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nekosmuseNote: Eventually this will be posted over at the kink meme, but right now livejournal seems to be experiencing technical difficulties.
Fic: Tessellation (24/25)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 23
Morning dawned with a resounding crash, Erik startling bolt awake, already reaching for everything metal in the room. Had Stryker's men found them? Were they under attack? A second later Riptide's shriek, followed by a curse and another crash, gave a fuller picture of what had happened. Erik sank back into the mattress--lumpy and damp, the sheets musty from disuse--feeling a tendril of pity for the spider whose life had undoubtedly come to an end.
He hadn't slept--not really--though he had tried. He'd grown used to Charles' warmth; Charles' scent and despite having slept clutching one of Charles' previously worn sweaters, Erik hadn't been able to settle long enough for sleep to claim him.
Another large crash threatened the start of a headache, so Erik sat up in bed, shook the fog from his head, and decided to get up. From the sounds outside his window, Cyclops was already awake--already prepping the second Blackbird for its surveillance mission. He smelled the sharp tang of cigar smoke and wondered briefly when Logan had found the time to trek to the nearest town. Erik stood and moved to the window.
He drew aside sun-bleached curtains--worn paper thin--and blinked at the sudden onslaught of bright light. Logan was sitting on his upturned crate, smoking a fresh cigar, while Cyclopes and Destiny ran checks on the Blackbird. Erik let the curtain fall shut, quickly slipped back into his clothes and went out to meet them.
"How soon before she's ready to fly?" he asked. Destiny came to attention.
"She's ready now, Sir," she answered. Erik nodded, glancing to the sky.
"Fifteen minutes," he said. He'd turned back to the house, intending to see about finding something edible in the supply crates they'd brought from Genosha, when Logan stepped into his path.
"I'm tagging along," he said. Erik tensed, half anticipating a fight.
"Absolutely not," he said. Logan took a drag off his cigar and blew the smoke in Erik's direction. Erik seethed, took hold of Logan's skeleton and pushed him back several feet. Wolverine smiled.
"Your man was good enough to leave me a box of cigars, and that pretty much makes him a saint in my books, so I'm going with, like it or not."
Erik's confusion must have shown, because Cyclops ducked his head between them to say, "We found a box in the crates. Pretty sure Charles had it put there."
Logan was grinning now, preening like he'd won some sort of contest between them. Erik pushed down the wave of jealousy that threatened to distract him from his mission.
"Fine, but only if you keep your mouth shut," Erik said. He had better things to do with his morning than argue with Logan.
He took particular care to collide with the man on his way into the house. The sign of aggression seemed to please Logan to no end. Erik scowled. If it hadn't been for his promise to Charles, Erik would have torn the man apart, piece by adamantium piece.
Inside, the others were trying their best to avoid Riptide, who was still viciously attacking anything that seemed even remotely likely to move--there was an assortment of dead insects and a few crushed leaves on the countertops.
"We're heading out. I want a perimeter set up while we're gone," Erik said, glancing briefly between them. "Shadowcat's in charge, and try to keep Riptide away from the local wildlife."
Erik didn't stick around long enough to hear if anyone had any objections. Even if they did, he didn't particularly care. He found something to eat and, fifteen minutes later, climbed into the Blackbird, alongside Logan, Cyclops and Destiny.
Cyclops was piloting, Destiny navigating, so Erik headed to the back, strapped himself into one of the seats and tried not to think about the last time someone had restrained him. Logan was already lounging in his chair--it seemed to be the man's natural stance. He looked perfectly at ease held down by his harness, and Erik recalled something he'd read in Wolverine's file about special ops. This probably wasn't even the first time he'd sat inside a Blackbird. Erik glared in his direction. The plane's engines roared to life and the Blackbird started down the dirt road that led out of the villa--the one they were currently using as a runway. It made for a bumpy ride, but soon enough they were airborne, angling east and south, towards Charles.
"How close can this thing get?" Logan asked at some point. He had taken to extending and retracting his adamantium claws, wincing slightly every time he did. Twice Erik saw him glance to where the parachutes were secured above the drop hatch.
"The answer is no, and if I have to magnetize you to the plane, I will do it. We're getting in close enough to get a look--mostly by radar--but not close enough to be seen, and certainly not close enough for you to survive a jump."
