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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (22/25ish)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 21
Charles stared in the mirror at his reflection, willing his nausea to subside.
He'd spent the better part of the night awake--likely would have spent it tossing and turning had his legs not prevented such a thing. What little sleep he'd gotten was plagued by dark, disturbing dreams. This morning he'd woken before Erik, extracted himself from the death grip Erik had on him, and retreated to the bathroom, where he'd promptly emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.
Erik was awake now. Charles could hear him moving about the room, respecting Charles' privacy--and Charles was glad now he had insisted upon it. They were due to leave in two hours. Charles wasn't entirely certain he was going to last that long; let alone the four hour flight, or the upwards of three days he was supposed to spend in Argentina. His hands were trembling almost constantly now--and there was no way he was going to be able to do the things he needed to do this morning, not without help. There was also no way he could deny what this was. Charles had seen the effects of withdrawal on his mother, shortly before she'd succumbed to the illness that had claimed her life.
He wasn't that far gone yet, so it was just a matter of mind over body--something he was infinitely good at. In a few days, a week at most, he would be perfectly fine. A physical dependence did not imply a psychological one.
Bending over the sink, Charles splashed his face with water, padding it dry with a fresh hand towel. His toiletry bag still sat on the counter and he packed it now with everything he needed to get his morning underway. Hoping Erik hadn't thought to turn on any lights, Charles wheeled himself into the bedroom.
It was reasonably dark, Erik having only lit a single lamp--this on the far side of the room. The sun had yet to rise, though through the window the horizon was painted a vibrant purple--still not yet enough light to highlight Charles' paleness. Erik, who was busy dressing, turning to smile as Charles emerged from the bathroom.
"Good morning," he said even as he hesitated, his expression showing his concern--it lingered from last night, when Charles had begged off their chess match in favour of sleeping. Charles didn't need to glimpse Erik's thoughts to know what his worry stemmed from. There was no denying Charles wasn't himself. Charles offered his most reassuring smile.
"Just nerves," he assured. Erik relaxed a little.
"It's not too late to change your mind." There was something desperate in Erik's words. He still wasn't sold on this idea--still hoped another alternative would present--but he admired and respected Charles too much to forbid it.
"I know, and I'm sorry, but I haven't."
Erik's smile was grim, but he accepted the answer. He moved to step forward, into Charles' space, but Charles evaded him, turning his chair and wheeling towards the door.
He watched Erik's face fall--knew Erik was uncertain and fighting against the instinct to simply sweep into Charles' space and wring an answer from him. Charles hurried to explain.
"I'm sorry to do this, but I need Linda to check something." Erik's eyes grew wide. Charles backpedalled. "It's nothing serious, just the seal on my bag," he lied.
"Do you want me to come with?"
Charles shook his head--the halls outside Erik's rooms were undoubtedly well lit, and the last thing Charles wanted was for Erik to see him in full light.
"I won't be long. Shall I meet you in the hanger?"
Erik nodded. His stare was scrutinizing, but whatever he was looking for, he obviously didn't find it, Erik's shoulders sinking in defeat. He gestured to the bathroom and raised an eyebrow. Charles inclined his head, letting Erik know he was done with it. He waited until Erik disappeared behind the door--hesitantly, obviously not wanting to leave Charles' company--to wheel himself out of the room. Outside, Charles shied away from the sudden onslaught of too-bright light.
He fought the edge of a headache--one that had lingered from last night but was made worse by the light--and rode the lift down to Hank and Linda's rooms. He didn't particularly want to see or speak with Hank, but knew the possibility existed--then again, Hank was an early bird, and was probably already back in Cerebro, making the necessary changes so that Emma could use the device should it become necessary--and Charles had had to plead for that, Hank only agreeing because he understood its importance.
As luck had it, it was Linda who opened the door when Charles knocked. When Charles asked, she explained that Hank had already left.
"That's alright," Charles said, "I actually came to see you."
"I can see that," she said, opening the door wide and gesturing Charles inside. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
Charles hesitated, but Linda was wearing her professional, no nonsense face, so he found himself caving. He held up a shaking hand.
"I need some help with..." he gestured down.
Linda instantly understood what he meant, but instead of gesturing him towards the bathroom, she reached forward and grabbed Charles' still outstretched hand, bringing it closer for inspection. Charles didn't give her the chance to make a deduction.
"I've stopped drinking," he said. Linda glanced up sharply.
"How long?" she asked.
"About twenty-four hours now."
A frown settled over Linda's face. Charles couldn't remember how long the withdrawal had lasted with his mother. It had seemed endless--and later, pointless.
"Charles," Linda said, patiently--so very patiently, "this is going to get worse. You've got at least another two days of this--at least. Are you experiencing any confusion? Nausea? Vomiting? Hallucinations?"
Charles wanted to lie; oh how he wanted to lie.
"I was sick this morning, but the nausea seems to be clearing. No confusion, though I have a headache and it's hard to concentrate. No hallucinations."
Linda's mouth became a thin white line as she considered. She brought a hand up to brush against Charles' forehead. It was the kind of touch one might expect from a mother--not that Charles would know. He bore it grudgingly.
"This has the potential to be serious, Charles. You should be monitored while detoxing. I don't know much about this mission you're going on, but I'm going to have to insist against it."
Charles closed his eyes. He hated what he was about to do--funny how that had changed--but there was really no other choice.
"Is there anything you can give me, to take the edge off?" he asked, extending his telepathy as he spoke, making Linda more receptive to the suggestion, less insistent on bundling him into bed until his system cleared. She smiled.
"You're lucky I'm a nervous flyer," she said, all of her earlier seriousness gone. "I have a prescription that should help ease your symptoms." She crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom, appearing a minute later with an amber-coloured pill bottle, filled in her name. She handed them to Charles. Charles read the label: Diazepam. "They'll likely help with the panic attacks, too." she said.
Charles turned the bottle in his hand, still shaking. He glanced up to find Linda watching him with a blank expression on her face.
"You'll need to take one pill, four times daily for at least the next three days; then lower the dose to one pill twice a day; then one pill once a day to help wean you off."
Charles nodded, opened the bottle and dry-swallowed a pill. He tucked the bottle into his cardigan's pocket. Linda smiled brightly, like he was spoiled child she had just convinced to take his medicine. Self-loathing coiled in his stomach.
"I'm sorry," he said, bringing his fingers to his temple. He removed the last few minutes of her life. When he lowered her hand, she blinked at him and smiled, uncertain.
"I'm sorry, Charles, but Hank's not here," she said.
"Oh, that's alright," he replied. "I was actually hoping you could help me with my morning preparations. It's a bit awkward you understand." He gestured to his travel bag, strung over the back of his chair.
Linda shook her head at him. "I did tell you it would be easier if you had someone to assist you."
Charles coloured. "Yes, but..."
"I understand; it is a fairly embarrassing topic. I assure you, I've done dozens of these over the years," she said as she nodded Charles towards the bathroom.
~*~
The Blackbirds were impressive things from this vantage point, and no matter how many times Erik saw them, he couldn't get over their size. They seemed so much smaller when he was strapped inside one; so much smaller when seen up in the air. Each bird only sat seven, but they had the capacity for double that, provided their occupants didn't mind not being strapped into a chair. On this particular mission, they would be taking a team of sixteen. Charles didn't need a chair, and Erik hated being restrained.
