Cyclops saluted and moved towards the door. Erik glanced down at the bag in his hand and then set it on his desk. When he glanced up again, Mystique had taken Cyclops' place.
"It looks like Charles was right; there is a facility," she said without preamble. "Remote, too; like you wouldn't build something that remote unless you wanted it to stay hidden. Without his coordinates, we never would have spotted it."
Not waiting for an invitation, Mystique spread several satellite images--print quality, so Erik had to squint to make out the tiny squares that were meant to represent buildings--out over the top of the desk.
"The big facility is here," she said, tapping a blank area that read like a mountain range.
"Inside the mountain?" Erik asked. Mystique nodded. "That sounds like Stryker."
"Exactly." Mystique was smiling; all coiled energy and anticipation. It had been too long since he'd last had his people out on an actual mission. He'd let Charles distract him to the point of getting soft.
"How long do you need?" Erik asked, because this would all come down to Mystique. There was no one he trusted to plan this mission; not even himself, Erik too close to think objectively.
"Rush?" Mystique asked. Erik nodded his head. Mystique reached between them, grabbed Erik's hand, and pulled his wrist towards her, checking the time--it was hard to wear a watch when you preferred to strut around naked, Erik imagined.
"At least twelve hours. 0400 tomorrow morning, not a minute earlier." Erik calculated. Four hour flight if they pushed the blackbirds, six hour time difference; they'd be showing up on Stryker's doorstep at two o'clock in the morning, local time. That wouldn't work.
"You can have a little longer than that. 0800," Erik said, Mystique nodded, turned and then left the room.
And now that there was actually a timetable, Erik found himself growing tense. It wasn't his usual pre-mission tension; the heady anticipation that Erik tended to feel before going into battle. No, this was something else, a sensation almost akin to dread, clawing at his stomach until he thought he might be sick.
It was not a sensation he was used to experiencing. Erik shook it off, stood and went in search of Charles.
~*~
"I don't like this plan," Linda said, laying out supplies on the newly sterilized bathroom counter. She'd washed her hands twice since they started.
"I can't guarantee I will have the facilities to do this myself, and we have no idea how long I will be there."
"I'm giving you three days, after that I'm coming in to take you out," Erik said, appearing suddenly in the doorway. He glanced first to Charles, then to Linda, and then to the counter. Confusion coloured his thoughts. Charles felt himself flush, mortified, but this was Erik and he had promised not to keep secrets from him any longer.
"Linda is fixing me with a Foley catheter. I'll be able to keep it in for several weeks if necessary," Charles held up his hand when it looked like Erik might object. "It'll attach to a bag, so I won't have to self-cath every time I need to urinate."
Erik seemed startled by that, but his expression quickly settled, and he nodded, coming forward then to run a hand over Charles' head.
"Is it painful?" he asked.
"No, but in all likelihood he's going to end up with an infection," Linda answered in Charles' place. Erik's eyebrows rose.
"I have already promised to keep the site clean. It's fine, Erik. I will be fine." Charles didn't particularly want to go into the rest of it--like the fact that he'd need to self-administer an enema shortly before leaving and then regulate his food intake so that he could avoid dealing with his other bodily functions during his time away.
Erik's earlier question came back to him then, Charles finding himself confused, because he couldn't fathom what would have made Erik ask such a thing--he already knew Charles used catheters and this was hardly that different--certainly not different enough to warrant being called painful. Without going deeper, Charles scratched the surface of Erik's thoughts and found the nagging centre of worry that Erik was doing his best to ignore. It wasn't just this upcoming mission--or Charles' role in it--or any of the other myriad of things they had fought about in the last few days.
"I look unwell," Charles said when he found it. Erik seemed startled, but he relaxed a second later, shaking his head in a manner that was meant to be chastising.
"You look pale, and you're sweating a little, and you have very pronounced bags under your eyes. Tell me you're not coming down with something, because otherwise we're calling this off right now."
Linda glanced up sharply at that, already reaching for her supply bag. She pulled out a thermometer and shoved it gracelessly under Charles' tongue. Erik watched, seeming content. A spike of admiration--and incredulity because she was still human--ran through his thoughts. Charles sighed, feeling put upon. He assessed.
He wasn't feeling sick, only tired and little unfocused. Pre-mission jitters, he told himself, and it seemed a plausible explanation. He waited until Linda removed the cold piece of glass from beneath his tongue to answer.
"I think I may require a decent night's sleep before we leave, but aside from that, I feel fine," he said. Erik continued to look skeptical. He glanced to Linda--who was currently feeling Charles' glands--for confirmation.
"No fever, no swollen lymph nodes; if it's anything, it's just a cold," she said. Erik nodded, appeased.
"We're scheduled to leave at 0800 tomorrow morning. You two finish up here while I head out and pick us up some food. We'll make it an early night," Erik said. Charles nodded. "Ms. Carter, when you're done, if you could find Mystique, I need you to give her a crash course in dealing with any problems that might crop up."
"He means the panic attacks," Charles added, rolling his eyes.
"Or you get sick, or end up with an infection--I want full contingencies here, Charles, and I'm not taking no for an answer."
Charles wanted to object--he wasn't a child--but Erik's expression brooked no argument, so Charles relented. Erik thanked him with a nod, and then swept out of the room, closing the door behind them, granting Charles some privacy. Linda moved to the sink to wash her hands a third time, even as she said, "Drop the pants."
The hands that Charles brought to his belt were trembling slightly. He told himself it was only nerves. The lie sounded implausible, even to his ears.
On to chapter 22