"You'd be surprised what I can survive," Logan said, giving one of his toothy grins. Erik responded with one of his.
"No, actually, I wouldn't. Advanced healing; I've read your file, remember, and it's still not happening. We're not killing Stryker." The plane banked sharply as Erik said this, his harness tightening automatically. Erik breathed steadily against the sensation.
"You telling me that ain't what this guy deserves?"
Erik hesitated; it was only a moment, but enough that Logan noticed. He huffed a laugh.
"You're right; normally I'd agree with you, but lately I've been aiming for the bigger picture," which wasn't entirely true--lately he'd been aiming to keep Charles happy, "and killing Stryker isn't going to get us what we want."
"And what do you want?"
And that was the question, wasn't it, because Magneto knew the answer--mutant supremacy--and once upon a time Erik knew the answer--the safety and security of his people--but now; now Erik wasn't sure what he wanted. Certainly both of those things, but more than that, he wanted Charles, safe and by his side, and he was starting to suspect he was willing to do anything it took to achieve that goal--even if it meant letting a man who threatened everything he was and everything he wanted live.
"I want Stryker to spend the rest of his life rotting in a jail cell and know that it was mutants who put him there, legally, and without loopholes." And that seemed like a reasonable answer, Logan's expression turning thoughtful.
"He'd certainly hate that," Logan said, tipping his head. He relaxed back into his seat then, and didn't once glance back to the parachutes.
Erik went back to ignoring him, the task becoming easier when the plane banked again and Cyclops announced they were coming overhead. Erik shot out of his chair--glad to be free of his harness--and headed into the cockpit to get a closer look. Destiny immediately moved from her seat to make room. She wore a pinched, worried expression on her face. Erik patted her shoulder; clearly he wasn't the only one worried about someone on the ground.
"They've been busy," Cyclops said, scanning the ground a second time. He whistled. "That's their entire fleet. They're mobilizing."
And that could only mean one thing, which meant they ought to hightail it back to the villa, pick up the others and get back to Genosha as fast as the birds could fly. Instead, Erik said, "Set us down, I want a closer look."
~*~
"Get up."
This was accompanied by a kick to the underside of the cot--Charles sprawled across it, where he'd managed to land after they'd tipped him from his chair last night. Mystique had shouted and cursed at them from the second cell, the one Charles had originally been confined to--apparently someone had deemed it inappropriate for Charles and Mystique to sleep in the same cell.
It stood to reason; each only had one cot and Charles, unable to sleep on a floor, would have hated himself for making Mystique do so.
He grunted, more from the pain of having a boot connect with his abdomen--the cots were incredibly thin, little more than strips of cloth held between two metal bars--than from the ridiculously early hour--and that was only a guess, but it certainly felt like a ridiculously early hour. He was trying his best to ignore the continuation of his withdrawal.
Slowly, Charles managed to push himself up so that he was seated on the cot, legs hanging uselessly over the edge. His chair was across the cell--where the guard had moved it, and oh, Charles realized, seeking the man's thoughts, he wanted to see Charles drag himself to it.
Oh Erik, how I owe you so many apologies, Charles thought.
"Stryker wants to see you," the guard said--the same one from last night, though his companion was nowhere to be seen. A quick glance into Mystique's cell found her standing at the door, hands wrapped around the bars, watching the proceedings in Charles' cell with a tense jaw and narrow eyes.
"I'm looking forward to it," Charles said, reaching out to touch the guard's mind. His control was a little off--a combination of exhaustion, hunger, lingering withdrawal--and oh, God, how long was he meant to endure this?--and the collar. The guard stumbled a little, but raised no alarm, his thoughts remaining free of suspicion as he moved to collect the chair, holding it in place while Charles transferred into it.
He brought Charles out of his cell, Charles giving Mystique a reassuring smile as he passed her cell.
He wasn't brought to the surveillance room this time, but rather what looked like a debriefing room, Stryker sitting at a long table with only one chair. The guard wheeled Charles to the foot of the table, and then crossed to the head to trade off Charles' bracelet. Stryker secured it to his wrist. He stood and moved to a green filing cabinet on Charles' right. From its top drawer, he pulled two glasses and a bottle of American whiskey. Charles let his hands curl around the arms of his chair.