The hanger was bustling with activity, red track lights already lit so that the entire length of the track tunnel glowed somewhat ominously--they ran out under the city, emerging out the cliff face that framed the north-west coast of the island. The hanger bay was a domed subsurface room that rivalled most football stadiums for size, sat beneath the capitol compound. Two months of the year, when it rained nonstop, the tunnels flooded and water dripped continuously inside the hanger.
Fortunately, it was still the dry season.
Erik scanned the hanger, mutants moving about like ants collecting food for their queen. Charles was nowhere to be found.
Erik wasn't an idiot--he knew what was happening; knew, too, that he should probably put a stop to this. He couldn't bring himself to do it, though--and sometimes he wondered if Charles was in some way manipulating him, though he knew, deep in his heart, that Charles would never do such a thing. No, this--his inability to refuse Charles anything--was set in stone a long time ago; almost upon their first meeting. But it was more than that, because Erik had seen Charles at work--had grown to be the man he was today hearing stories of Charles and the remarkable power he wielded--so Erik knew, no matter what, that this was something Charles was capable of.
Charles, he knew, would likely accuse Erik of putting him on a pedestal, but it was hardly his fault Charles belonged on one.
In his search for Charles, he spotted Cyclops gathering his team for a final check. Havok, Scarlet Witch and Pyro were each perfectly suited to the role Mystique had set for them--he could think of no other four mutants better at providing distractions.
Shadowcat hadn't assembled her team yet, but having already spoken to Mystique this morning, Erik knew they included Destiny, Gambit and Darwin. Whether they managed to pull any intel from Stryker's fortress was something Erik didn't want to speculate on. It wasn't part of the mission, but would certainly gain them an advantage; and besides, it would add its own distraction--give them a reason for being where they were, Stryker too smart to believe they'd simply attack a base without strength of numbers. He was rather hoping Stryker would assume they'd gotten word of the collars and had decided to investigate.
That left their retreat team, Erik spotting Riptide; tracking him as he crossed the room to where Storm, Iceman and Avalanche stood. Erik smiled. Mystique really was very good at her job. He had hoped one day to groom her to take his position as the head of the Brotherhood--something that had seemed a necessity given how often Erik's life was endangered--but now he realized that she was ready and that his leaving wouldn't necessarily see him fitted for a coffin.
It was almost as if thinking the thought summoned the woman in question, Mystique appearing, Rogue at her heel. Cyclops' velvet bag was clenched in her right hand.
"Where's the Professor?" she asked. Erik narrowed his eyes, confused. In response, Mystique rolled hers. "We've decided to make him an honorary member of the Brotherhood. Since it comes with a code name, we've decided to call him Professor X."
Erik's eyebrows shot up into his hairline.
"Destiny voted for Wheels, but I thought that might be offensive," Mystique continued. She was grinning.
"I'm going to pretend we didn't have this conversation. I'd suggest you not repeat it to Charles."
"Repeat what to me?" Charles asked, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Hank was at the back of his chair, pushing. He looked a thousand times better than he had that morning--relaxed in a way Erik wasn't expecting.
"Nothing. Please ignore my idiotic minions," Erik said, brushing past Rogue--careful not to touch her exposed skin--to kneel at Charles' side. This time Charles didn't retreat--or even flinch for that matter--his projected thoughts warm and welcoming as opposed to the cold warning they'd been this morning. Erik reached into his lap to take his hand. It was clammy, but still.
"Hello," Charles said, smiling.
"Are you alright?" Erik asked, not wanting to overstep any bounds, but still churning with worry.
Charles squeezed Erik's hand. "I'm fine, really."
He looked fine, Erik realized; like he normally did. It was like the last day hadn't happened--and Erik wasn't sure he wanted to think about why that might be. Instead he smiled, leaned into Charles' space and pressed a soft kiss against the edge of Charles' mouth.
"Are you ready?" he asked when he pulled back.
"Let's find out," Charles said.
It took very little time once the order was given to get the equipment and crew loaded, Charles' chair lashed to the deck next to the set of hanging straps Erik would cling to should things go terribly wrong. They had yet to close the hatch when the order was given to clear the hanger and open the track doors. Hank, who had followed Charles onto the plane, looked conflicted, but he gave Charles a brief nod and then hurriedly exited the plane.
Emma Frost was not so quick to obey--and when she had made her way onto the plane, Erik didn't know, still too preoccupied with watching Charles. She gave Erik a hard look.
"Try not to die. You can't imagine the paperwork our insurance company would make me fill out." To Charles she gave a friendly smile and then, winking in Erik's direction, she leaned down to press a kiss to Charles' cheek. "Try to take care of yourself," she said.
Erik tried not to scowl--he really did, because he had promised Charles--but it was hard not to, Emma laughing delightedly when she saw it. She inclined her head to both of them and then swept off the plane, the heels of her white leather boots clicking faintly on the stairs.
"Anyone else want to get in a quick goodbye?" Erik asked, quickly becoming exasperated by the long farewell. No one stepped forward, so he signalled for the hatches to be closed, bracing himself against the wall and floor with his power, extending the field to surround Charles' chair as an afterthought, wanting to spare Charles the turbulence.
The engines roared to life and then they were off, shooting forward at a tremendous speed, then out and up, en route for Argentina.
It was a clear flight; a clean flight, with hardly any turbulence and not a hint of bad weather. Erik wasn't one to believe in omens--something he only knew about because of his time with Magda--but he took this to be a good one. He passed the flight crouched next to Charles' chair, going over the plan again and again until he was certain it was beaten into Charles' head. Charles let out an exasperated sigh.
"Erik, love; it will be fine. I know this plan like I know the back of my hand--it is mine, remember?"
Erik shook his head. "I know, but you'll forgive me if I don't want to leave anything to chance." Charles shook his head, but he was smiling. "Just remember, you have three days and then I'm coming in the front door and I won't be held responsible for anything I might do to get you out."
Charles levelled him with a disapproving look, but Erik ignored it, because there was only so much Charles could expect from him and if it came down to Charles' life, then he would destroy heaven and hell to see Charles safe. Charles would just have to accept that.
"Three days, Charles, and I expect you to try and stay in contact during that time."
Charles' head shot up at that. "That I can't do," he said.
Erik narrowed his gaze. "Why not?"
Charles' expression softened, Erik recognizing the look he got whenever he needed patience to explain something complex. Were it anyone but Charles, Erik might have been offended.
"We don't know who Stryker has working for him or in his possession. If there is another telepath and I reach out to you, there is a good chance it will be overheard and then they will know instantly that my collar doesn't work. Influencing Stryker is going to be tricky enough, but since I'll only be doing it while we're in the same room, it will be less noticeable. Shouting across the country at you is going to make too much noise. I won't risk it just to reassure you. I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to trust me to get the job done."
Erik hated that Charles' logic made sense--hated having to agree to it, but he did, relenting reluctantly. Silence fell between them, which was precisely when Mystique announced their arrival.
Erik gave Charles one last beseeching look--a plea to change his mind, a plea to be careful, a promise to keep him safe--and then swiftly stood, grabbing the straps behind him, wrapping his arm through one and then magnetizing his hand in order to pin it to the wall. Charles offered a brief smile--a promise of his own to be careful and to come home safe--and then curled his hands around his armrests. The Blackbird sank towards the ground.
They were landing out of range, so that no one at the base was forewarned of their coming. The second Blackbird had circled around--it would land in sight of the base once they were in place, providing enough of a distraction to get Erik, Charles, Rogue and Mystique inside.
As soon as they hit the ground, Erik was moving, kneeling to release the lashings around Charles' chair. Mystique and Rogue were already out the door, Darwin and Shadowcat following a pace behind. Gambit paused to help Erik release Charles' chair.
"We not going to stay secret for long, oui," he said with a shrug. Erik shot him a grateful smile.
Together they released the straps and harnesses holding Charles' chair secure to the flight deck, Erik taking over then, floating Charles chair down the stairs and onto the ground. Destiny swept out last, Riptide--who would stay and secure the plane--sealing the hatch behind them.
"We're going in through the south entrance," Shadowcat said, pointing over the horizon, Stryker's base not yet visible. The south entrance was only a guess, and that based entirely on grainy satellite images, but Erik trusted Mystique to have interpreted them correction, so he nodded his head, leaving the intel team to break off and head for their target.
"Let's go find Mystique's north entrance," Erik said, levitating Charles' chair, the foothills of a mountain the last place you wanted to bring a wheelchair.
The first half a kilometer was easy going; they stayed in the open and merely covered ground, getting close to their location. The last half a kilometer required a little more stealth, signs of life popping up all over the place--and from what Erik was seeing, the only thing this place could be was a military base. He only hoped it was Stryker's; that Logan hadn't pissed someone else off just by virtue of existing--and honestly, Erik wouldn't be surprised.
The north entrance was guarded--they'd been expecting it--but Charles had merely put his fingers to his temple and then they'd walked inside, no one bothering to glance in their direction. Erik was feeling a good deal more confident about their chances--that was, until they hit the door.
Wood.
Ridiculously thick wood, without a hint of metal--Stryker was learning.
"I got this," Rogue said, stepping forward. Erik turned to Charles.
"You may want to do something to buffer the noise," he said, Charles looking startled before he brought his hand to his temple--the second time he'd done so since arriving, and Erik wasn't sure if he simply needed the concentration or if he was back to practicing misdirection.
Rogue, who had stepped forward and was now facing the door, hauled back her fist and then released it in a thundering punch. The door shook inside its frame. At Erik's side, Charles closed his eyes, his concentration becoming apparent. "One more ought to do it," Rogue said, and punched the door a second time, this time knocking it back onto the floor--a one woman battering ram, Erik thought idly.
They stepped through the door and into a long, dimly lit corridor.
"Can you put it back?" Erik asked after they'd cleared the downed door.
"Sure thang, sugar," Rogue said. she reached down to pick the door up--one handed, Erik noted--and then carried it back to its frame, forcing it back into place. It was by no means perfect, but given the dim light, it was doubtful anyone would notice--at least, not for a few hours.
"This way," Mystique announced once they were safely ensconced in the mountain. She led them up the tunnel--and Erik could think of no better way to describe the space they'd entered--and to another set of doors, these ones steel.
Erik flicked his wrist, pulling them open. From the direction they'd come, a deafening roar shook the corridor.
"That would be our distraction," Erik said, and it had come just in time, because beyond the steel doors was undoubtedly what they were looking for. Erik had been inside more of Stryker's facilities than he cared to count, and they all had one thing in common; he liked the underground, he liked them poorly lit, he liked them elaborate, but more than anything, he liked them well guarded.
The few guards who hadn't immediately rushed off to investigate whatever it was Cyclops' team was doing turned now to face the man who had just breached their fortress. Judging by the wide-eyed fear that appeared on many of their faces, they knew exactly who Magneto was--if the door hadn't given it away, then certainly the cape and helmet did. One of the men reached to the radio strapped to his shoulder, but Erik shook his head, crooked a finger and the radio came flying. Mystique and Rogue moved forward.
They didn't hurt the men--too badly, at least; and that was Charles' doing--but they did render them unconscious and relieve them of their weapons, one by one. Erik merely stood back and watched, always enjoying this particularly part of the show. Charles, on the other hand, seemed less than impressed.
"We weren't going to sway them with sound reasoning," Erik said. Charles shot him a glare, but Erik could tell by his expression that he reluctantly agreed.
As soon as they room was cleared, the threat neutralized, Charles took over, leading them towards where they were holding Wolverine--and how Charles knew what apparently Wolverine didn't was still something of a mystery, but Erik was hardly in a position to complain.
After navigating a virtual maze of halls--more proof of Stryker if Erik ever needed it--they arrived outside a locked set of doors. Mystique, who was just finishing with the latest guard run-in, came to stand at Erik's side.
"He's in there?" she asked. Erik glanced at Charles, who nodded.
"He's in there," Erik said, and with a single gesture, ripped the door off its hinges. There was really no point being discrete now.
Inside, two guards immediately sprung to their feet, rushing towards the door. Erik made a come-hither gesture with his hands, the guards' guns immediately springing from their grasp. They fell into components as they hit the ground, scattering across the concrete floor, useless.
This time it was Charles who stepped forward, both guards hitting the floor at exactly the same time. Erik raised an eyebrow.
"Sleeping peacefully," Charles said, wheeling himself into the room. He spotted Wolverine immediately--who was watching the proceedings unfold with a vaguely impressed expression on his face--and wheeled to his side.
"Mr. Logan, it's nice to see you again."
Wolverine cocked his head. "You weren't kidding about coming," he said, and then, "you bring my ciggie?"
Charles laughed--Erik hated that the sound was directed at someone other than himself, but he grit his teeth and bore it, more for Charles' sake than Logan's.
"I did," Charles said, reaching into the pocket of his sweater to pull out a long metallic tube--Erik had sensed it earlier and had simply assumed it was a piece of medical equipment Charles required for his stay. He hadn't even considered the possibility of it being a cigar.
"While I'm sure this reunion is lovely and all, Logan, smoke your damn cigar. Charles, we got this--you and Mystique need to get into position.
Charles nodded even as he slid the cigar through the bars of Wolverine's cage. Logan accepted it gladly, already pulling it out of its tube and biting off the tip. He glanced pointedly at the long table that sat near the front of the room. On it, amongst empty foam coffee cups, newspapers and an ashtray filled with discarded butts, was a zippo. Erik flicked his fingers, floating the lighter into Logan's hand.
"Much obliged," Logan said, lighting the cigar and taking a drag.
Erik shook his head. He ignored Logan for the time being, turning instead to kneel in front of Charles.
"You are going to be careful, and you are going to be safe, and you are going to come home to me. That, Charles Xavier, is an order."
Charles smiled confidently, and then leaned forward, Erik meeting him midway for a kiss that hurt as much as it helped. When Charles pulled back, he looked more than a little lost.
"You be careful, too, and I will see you within three days." Erik nodded. Charles turned to glance at Mystique, who immediately moved to the door, ducking her head outside. She turned back and gave the all clear.
"See you in a few days," Charles told the room. He took a slightly unsteady breath, and then wheeled himself to Mystique's side. Together they disappeared through the door.
"Where the fuck is he going?" Logan asked, still puffing on his cigar.
"He's got his own orders; mine are to get you out. Come on," Erik said, reaching out with his power to pull the bars of Logan's prison apart. Logan stood back and watched, eyebrow lifting.
"Impressive," he said once Erik was done. Erik rolled his eyes and moved to the door, trusting Logan to follow behind.