Yesterday he'd gone out of his way to project himself as healthy and whole, but today he was incapable of extending the effort--never mind that Stryker had undoubtedly been watching Charles through the cameras, and however grainy the images may have been, it was hard to miss a man retching into a bucket.
Charles hadn't seen a mirror since arriving, but he had no doubt he looked awful--his skin felt sallow and his eyes burned with lack of moisture. His hair was starting to grow back in and it itched painfully. He barely had the energy to remain upright in his chair, and he was certain the slump of his body made him look as feeble as he felt.
"I was wondering about the Diazepam--not in your name, which is interesting--but I've seen this before and I've heard it can be bad. I thought I might offer my assistance."
Charles tensed, even as he watched Stryker uncap the bottle and pour a finger's worth into the tumbler. His hands, which he'd managed to get steady on the trip here, began shaking in earnest.
Stryker pushed the glass towards him. "All I ask in return is a straight answer. You have to give me one anyway, but I don't trust you not to talk your way around my questions."
Charles debated, unable to take his eyes off the glass. On the one hand, he was entering his third day of withdrawal--nearing the end if Linda was to be believed, but also the worst of it--and having a drink would undoubtedly help him focus his attention on what had to be done. On the other hand, Charles was terrified of what would happen if he used the excuse. Mostly, though, he was trying not to picture the look of disappointment on Erik's face when he learned of it--which was odd considering Erik had never been anything but entirely supportive and understanding.
Still, it was getting more and more impossible to deny what he was, and he really, really didn't want to be that man.
"I'm fine," Charles said, relief swelling in his chest even as he tore his gaze from the glass. He felt like he'd passed some sort of test.
Stryker shrugged, perched on the table at Charles' side, and left the glass where it sat.
"I'm still going to ask my question. If that's not enough incentive, perhaps we can arrange a trade."
Charles' gaze narrowed at that. He calmly met Stryker's eye and raised an eyebrow.
Stryker smiled. "You answer my question honestly, and without prevarication, and I won't send my men in to kill Ms. Darkholme."
Charles' jaw clenched at that--it was hardly a trade, more like blackmail. It left it precariously little choice, unless he wanted to use the brunt of his telepathy, and he wasn't sure he had it in him to do it subtly enough to escape notice. He nodded.
"Excellent. I knew you'd see things my way. Here's my question: If I can get you to Genosha, can you get me and my men into the capital compound--into Cerebro--without notice?"
And Charles should have known that was Stryker's interest. He may have had his collars, but they weren't ready--a handful of prototypes not enough for Charles' telepathy to override Stryker's natural reluctance and paranoia--but Cerebro offered him a different path; a better path. Charles saw no reason to lie. It still got Stryker to Genosha.
"It depends on how many men. Two-hundred? No. Twenty? Maybe. A dozen? Certainly. But then if you're looking to have me use Cerebro, my concentration would need to shift--especially if you want me to do something global--that requires the full of my attention. Anyone locked inside Cerebro would be secure, but anyone outside would automatically lose my protection."
"And how many can fit inside Cerebro?"
Now Charles did see the need to lie. "Half a dozen at best," he said.
Stryker paused to consider this, his thumb absently tapping against the table. The vibration of it caused the whiskey in Charles'--and Charles hated that he thought of it as his--glass to ripple. The sight was almost as hypnotic as the sound.
"Then I suggest you prepare for a little journey," Stryker eventually said, rising. He reached towards the side of the table and depressed a silver button. With some effort, Charles sat forward in his chair. It brought the scent of liquor to his nose.
"Can I make a request?" he asked. Stryker glanced over, seeming amused by the question. He nodded. "Something to eat wouldn't go amiss."
Stryker didn't have time to answer before the door slid open, the same guard that brought Charles here appearing in the doorway. He saluted, and then held out his hand for Charles' bracelet.
"Return Mr. Xavier to his cell, please, and ensure that he and Ms. Darkholme get something to eat. Then, hose them both down," Stryker said. He returned his attention to Charles. "Mr. Xavier, at least, is starting to smell," he said, meeting Charles' eye.