~*~
Mystique moved like a shadow, darting swiftly and silently from cover to cover. She always made Charles wait until she indicated their path was clear; then she stood, poised and ready to fight, until Charles had wheeled himself to her side. Charles could have told her there was no one around. There was nowhere he wasn't--he floated through the halls, directing anyone and everyone away from the path they walked. He followed Erik, too--or rather, Rogue, since Erik's helmet blocked his mind from Charles' sight--knew precisely how close they were to exiting the facility.
The main battle was happening just inside the front gates. Nowhere near where Erik was now--nowhere near where their intel team were currently emptying filing cabinets and copying digital information onto floppy disks. Charles watched it happen through a dozen pairs of eyes. It was a spectacular show; designed so that no one got hurt but so that everyone was thoroughly turned around and utterly confused.
This wasn't how the Brotherhood usually fought, and they were undoubtedly frustrated, but Charles was grateful to Erik for having stipulated their restraint. As they neared the battle--the exact place Mystique was leading them--the sound of it began to reach their ears. Roaring rushes of fire and thundering booms of explosions, coupled with the rat-tat-tat of gunfire sounded in their ears. It was deafening. Charles did his best to block it out, thinking absently about the pills in his pocket. So far, the dose he'd taken upon landing was keeping him level and calm. He didn't want to think about what this would be like without them. The urge to panic and flee--and given a choice between fight and flight, Charles always preferred a tactical retreat--overwhelming even now.
Instead he let himself float in an artificial bubble of calm, and followed Mystique into the thick of it.
She stopped them at the start of a long hall, ducking down to hide behind a series of steel pipes that undoubtedly vented to the outside world. Beyond, at the hall's end, a wide door opened into chaos. Charles could see several soldiers crouching behind crates and pieces of equipment--two cowered behind an overturned table, looking far too young and far too green. Charles sent out a single thought and the soldiers blocking their entrance stood suddenly and walked through the open door. They came down the hall, passing Charles and Mystique without noticing their presence, continuing their march until they were safe and away.
The door led into what looked like a control room. The far wall had been knocked out--and that, Charles suspected, was Havok's doing. Beyond, rolling foothills led away from the mountain and down into a valley. Not three-hundred meters from where they stood, Charles could see the second Blackbird. Stryker's soldiers were trying to advance towards it.
Charles watched, amazed and intrigued, as fog lifted from the dry, too-warm ground. It shrouded the area in murky mist, obscuring the plane and the mutants who continued to destroy unmanned equipment and infrastructure.
"Move," Mystique said, just as a particularly loud explosion sounded, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
She got them to the other side of the room and behind a control panel just as a new wave of soldiers appeared through the door they'd just entered. All of them were carrying surprisingly familiar collars. Scott had done a good job of estimating their appearance. It wouldn't take much to project their true appearance.
Mystique eyed them critically even as she turned to Charles. "It's time," she said, shifting her form, becoming a nondescript looking soldier wearing the uniform of the men obviously trained to act as a mutant controllers. She pulled the velvet back from her pocket--and how it had gotten there when she was naked a minute before was something Charles couldn't figure out, but desperately wanted to know.
The bag she discarded, even as she released the collar's clasp. "Are you ready?" she asked, waiting for Charles' nod before securing the device around his neck. Even knowing it was inert, the collar felt like a noose--far, far too heavy. Without comment, Mystique sealed the matching bracelet around her wrist. When she was finished, she gestured for them to move outside, through the gaping hole. Charles put his fingers to his temple and set about getting them out without notice.
Interlude
"Sir, they've caught one," someone said, Stryker glancing up sharply from the screen he'd been watching.
A private stood at attention, breathless from his run to Stryker's monitoring room--shielding from mutants just like every other room Stryker used. After seeing what his son could do--God rest his soul-Stryker didn't trust to chance.
"You've caught one?" Stryker confirmed, glancing back to the bank of monitors, where chaos still reigned. None of it made any sense, the attack seemingly random, designed to confuse and disorient, not inflict any real damage. He'd recognized Magneto in one of the frames--gone now, disappeared back the way he'd come with no real explanation for his presence; save that he'd taken Wolverine, but rescue missions were hardly Magneto's style. What was the man doing?
"Sir, the mainframe's been breached," one of his operators said. He shifted through the security feeds until he found the room in question. A group of mutants were in the process of making a hasty retreat.
"So they know about the collars," Stryker mused. That was more Magneto's style--they'd be off within minutes, all of Stryker's carefully guarded secrets in their possession, already hard at work on finding a way to override the collar's circuitry. Stryker cursed. One of these days he was going to find and kill Magneto, and then he wouldn't need to worry about collars or control--he'd simply wipe out every mutant on the planet without ever worrying about retribution.
"Is that the only reason they came?" the woman standing at his side asked. Stryker turned to look at Angel, suppressing a shiver when her wings fluttered nervously behind her. She repulsed him, but so long as she wore that pretty little piece of adamantium around her neck, then Stryker would tolerate her presence.
"You know Magneto--quite well if I remember," Angel shrugged. She'd told him nothing of her time in the Brotherhood, no matter how many methods they'd employed. "Would he risk this many mutants just for some intel?"
"Probably," Angel said, but there was something defiant in her stance--something that said she was probably lying. Stryker turned back to the private who had brought him news of a captured mutant--he was still standing at attention, still awaiting Stryker's orders.
"Bring this mutant to me, and whoever made the capture," he said.
As soon as the private was off, Stryker turned back to the monitors. The mutants were retreating now, out the south entrance, which meant they probably had another plane hidden somewhere. Stryker could give chase--shoot the things out of the sky--but he wanted to see how this was going to play out. He wanted to know Magneto's plan.
He glanced again to Angel even as he crossed the room to retrieve his helmet--an exact duplicate of Magneto's. He set it atop his head, turned back to stare at the door, and waited.
When the private returned he brought with him a second private Stryker didn't recognize--not unusual, there were hundreds of men and women in his service--and a man in a wheelchair; a man Stryker would have recognized anywhere.
"Professor Charles Xavier," Stryker said, even as his mind reeled. What was Xavier doing with Magneto? By all accounts the men should be enemies, their philosophies completely different. Stryker glanced to the collar fitted around Charles' neck; then to the soldier defiantly wearing its matching bracelet.
Stryker nodded to the lieutenant standing just inside the door. The man pulled a gun from its holster, aimed and fired. A single dart pieced Xavier's neck.
Xavier, who had been watching Stryker--or rather, staring at his helmet--with something akin to fear on his features, brought a hand up to grasp at the dart, eyes already beginning to fog. The soldier wearing Xavier's bracelet stepped forward.
"Sir, he's already detained," he said, but Stryker gestured a second time, his lieutenant putting a dart into the unknown private. Xavier's eyes grew wide.
"I know my collars when I see them, and that, is a forgery," Stryker said, gesturing a second time, even as Xavier struggled to bring a hand to his temple--and Stryker knew his trick, but the tranquilizer combined with the helmet kept him perfectly safe, so he smiled pleasantly, even as his lieutenant switched out Xavier's fake collar for a real one.
The unknown private, who was already shifting form, revealing the mutant Stryker had suspected, was soon fitted with a collar too--this despite her struggles. Stryker smiled.
"Search them, and then lock them down. And then I want a sweep of the entire base; make sure they didn't leave anyone else behind, and get me an inventory of everything they took," he said, stepping around the now unconscious and collared mutants as he left the monitoring room. What Magneto had been hoping to accomplish, Stryker didn't know, but he was sure as hell going to find out.
On to chapter 23
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 21
Charles stared in the mirror at his reflection, willing his nausea to subside.
He'd spent the better part of the night awake--likely would have spent it tossing and turning had his legs not prevented such a thing. What little sleep he'd gotten was plagued by dark, disturbing dreams. This morning he'd woken before Erik, extracted himself from the death grip Erik had on him, and retreated to the bathroom, where he'd promptly emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.
Erik was awake now. Charles could hear him moving about the room, respecting Charles' privacy--and Charles was glad now he had insisted upon it. They were due to leave in two hours. Charles wasn't entirely certain he was going to last that long; let alone the four hour flight, or the upwards of three days he was supposed to spend in Argentina. His hands were trembling almost constantly now--and there was no way he was going to be able to do the things he needed to do this morning, not without help. There was also no way he could deny what this was. Charles had seen the effects of withdrawal on his mother, shortly before she'd succumbed to the illness that had claimed her life.
He wasn't that far gone yet, so it was just a matter of mind over body--something he was infinitely good at. In a few days, a week at most, he would be perfectly fine. A physical dependence did not imply a psychological one.
Bending over the sink, Charles splashed his face with water, padding it dry with a fresh hand towel. His toiletry bag still sat on the counter and he packed it now with everything he needed to get his morning underway. Hoping Erik hadn't thought to turn on any lights, Charles wheeled himself into the bedroom.
It was reasonably dark, Erik having only lit a single lamp--this on the far side of the room. The sun had yet to rise, though through the window the horizon was painted a vibrant purple--still not yet enough light to highlight Charles' paleness. Erik, who was busy dressing, turning to smile as Charles emerged from the bathroom.
"Good morning," he said even as he hesitated, his expression showing his concern--it lingered from last night, when Charles had begged off their chess match in favour of sleeping. Charles didn't need to glimpse Erik's thoughts to know what his worry stemmed from. There was no denying Charles wasn't himself. Charles offered his most reassuring smile.
"Just nerves," he assured. Erik relaxed a little.
"It's not too late to change your mind." There was something desperate in Erik's words. He still wasn't sold on this idea--still hoped another alternative would present--but he admired and respected Charles too much to forbid it.
"I know, and I'm sorry, but I haven't."
Erik's smile was grim, but he accepted the answer. He moved to step forward, into Charles' space, but Charles evaded him, turning his chair and wheeling towards the door.
He watched Erik's face fall--knew Erik was uncertain and fighting against the instinct to simply sweep into Charles' space and wring an answer from him. Charles hurried to explain.
"I'm sorry to do this, but I need Linda to check something." Erik's eyes grew wide. Charles backpedalled. "It's nothing serious, just the seal on my bag," he lied.
"Do you want me to come with?"
Charles shook his head--the halls outside Erik's rooms were undoubtedly well lit, and the last thing Charles wanted was for Erik to see him in full light.
"I won't be long. Shall I meet you in the hanger?"
Erik nodded. His stare was scrutinizing, but whatever he was looking for, he obviously didn't find it, Erik's shoulders sinking in defeat. He gestured to the bathroom and raised an eyebrow. Charles inclined his head, letting Erik know he was done with it. He waited until Erik disappeared behind the door--hesitantly, obviously not wanting to leave Charles' company--to wheel himself out of the room. Outside, Charles shied away from the sudden onslaught of too-bright light.
He fought the edge of a headache--one that had lingered from last night but was made worse by the light--and rode the lift down to Hank and Linda's rooms. He didn't particularly want to see or speak with Hank, but knew the possibility existed--then again, Hank was an early bird, and was probably already back in Cerebro, making the necessary changes so that Emma could use the device should it become necessary--and Charles had had to plead for that, Hank only agreeing because he understood its importance.
As luck had it, it was Linda who opened the door when Charles knocked. When Charles asked, she explained that Hank had already left.
"That's alright," Charles said, "I actually came to see you."
"I can see that," she said, opening the door wide and gesturing Charles inside. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
Charles hesitated, but Linda was wearing her professional, no nonsense face, so he found himself caving. He held up a shaking hand.
"I need some help with..." he gestured down.
Linda instantly understood what he meant, but instead of gesturing him towards the bathroom, she reached forward and grabbed Charles' still outstretched hand, bringing it closer for inspection. Charles didn't give her the chance to make a deduction.
"I've stopped drinking," he said. Linda glanced up sharply.
"How long?" she asked.
"About twenty-four hours now."
A frown settled over Linda's face. Charles couldn't remember how long the withdrawal had lasted with his mother. It had seemed endless--and later, pointless.
"Charles," Linda said, patiently--so very patiently, "this is going to get worse. You've got at least another two days of this--at least. Are you experiencing any confusion? Nausea? Vomiting? Hallucinations?"
Charles wanted to lie; oh how he wanted to lie.
"I was sick this morning, but the nausea seems to be clearing. No confusion, though I have a headache and it's hard to concentrate. No hallucinations."
Linda's mouth became a thin white line as she considered. She brought a hand up to brush against Charles' forehead. It was the kind of touch one might expect from a mother--not that Charles would know. He bore it grudgingly.
"This has the potential to be serious, Charles. You should be monitored while detoxing. I don't know much about this mission you're going on, but I'm going to have to insist against it."
Charles closed his eyes. He hated what he was about to do--funny how that had changed--but there was really no other choice.
"Is there anything you can give me, to take the edge off?" he asked, extending his telepathy as he spoke, making Linda more receptive to the suggestion, less insistent on bundling him into bed until his system cleared. She smiled.
"You're lucky I'm a nervous flyer," she said, all of her earlier seriousness gone. "I have a prescription that should help ease your symptoms." She crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom, appearing a minute later with an amber-coloured pill bottle, filled in her name. She handed them to Charles. Charles read the label: Diazepam. "They'll likely help with the panic attacks, too." she said.
Charles turned the bottle in his hand, still shaking. He glanced up to find Linda watching him with a blank expression on her face.
"You'll need to take one pill, four times daily for at least the next three days; then lower the dose to one pill twice a day; then one pill once a day to help wean you off."
Charles nodded, opened the bottle and dry-swallowed a pill. He tucked the bottle into his cardigan's pocket. Linda smiled brightly, like he was spoiled child she had just convinced to take his medicine. Self-loathing coiled in his stomach.
"I'm sorry," he said, bringing his fingers to his temple. He removed the last few minutes of her life. When he lowered her hand, she blinked at him and smiled, uncertain.
"I'm sorry, Charles, but Hank's not here," she said.
"Oh, that's alright," he replied. "I was actually hoping you could help me with my morning preparations. It's a bit awkward you understand." He gestured to his travel bag, strung over the back of his chair.
Linda shook her head at him. "I did tell you it would be easier if you had someone to assist you."
Charles coloured. "Yes, but..."
"I understand; it is a fairly embarrassing topic. I assure you, I've done dozens of these over the years," she said as she nodded Charles towards the bathroom.
~*~
The Blackbirds were impressive things from this vantage point, and no matter how many times Erik saw them, he couldn't get over their size. They seemed so much smaller when he was strapped inside one; so much smaller when seen up in the air. Each bird only sat seven, but they had the capacity for double that, provided their occupants didn't mind not being strapped into a chair. On this particular mission, they would be taking a team of sixteen. Charles didn't need a chair, and Erik hated being restrained.