The solider saluted a second time, attached the bracelet to his wrist, and then came forward to gather Charles' chair. It took all of Charles' concentration to slip into Stryker's thoughts--to seek out the full scope of his plans. Stryker's mind was a worse maze than Erik's, trip wires and land mines blocking Charles at every turn, but eventually he found what he was looking for.
He waited until he got back to his cell to smile, face turned away from the cameras. The odds were starting to look in their favour. Surreptitiously, Charles made eye contact with Mystique, giving a slight nod that automatically drained her tension. She moved from her place against the bars--where she'd undoubtedly stood, awaiting Charles' return--and perched on the edge of her cot. There was no time for conversation--not even telepathically--the door to the room opening a moment later, the scent of food rolling Charles' stomach. Mystique licked her lips appreciatively.
~*~
Even without trying, he could feel every piece of metal within a hundred yards of where they were crouched--huddled behind one of the destroyed tanks they'd taken out yesterday morning. If Erik had wanted to, he could have called it all to life and destroyed everything and everyone in the vicinity--he could have pulled the entire base from the mountainside, crumpled its steel frame like a discarded soda can.
Except doing so would have undoubtedly killed Charles, so Erik stayed his hand.
They were still too far away to make out anything happening around the base, save a general flurry of activity--soldiers obediently going about their work, loading supplies into two Hercules aircraft that sat at the start of a seemingly endless runway. Cyclops, his visor equipped with binoculars, had already scanned the area, and had found no trace of Charles. Did that mean Charles was still inside somewhere? Was this Charles' doing? Were they heading to Genosha? Was Charles alright?
Erik wasn't used to worry--wasn't used to this blinding terror that clenched in his chest and left him choking around too little air. He didn't want to sit here and watch. He didn't want to get back in the Blackbird and return to Ecuador. He didn't want to leave this place until Charles was safely by his side and if that meant storming the base right now, just the four of them, and ripping Charles out then so be it.
"Whatever you're thinking, don't," Cyclops warned. He'd been watching Erik closely and now curled a restraining hand around Erik's arm. Magneto battled his way to the surface, features turning to stone as he turned to glare at Cyclops' hand.
"Do not presume to order me," Magneto said. On his other side, Destiny inhaled sharply.
"Magneto, we go in there, we're going to get Charles and Mystique killed, and I know you don't want that."
She was right he didn't, but there was still a good chance that wouldn't happen--a good chance Erik could make it through in time. Certainly now, filled with this awesome power, he was unstoppable. If he wanted to, he could stop the earth turning on its axis.
"Don't know about you two, but I'm with Mags here," Logan said, his claws coming out then, the metal singing to Erik even louder than the surrounding tanks and cars and planes. To Erik, he said, "I say we go in, gut Stryker, get your boy and then burn the place to the ground."
And oh, that sounded like such a wonderful idea. Magneto smiled, feeling a sudden kinship with Wolverine.
Destiny and Cyclops exchanged looks, their resolve hardening. Magneto cast around for something to tear apart--to make into bindings to secure them in place, so that they didn't interfere with...
Erik, love, you're being exceptionally loud with your thoughts.
Erik froze, his whole world compressing to a single voice, confined within his head, but undoubtedly Charles.
Charles? he still asked.
Also, you really shouldn't be here. Not only is this not part of the plan, but it also puts the plan at risk--never mind that you're putting yourself at risk. Honestly; is three days really too much to ask?
Erik could feel Charles' exasperation. He let himself break out into a grin, knowing he was thoroughly confusing Cyclops and Destiny--even Logan was looking at him askew, not quite sure what to make of Erik's sudden distraction.
Tell me you're alright, Erik thought.
I'm fed, bathed, and there was far too much irony in the way Charles said bathed, and about to be en route to Genosha. I would suggest you do the same.
Erik was laughing now, just under his breath, smile threatening to take over his entire face even as his eyes began to water.
What do you need? Erik asked, bringing his thumb to wipe aside threatened tears.
Get to Genosha, and then get Emma connected to Cerebro. She needs to contact the Seychelles government. Stryker's landing his main force at the base, intending to claim it as a training exercise. We need to ensure they are detained after they arrive, by any means necessary.
The rest of Charles plan was vastly different from his original, and he sounded hurried--almost panicked--as he told it. Erik suspected he was probably worried about someone overhearing, so he did his best not to interrupt or ask too many question.