The hanger was bustling with activity, red track lights already lit so that the entire length of the track tunnel glowed somewhat ominously--they ran out under the city, emerging out the cliff face that framed the north-west coast of the island. The hanger bay was a domed subsurface room that rivalled most football stadiums for size, sat beneath the capitol compound. Two months of the year, when it rained nonstop, the tunnels flooded and water dripped continuously inside the hanger.
Fortunately, it was still the dry season.
Erik scanned the hanger, mutants moving about like ants collecting food for their queen. Charles was nowhere to be found.
Erik wasn't an idiot--he knew what was happening; knew, too, that he should probably put a stop to this. He couldn't bring himself to do it, though--and sometimes he wondered if Charles was in some way manipulating him, though he knew, deep in his heart, that Charles would never do such a thing. No, this--his inability to refuse Charles anything--was set in stone a long time ago; almost upon their first meeting. But it was more than that, because Erik had seen Charles at work--had grown to be the man he was today hearing stories of Charles and the remarkable power he wielded--so Erik knew, no matter what, that this was something Charles was capable of.
Charles, he knew, would likely accuse Erik of putting him on a pedestal, but it was hardly his fault Charles belonged on one.
In his search for Charles, he spotted Cyclops gathering his team for a final check. Havok, Scarlet Witch and Pyro were each perfectly suited to the role Mystique had set for them--he could think of no other four mutants better at providing distractions.
Shadowcat hadn't assembled her team yet, but having already spoken to Mystique this morning, Erik knew they included Destiny, Gambit and Darwin. Whether they managed to pull any intel from Stryker's fortress was something Erik didn't want to speculate on. It wasn't part of the mission, but would certainly gain them an advantage; and besides, it would add its own distraction--give them a reason for being where they were, Stryker too smart to believe they'd simply attack a base without strength of numbers. He was rather hoping Stryker would assume they'd gotten word of the collars and had decided to investigate.
That left their retreat team, Erik spotting Riptide; tracking him as he crossed the room to where Storm, Iceman and Avalanche stood. Erik smiled. Mystique really was very good at her job. He had hoped one day to groom her to take his position as the head of the Brotherhood--something that had seemed a necessity given how often Erik's life was endangered--but now he realized that she was ready and that his leaving wouldn't necessarily see him fitted for a coffin.
It was almost as if thinking the thought summoned the woman in question, Mystique appearing, Rogue at her heel. Cyclops' velvet bag was clenched in her right hand.
"Where's the Professor?" she asked. Erik narrowed his eyes, confused. In response, Mystique rolled hers. "We've decided to make him an honorary member of the Brotherhood. Since it comes with a code name, we've decided to call him Professor X."
Erik's eyebrows shot up into his hairline.
"Destiny voted for Wheels, but I thought that might be offensive," Mystique continued. She was grinning.
"I'm going to pretend we didn't have this conversation. I'd suggest you not repeat it to Charles."
"Repeat what to me?" Charles asked, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Hank was at the back of his chair, pushing. He looked a thousand times better than he had that morning--relaxed in a way Erik wasn't expecting.
"Nothing. Please ignore my idiotic minions," Erik said, brushing past Rogue--careful not to touch her exposed skin--to kneel at Charles' side. This time Charles didn't retreat--or even flinch for that matter--his projected thoughts warm and welcoming as opposed to the cold warning they'd been this morning. Erik reached into his lap to take his hand. It was clammy, but still.
"Hello," Charles said, smiling.
"Are you alright?" Erik asked, not wanting to overstep any bounds, but still churning with worry.
Charles squeezed Erik's hand. "I'm fine, really."
He looked fine, Erik realized; like he normally did. It was like the last day hadn't happened--and Erik wasn't sure he wanted to think about why that might be. Instead he smiled, leaned into Charles' space and pressed a soft kiss against the edge of Charles' mouth.
"Are you ready?" he asked when he pulled back.
"Let's find out," Charles said.
It took very little time once the order was given to get the equipment and crew loaded, Charles' chair lashed to the deck next to the set of hanging straps Erik would cling to should things go terribly wrong. They had yet to close the hatch when the order was given to clear the hanger and open the track doors. Hank, who had followed Charles onto the plane, looked conflicted, but he gave Charles a brief nod and then hurriedly exited the plane.
Emma Frost was not so quick to obey--and when she had made her way onto the plane, Erik didn't know, still too preoccupied with watching Charles. She gave Erik a hard look.
"Try not to die. You can't imagine the paperwork our insurance company would make me fill out." To Charles she gave a friendly smile and then, winking in Erik's direction, she leaned down to press a kiss to Charles' cheek. "Try to take care of yourself," she said.
Erik tried not to scowl--he really did, because he had promised Charles--but it was hard not to, Emma laughing delightedly when she saw it. She inclined her head to both of them and then swept off the plane, the heels of her white leather boots clicking faintly on the stairs.
"Anyone else want to get in a quick goodbye?" Erik asked, quickly becoming exasperated by the long farewell. No one stepped forward, so he signalled for the hatches to be closed, bracing himself against the wall and floor with his power, extending the field to surround Charles' chair as an afterthought, wanting to spare Charles the turbulence.
The engines roared to life and then they were off, shooting forward at a tremendous speed, then out and up, en route for Argentina.
It was a clear flight; a clean flight, with hardly any turbulence and not a hint of bad weather. Erik wasn't one to believe in omens--something he only knew about because of his time with Magda--but he took this to be a good one. He passed the flight crouched next to Charles' chair, going over the plan again and again until he was certain it was beaten into Charles' head. Charles let out an exasperated sigh.
"Erik, love; it will be fine. I know this plan like I know the back of my hand--it is mine, remember?"
Erik shook his head. "I know, but you'll forgive me if I don't want to leave anything to chance." Charles shook his head, but he was smiling. "Just remember, you have three days and then I'm coming in the front door and I won't be held responsible for anything I might do to get you out."
Charles levelled him with a disapproving look, but Erik ignored it, because there was only so much Charles could expect from him and if it came down to Charles' life, then he would destroy heaven and hell to see Charles safe. Charles would just have to accept that.
"Three days, Charles, and I expect you to try and stay in contact during that time."
Charles' head shot up at that. "That I can't do," he said.
Erik narrowed his gaze. "Why not?"
Charles' expression softened, Erik recognizing the look he got whenever he needed patience to explain something complex. Were it anyone but Charles, Erik might have been offended.
"We don't know who Stryker has working for him or in his possession. If there is another telepath and I reach out to you, there is a good chance it will be overheard and then they will know instantly that my collar doesn't work. Influencing Stryker is going to be tricky enough, but since I'll only be doing it while we're in the same room, it will be less noticeable. Shouting across the country at you is going to make too much noise. I won't risk it just to reassure you. I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to trust me to get the job done."
Erik hated that Charles' logic made sense--hated having to agree to it, but he did, relenting reluctantly. Silence fell between them, which was precisely when Mystique announced their arrival.
Erik gave Charles one last beseeching look--a plea to change his mind, a plea to be careful, a promise to keep him safe--and then swiftly stood, grabbing the straps behind him, wrapping his arm through one and then magnetizing his hand in order to pin it to the wall. Charles offered a brief smile--a promise of his own to be careful and to come home safe--and then curled his hands around his armrests. The Blackbird sank towards the ground.
They were landing out of range, so that no one at the base was forewarned of their coming. The second Blackbird had circled around--it would land in sight of the base once they were in place, providing enough of a distraction to get Erik, Charles, Rogue and Mystique inside.