When Charles had finished, he nodded, even though Charles couldn't see him. Destiny, who had clued in to what was going on, leaned forward excitedly. Erik met her eye and then asked, Is Mystique alright?
She's fine, and a remarkable woman--I can see why you entrust her with so much.
A swell of pride filled Erik upon hearing the words. To Destiny, he said, "She's fine." Destiny instantly relaxed. The curse of Destiny's gift was that she couldn't choose what to foresee--she couldn't look ahead and determine Mystique's fate; only wait until if and when it was presented to her.
By now Cyclops had clued in to what was going on. "He's talking to Charles right now," he told Logan, who looked lost--though Erik suspected he was just bored. He grunted, sounding oddly disappointed. Erik turned his attention back to Charles, relishing the warm weight in his head.
Please be careful, and stay safe, Erik thought, still wanting to storm the base and sweep Charles into his arms, though the need had lessened considerably now that he knew Charles was safe.
I will. Please do the same, Charles answered, and then he was gone, Erik left feeling hollow and empty. He cast another glance around the side of the tank, the planes almost loaded now. He turned back to the others.
"We need to get back to Genosha, immediately," he said. Aside from a longing glance that Logan cast back towards the base, there were no objections.
~*~
Contacting Erik had been a risk, certainly, but Charles could hardly have avoided it--the second Erik had come into range Charles had sensed him, the man practically screaming for Charles' attention. He had known Erik's impatience would likely end up a problem; he only hoped that his reassurance had calmed Erik enough for him to see this through to the end.
He felt bad lying to Erik--making him think Charles was in better shape than he actually was--but if Erik had known Charles had barely managed to keep down the runny eggs and dry toast he'd just eaten, or that the urine he'd just drained from his bag had been dark and concentrated--or that there had been nowhere near as much as there should have been, which Charles was really hoping was just a by-product of having been given next to nothing to drink--then he probably wouldn't have agreed to return to Genosha to carry out Charles' instructions.
"Charles," Mystique said, crouching at his side, blocking Charles from the camera because he was currently incapable of using his telepathy without a physical crutch, and that meant bringing his fingers to his temple, something he doubted Stryker would overlook.
"I'm alright," Charles said. Mystique looked doubtful, so Charles added, "And Destiny sends her regards."
Mystique flushed at that, but she still didn't look appeased. Her red hair hung damp around her shoulders, the ends still dripping from their impromptu shower--in actuality they'd been locked back in the same cell and had a firehouse turned on them, the water icy cold and stinking strongly of chlorine.
They hadn't even given Charles a chance to remove his clothes. They clung to him now, chilling him to the bone. It certainly wasn't helping the shaking, which seemed to have travelled from his hands, up his arms and into his torso.
"All we have to do is get to Genosha. A few more hours; I promise," Charles said. Mystique nodded.
There was little more to say on the subject, so Charles sunk down in his chair, Mystique leaving momentarily to retrieve the thin blanket from the cot. When she returned, she draped it over Charles' legs. Charles offered her a grateful smile, to which she shrugged.
"You're practically my brother in law now," she said. Charles' smile grew delighted.
It was touching how quickly Erik's friends--Erik's family--had accepted him into their fold. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of Mystique's damp hair behind her ear, trying to convey how much her acceptance meant to him--how much it undoubtedly meant to Erik. She rolled her eyes, obviously discomforted by the gesture, though her thoughts suggested she was secretly pleased.
"I hate to interrupt such a touching moment." Stryker's arrival instantly dispelled the camaraderie between them, Mystique standing swiftly, coming into a defensive stance. She placed her body directly between Stryker and Charles. Charles tutted and wheeled around her. He paused in front of the door, calmly waiting for Stryker to release them.
"I'm tempted to leave her here," he said. "Give the men I leave behind something to play with."
Charles' expression grew dark, even as he fought not to lash out, to cripple Stryker's mind with a single blow--and he was starting to want that, oh how he was starting to want that. Instead he curled his hands into fists, feeling his nails dig half-moons into his palms.
"But I have a feeling you'll be a little more cooperative if she comes along," Stryker said, clearly a question.
Charles nodded. "She comes with us, untouched and unharmed, and I will cooperate."
If Stryker had been thinking--if Charles hadn't been manipulating his thoughts--then he likely would have realized the ridiculousness of that sentence. Stryker was expecting him to kill every mutant on the planet, including Mystique; Charles' willingness to cooperate for a temporary extension of her life should have raised several red warning flags. Keeping those flags from appearing was taking a good deal of Charles' strength. It probably didn't bode well for what he had planned next.
"Very well," Stryker said, and then, to one of his soldiers, "Secure the rest of the baggage."
It was an incredibly frustrating thing being shot with a tranquilizer dart twice inside a twenty-four hour period. Charles struggled against the pull of unconsciousness, even knowing it was futile. Charles' last thought, as darkness claimed him, was that he would at least be spared the tedium of the flight.
Interlude
Emma stared at Hank McCoy in absolute horror. Clearly the man had lost his mind. She shook her head, blonde tresses--which she was quite fond of, thank you very much--flipping over her shoulders.
"You are not shaving my head," she said. Hank wrung his hands.
"I still haven't figured out what's interfering with the connection, but removing Charles' hair seemed to work, so I suspect it will work for you, too."
Emma let her gaze turn to ice. She knew the effect it would have even before Hank stepped back, suddenly uncertain.
"You are not shaving my head, and we are not discussing this again."
Emma didn't give Hank a chance to offer a new argument--or even rehash an old one--she strode from the room, Cerebro making her slightly claustrophobic anyway. How Charles tolerated the thing she had no idea; especially now that it had cost him his hair--Charles had had such lovely hair.
She intended to return to her office. The carpenters were arriving today to fit a new door, this one custom made and entirely wood--she'd like to see Erik try to storm his way into her office now--but she only made it as far as the lifts before Jubilee was running towards her, hands outstretched as if she actually intended to make physical contact. Emma side-stepped the girl, recoiling at the thought--she was fairly certain those gloves were polyester, after all.
"Sorry, sorry; it's just a message came from Magneto, over the wire." She handed over a slip of paper, printed in that strange encoding that the Blackbird's central computer system tended to use. Emma stared at it, feeling her eyes begin to cross.
They were all supposed to have memorized the encryption, but Emma hadn't bothered--she had far more important things to worry about.
"Can you give me the gist," she said, handing it back to Jubilee. Jubilee looked thrilled by the prospect. She accepted the paper gladly, squared her shoulders and began to read.
"Blackbirds en route. ETA 3 hours, 47 minutes," here Jubilee paused, "except, this was received thirty-eight minutes ago, so now its 3 hours and..." she calculated, "3 hours and 9 minutes." She seemed ridiculously pleased when Emma didn't correct her. Emma made a mental note never to allow this woman to have anything to do with the Brotherhood's books.
"Stryker en route to Seychelles. Must contact government and have them detain Stryker's forces indefinitely. Stryker to be allowed to continue on to Genosha with squadron. Make use of Cerebro. Authorized to use any means necessary." Emma couldn't help but smile at that, even as she ran a hand through her hair. Oh she hated Erik, she really, really did. The man had probably planned this.
Jubilee was looking at Emma expectantly, so Emma snatched the transmission from her hand and shooed her on her way. Then she turned back the way she had come--lamenting having to postpone selecting her new door--and headed back to Cerebro.
Hank glanced up excitedly as she entered. "Please tell me you've found a solution," she said.
Hank nodded enthusiastically. "I suspect I have, although I will need to cover your head in ultrasound gel."
Emma blanched at that. She was certain her expression must have conveyed her horror--her lip curled, even as her nose wrinkled--because Hank held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Would it help if I mentioned it's composed largely of propylene glycol, which is very moisturizing? You could think of it as an exotic spa treatment."
Emma wasn't convinced, but if it meant not having to shave off her hair, she would take the option. Hank motioned her to the stool he'd placed beside the interface--and if Emma was going to continue using this infernal machine, she was going to order something far more comfortable than a three-legged wooden stool.
She sat gingerly upon, taking a moment to set aside the stole she wore--and oh, her silk blouse was likely going to be ruined; she very much doubted ultrasound gel's moisturizing properties were meant to be applied to silk. She watched with narrowed eyes as Hank approached, a tube of something--the gel, Emma presumed--held in his outstretched hand. He seemed far too cheerful, and Emma made a mental note to give him a night of bad dreams in retaliation.