As soon as they hit the ground, Erik was moving, kneeling to release the lashings around Charles' chair. Mystique and Rogue were already out the door, Darwin and Shadowcat following a pace behind. Gambit paused to help Erik release Charles' chair.
"We not going to stay secret for long, oui," he said with a shrug. Erik shot him a grateful smile.
Together they released the straps and harnesses holding Charles' chair secure to the flight deck, Erik taking over then, floating Charles chair down the stairs and onto the ground. Destiny swept out last, Riptide--who would stay and secure the plane--sealing the hatch behind them.
"We're going in through the south entrance," Shadowcat said, pointing over the horizon, Stryker's base not yet visible. The south entrance was only a guess, and that based entirely on grainy satellite images, but Erik trusted Mystique to have interpreted them correction, so he nodded his head, leaving the intel team to break off and head for their target.
"Let's go find Mystique's north entrance," Erik said, levitating Charles' chair, the foothills of a mountain the last place you wanted to bring a wheelchair.
The first half a kilometer was easy going; they stayed in the open and merely covered ground, getting close to their location. The last half a kilometer required a little more stealth, signs of life popping up all over the place--and from what Erik was seeing, the only thing this place could be was a military base. He only hoped it was Stryker's; that Logan hadn't pissed someone else off just by virtue of existing--and honestly, Erik wouldn't be surprised.
The north entrance was guarded--they'd been expecting it--but Charles had merely put his fingers to his temple and then they'd walked inside, no one bothering to glance in their direction. Erik was feeling a good deal more confident about their chances--that was, until they hit the door.
Wood.
Ridiculously thick wood, without a hint of metal--Stryker was learning.
"I got this," Rogue said, stepping forward. Erik turned to Charles.
"You may want to do something to buffer the noise," he said, Charles looking startled before he brought his hand to his temple--the second time he'd done so since arriving, and Erik wasn't sure if he simply needed the concentration or if he was back to practicing misdirection.
Rogue, who had stepped forward and was now facing the door, hauled back her fist and then released it in a thundering punch. The door shook inside its frame. At Erik's side, Charles closed his eyes, his concentration becoming apparent. "One more ought to do it," Rogue said, and punched the door a second time, this time knocking it back onto the floor--a one woman battering ram, Erik thought idly.
They stepped through the door and into a long, dimly lit corridor.
"Can you put it back?" Erik asked after they'd cleared the downed door.
"Sure thang, sugar," Rogue said. she reached down to pick the door up--one handed, Erik noted--and then carried it back to its frame, forcing it back into place. It was by no means perfect, but given the dim light, it was doubtful anyone would notice--at least, not for a few hours.
"This way," Mystique announced once they were safely ensconced in the mountain. She led them up the tunnel--and Erik could think of no better way to describe the space they'd entered--and to another set of doors, these ones steel.
Erik flicked his wrist, pulling them open. From the direction they'd come, a deafening roar shook the corridor.
"That would be our distraction," Erik said, and it had come just in time, because beyond the steel doors was undoubtedly what they were looking for. Erik had been inside more of Stryker's facilities than he cared to count, and they all had one thing in common; he liked the underground, he liked them poorly lit, he liked them elaborate, but more than anything, he liked them well guarded.
The few guards who hadn't immediately rushed off to investigate whatever it was Cyclops' team was doing turned now to face the man who had just breached their fortress. Judging by the wide-eyed fear that appeared on many of their faces, they knew exactly who Magneto was--if the door hadn't given it away, then certainly the cape and helmet did. One of the men reached to the radio strapped to his shoulder, but Erik shook his head, crooked a finger and the radio came flying. Mystique and Rogue moved forward.
They didn't hurt the men--too badly, at least; and that was Charles' doing--but they did render them unconscious and relieve them of their weapons, one by one. Erik merely stood back and watched, always enjoying this particularly part of the show. Charles, on the other hand, seemed less than impressed.
"We weren't going to sway them with sound reasoning," Erik said. Charles shot him a glare, but Erik could tell by his expression that he reluctantly agreed.
As soon as they room was cleared, the threat neutralized, Charles took over, leading them towards where they were holding Wolverine--and how Charles knew what apparently Wolverine didn't was still something of a mystery, but Erik was hardly in a position to complain.
After navigating a virtual maze of halls--more proof of Stryker if Erik ever needed it--they arrived outside a locked set of doors. Mystique, who was just finishing with the latest guard run-in, came to stand at Erik's side.
"He's in there?" she asked. Erik glanced at Charles, who nodded.
"He's in there," Erik said, and with a single gesture, ripped the door off its hinges. There was really no point being discrete now.
Inside, two guards immediately sprung to their feet, rushing towards the door. Erik made a come-hither gesture with his hands, the guards' guns immediately springing from their grasp. They fell into components as they hit the ground, scattering across the concrete floor, useless.
This time it was Charles who stepped forward, both guards hitting the floor at exactly the same time. Erik raised an eyebrow.
"Sleeping peacefully," Charles said, wheeling himself into the room. He spotted Wolverine immediately--who was watching the proceedings unfold with a vaguely impressed expression on his face--and wheeled to his side.
"Mr. Logan, it's nice to see you again."
Wolverine cocked his head. "You weren't kidding about coming," he said, and then, "you bring my ciggie?"
Charles laughed--Erik hated that the sound was directed at someone other than himself, but he grit his teeth and bore it, more for Charles' sake than Logan's.
"I did," Charles said, reaching into the pocket of his sweater to pull out a long metallic tube--Erik had sensed it earlier and had simply assumed it was a piece of medical equipment Charles required for his stay. He hadn't even considered the possibility of it being a cigar.
"While I'm sure this reunion is lovely and all, Logan, smoke your damn cigar. Charles, we got this--you and Mystique need to get into position.
Charles nodded even as he slid the cigar through the bars of Wolverine's cage. Logan accepted it gladly, already pulling it out of its tube and biting off the tip. He glanced pointedly at the long table that sat near the front of the room. On it, amongst empty foam coffee cups, newspapers and an ashtray filled with discarded butts, was a zippo. Erik flicked his fingers, floating the lighter into Logan's hand.
"Much obliged," Logan said, lighting the cigar and taking a drag.
Erik shook his head. He ignored Logan for the time being, turning instead to kneel in front of Charles.
"You are going to be careful, and you are going to be safe, and you are going to come home to me. That, Charles Xavier, is an order."
Charles smiled confidently, and then leaned forward, Erik meeting him midway for a kiss that hurt as much as it helped. When Charles pulled back, he looked more than a little lost.
"You be careful, too, and I will see you within three days." Erik nodded. Charles turned to glance at Mystique, who immediately moved to the door, ducking her head outside. She turned back and gave the all clear.
"See you in a few days," Charles told the room. He took a slightly unsteady breath, and then wheeled himself to Mystique's side. Together they disappeared through the door.
"Where the fuck is he going?" Logan asked, still puffing on his cigar.
"He's got his own orders; mine are to get you out. Come on," Erik said, reaching out with his power to pull the bars of Logan's prison apart. Logan stood back and watched, eyebrow lifting.
"Impressive," he said once Erik was done. Erik rolled his eyes and moved to the door, trusting Logan to follow behind.
~*~
Mystique moved like a shadow, darting swiftly and silently from cover to cover. She always made Charles wait until she indicated their path was clear; then she stood, poised and ready to fight, until Charles had wheeled himself to her side. Charles could have told her there was no one around. There was nowhere he wasn't--he floated through the halls, directing anyone and everyone away from the path they walked. He followed Erik, too--or rather, Rogue, since Erik's helmet blocked his mind from Charles' sight--knew precisely how close they were to exiting the facility.
The main battle was happening just inside the front gates. Nowhere near where Erik was now--nowhere near where their intel team were currently emptying filing cabinets and copying digital information onto floppy disks. Charles watched it happen through a dozen pairs of eyes. It was a spectacular show; designed so that no one got hurt but so that everyone was thoroughly turned around and utterly confused.
This wasn't how the Brotherhood usually fought, and they were undoubtedly frustrated, but Charles was grateful to Erik for having stipulated their restraint. As they neared the battle--the exact place Mystique was leading them--the sound of it began to reach their ears. Roaring rushes of fire and thundering booms of explosions, coupled with the rat-tat-tat of gunfire sounded in their ears. It was deafening. Charles did his best to block it out, thinking absently about the pills in his pocket. So far, the dose he'd taken upon landing was keeping him level and calm. He didn't want to think about what this would be like without them. The urge to panic and flee--and given a choice between fight and flight, Charles always preferred a tactical retreat--overwhelming even now.
Instead he let himself float in an artificial bubble of calm, and followed Mystique into the thick of it.
She stopped them at the start of a long hall, ducking down to hide behind a series of steel pipes that undoubtedly vented to the outside world. Beyond, at the hall's end, a wide door opened into chaos. Charles could see several soldiers crouching behind crates and pieces of equipment--two cowered behind an overturned table, looking far too young and far too green. Charles sent out a single thought and the soldiers blocking their entrance stood suddenly and walked through the open door. They came down the hall, passing Charles and Mystique without noticing their presence, continuing their march until they were safe and away.
The door led into what looked like a control room. The far wall had been knocked out--and that, Charles suspected, was Havok's doing. Beyond, rolling foothills led away from the mountain and down into a valley. Not three-hundred meters from where they stood, Charles could see the second Blackbird. Stryker's soldiers were trying to advance towards it.
Charles watched, amazed and intrigued, as fog lifted from the dry, too-warm ground. It shrouded the area in murky mist, obscuring the plane and the mutants who continued to destroy unmanned equipment and infrastructure.
"Move," Mystique said, just as a particularly loud explosion sounded, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
She got them to the other side of the room and behind a control panel just as a new wave of soldiers appeared through the door they'd just entered. All of them were carrying surprisingly familiar collars. Scott had done a good job of estimating their appearance. It wouldn't take much to project their true appearance.
Mystique eyed them critically even as she turned to Charles. "It's time," she said, shifting her form, becoming a nondescript looking soldier wearing the uniform of the men obviously trained to act as a mutant controllers. She pulled the velvet back from her pocket--and how it had gotten there when she was naked a minute before was something Charles couldn't figure out, but desperately wanted to know.
The bag she discarded, even as she released the collar's clasp. "Are you ready?" she asked, waiting for Charles' nod before securing the device around his neck. Even knowing it was inert, the collar felt like a noose--far, far too heavy. Without comment, Mystique sealed the matching bracelet around her wrist. When she was finished, she gestured for them to move outside, through the gaping hole. Charles put his fingers to his temple and set about getting them out without notice.
Interlude
"Sir, they've caught one," someone said, Stryker glancing up sharply from the screen he'd been watching.
A private stood at attention, breathless from his run to Stryker's monitoring room--shielding from mutants just like every other room Stryker used. After seeing what his son could do--God rest his soul-Stryker didn't trust to chance.
"You've caught one?" Stryker confirmed, glancing back to the bank of monitors, where chaos still reigned. None of it made any sense, the attack seemingly random, designed to confuse and disorient, not inflict any real damage. He'd recognized Magneto in one of the frames--gone now, disappeared back the way he'd come with no real explanation for his presence; save that he'd taken Wolverine, but rescue missions were hardly Magneto's style. What was the man doing?
"Sir, the mainframe's been breached," one of his operators said. He shifted through the security feeds until he found the room in question. A group of mutants were in the process of making a hasty retreat.
"So they know about the collars," Stryker mused. That was more Magneto's style--they'd be off within minutes, all of Stryker's carefully guarded secrets in their possession, already hard at work on finding a way to override the collar's circuitry. Stryker cursed. One of these days he was going to find and kill Magneto, and then he wouldn't need to worry about collars or control--he'd simply wipe out every mutant on the planet without ever worrying about retribution.
"Is that the only reason they came?" the woman standing at his side asked. Stryker turned to look at Angel, suppressing a shiver when her wings fluttered nervously behind her. She repulsed him, but so long as she wore that pretty little piece of adamantium around her neck, then Stryker would tolerate her presence.
"You know Magneto--quite well if I remember," Angel shrugged. She'd told him nothing of her time in the Brotherhood, no matter how many methods they'd employed. "Would he risk this many mutants just for some intel?"
"Probably," Angel said, but there was something defiant in her stance--something that said she was probably lying. Stryker turned back to the private who had brought him news of a captured mutant--he was still standing at attention, still awaiting Stryker's orders.
"Bring this mutant to me, and whoever made the capture," he said.
As soon as the private was off, Stryker turned back to the monitors. The mutants were retreating now, out the south entrance, which meant they probably had another plane hidden somewhere. Stryker could give chase--shoot the things out of the sky--but he wanted to see how this was going to play out. He wanted to know Magneto's plan.
He glanced again to Angel even as he crossed the room to retrieve his helmet--an exact duplicate of Magneto's. He set it atop his head, turned back to stare at the door, and waited.
When the private returned he brought with him a second private Stryker didn't recognize--not unusual, there were hundreds of men and women in his service--and a man in a wheelchair; a man Stryker would have recognized anywhere.
"Professor Charles Xavier," Stryker said, even as his mind reeled. What was Xavier doing with Magneto? By all accounts the men should be enemies, their philosophies completely different. Stryker glanced to the collar fitted around Charles' neck; then to the soldier defiantly wearing its matching bracelet.
Stryker nodded to the lieutenant standing just inside the door. The man pulled a gun from its holster, aimed and fired. A single dart pieced Xavier's neck.
Xavier, who had been watching Stryker--or rather, staring at his helmet--with something akin to fear on his features, brought a hand up to grasp at the dart, eyes already beginning to fog. The soldier wearing Xavier's bracelet stepped forward.
"Sir, he's already detained," he said, but Stryker gestured a second time, his lieutenant putting a dart into the unknown private. Xavier's eyes grew wide.
"I know my collars when I see them, and that, is a forgery," Stryker said, gesturing a second time, even as Xavier struggled to bring a hand to his temple--and Stryker knew his trick, but the tranquilizer combined with the helmet kept him perfectly safe, so he smiled pleasantly, even as his lieutenant switched out Xavier's fake collar for a real one.
The unknown private, who was already shifting form, revealing the mutant Stryker had suspected, was soon fitted with a collar too--this despite her struggles. Stryker smiled.
"Search them, and then lock them down. And then I want a sweep of the entire base; make sure they didn't leave anyone else behind, and get me an inventory of everything they took," he said, stepping around the now unconscious and collared mutants as he left the monitoring room. What Magneto had been hoping to accomplish, Stryker didn't know, but he was sure as hell going to find out.
On to chapter 23
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Date: 2011-10-03 09:11 pm (UTC)