He arrived at her side and without warning--and quite unceremoniously, Emma thought--poured the gel onto her head. It dripped down her forehead, cold slimy viscous stuff that she suspected she would never feel clean from. She could feel a tendril of it sliding down her neck--under the collar of her blouse and oh, she was wearing her La Perla lingerie. This was almost a crime against nature.
"That ought to do it," Hank announced, placing that awkward, god-awful helmet on her head--it mashed the gel further into her hair, streaks of it trailing behind her ears now. Emma shuddered, shoulders drawing up as she was forced to endure the worst experience of her...
Oh.
In all the years she had exercised her telepathy, she had never experienced this. It was like breathing pure oxygen after a lifetime of car exhaust. She felt infinitely light--was infinitely light, she realized, floating from her body, her mind reaching out in so many directions at once. Was this what it felt like to be Charles? She couldn't imagine--he was so much more powerful than she--but even if it was only a fraction, it was wonderful. Emma laughed, delighted, letting her mind stretch further still, until the whole of the island sat at her fingertips. She extended beyond Genosha's borders, seeking out her neighbours. It was like trailing her fingertips through pleasantly warm water. She had never felt so pure--so powerful. She basked in it, even as she set about executing Magneto's instructions.
This was an experience she wanted to continue indefinitely. She understood immediately why Charles had been willing to shave his head for it. She suspected she would gladly do the same.
It was so easy to address the Seychelles government through Cerebro, to bend their will to hers. The process took next to no time at all, and then she was free to drift, to explore; to reach across the globe and touch thousands of minds, all of them calling out for her attention. Erik would be home in a little under three hours, but until then, Emma was lost to Cerebro's siren song.
On to chapter 25
Fic: Tessellation (24/25)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this chapter
Back to chapter 23
Morning dawned with a resounding crash, Erik startling bolt awake, already reaching for everything metal in the room. Had Stryker's men found them? Were they under attack? A second later Riptide's shriek, followed by a curse and another crash, gave a fuller picture of what had happened. Erik sank back into the mattress--lumpy and damp, the sheets musty from disuse--feeling a tendril of pity for the spider whose life had undoubtedly come to an end.
He hadn't slept--not really--though he had tried. He'd grown used to Charles' warmth; Charles' scent and despite having slept clutching one of Charles' previously worn sweaters, Erik hadn't been able to settle long enough for sleep to claim him.
Another large crash threatened the start of a headache, so Erik sat up in bed, shook the fog from his head, and decided to get up. From the sounds outside his window, Cyclops was already awake--already prepping the second Blackbird for its surveillance mission. He smelled the sharp tang of cigar smoke and wondered briefly when Logan had found the time to trek to the nearest town. Erik stood and moved to the window.
He drew aside sun-bleached curtains--worn paper thin--and blinked at the sudden onslaught of bright light. Logan was sitting on his upturned crate, smoking a fresh cigar, while Cyclopes and Destiny ran checks on the Blackbird. Erik let the curtain fall shut, quickly slipped back into his clothes and went out to meet them.
"How soon before she's ready to fly?" he asked. Destiny came to attention.
"She's ready now, Sir," she answered. Erik nodded, glancing to the sky.
"Fifteen minutes," he said. He'd turned back to the house, intending to see about finding something edible in the supply crates they'd brought from Genosha, when Logan stepped into his path.
"I'm tagging along," he said. Erik tensed, half anticipating a fight.
"Absolutely not," he said. Logan took a drag off his cigar and blew the smoke in Erik's direction. Erik seethed, took hold of Logan's skeleton and pushed him back several feet. Wolverine smiled.
"Your man was good enough to leave me a box of cigars, and that pretty much makes him a saint in my books, so I'm going with, like it or not."
Erik's confusion must have shown, because Cyclops ducked his head between them to say, "We found a box in the crates. Pretty sure Charles had it put there."
Logan was grinning now, preening like he'd won some sort of contest between them. Erik pushed down the wave of jealousy that threatened to distract him from his mission.
"Fine, but only if you keep your mouth shut," Erik said. He had better things to do with his morning than argue with Logan.
He took particular care to collide with the man on his way into the house. The sign of aggression seemed to please Logan to no end. Erik scowled. If it hadn't been for his promise to Charles, Erik would have torn the man apart, piece by adamantium piece.
Inside, the others were trying their best to avoid Riptide, who was still viciously attacking anything that seemed even remotely likely to move--there was an assortment of dead insects and a few crushed leaves on the countertops.
"We're heading out. I want a perimeter set up while we're gone," Erik said, glancing briefly between them. "Shadowcat's in charge, and try to keep Riptide away from the local wildlife."
Erik didn't stick around long enough to hear if anyone had any objections. Even if they did, he didn't particularly care. He found something to eat and, fifteen minutes later, climbed into the Blackbird, alongside Logan, Cyclops and Destiny.
Cyclops was piloting, Destiny navigating, so Erik headed to the back, strapped himself into one of the seats and tried not to think about the last time someone had restrained him. Logan was already lounging in his chair--it seemed to be the man's natural stance. He looked perfectly at ease held down by his harness, and Erik recalled something he'd read in Wolverine's file about special ops. This probably wasn't even the first time he'd sat inside a Blackbird. Erik glared in his direction. The plane's engines roared to life and the Blackbird started down the dirt road that led out of the villa--the one they were currently using as a runway. It made for a bumpy ride, but soon enough they were airborne, angling east and south, towards Charles.
"How close can this thing get?" Logan asked at some point. He had taken to extending and retracting his adamantium claws, wincing slightly every time he did. Twice Erik saw him glance to where the parachutes were secured above the drop hatch.
"The answer is no, and if I have to magnetize you to the plane, I will do it. We're getting in close enough to get a look--mostly by radar--but not close enough to be seen, and certainly not close enough for you to survive a jump."
"You'd be surprised what I can survive," Logan said, giving one of his toothy grins. Erik responded with one of his.
"No, actually, I wouldn't. Advanced healing; I've read your file, remember, and it's still not happening. We're not killing Stryker." The plane banked sharply as Erik said this, his harness tightening automatically. Erik breathed steadily against the sensation.
"You telling me that ain't what this guy deserves?"
Erik hesitated; it was only a moment, but enough that Logan noticed. He huffed a laugh.
"You're right; normally I'd agree with you, but lately I've been aiming for the bigger picture," which wasn't entirely true--lately he'd been aiming to keep Charles happy, "and killing Stryker isn't going to get us what we want."
"And what do you want?"
And that was the question, wasn't it, because Magneto knew the answer--mutant supremacy--and once upon a time Erik knew the answer--the safety and security of his people--but now; now Erik wasn't sure what he wanted. Certainly both of those things, but more than that, he wanted Charles, safe and by his side, and he was starting to suspect he was willing to do anything it took to achieve that goal--even if it meant letting a man who threatened everything he was and everything he wanted live.
"I want Stryker to spend the rest of his life rotting in a jail cell and know that it was mutants who put him there, legally, and without loopholes." And that seemed like a reasonable answer, Logan's expression turning thoughtful.
"He'd certainly hate that," Logan said, tipping his head. He relaxed back into his seat then, and didn't once glance back to the parachutes.
Erik went back to ignoring him, the task becoming easier when the plane banked again and Cyclops announced they were coming overhead. Erik shot out of his chair--glad to be free of his harness--and headed into the cockpit to get a closer look. Destiny immediately moved from her seat to make room. She wore a pinched, worried expression on her face. Erik patted her shoulder; clearly he wasn't the only one worried about someone on the ground.
"They've been busy," Cyclops said, scanning the ground a second time. He whistled. "That's their entire fleet. They're mobilizing."
And that could only mean one thing, which meant they ought to hightail it back to the villa, pick up the others and get back to Genosha as fast as the birds could fly. Instead, Erik said, "Set us down, I want a closer look."
~*~
"Get up."
This was accompanied by a kick to the underside of the cot--Charles sprawled across it, where he'd managed to land after they'd tipped him from his chair last night. Mystique had shouted and cursed at them from the second cell, the one Charles had originally been confined to--apparently someone had deemed it inappropriate for Charles and Mystique to sleep in the same cell.
It stood to reason; each only had one cot and Charles, unable to sleep on a floor, would have hated himself for making Mystique do so.
He grunted, more from the pain of having a boot connect with his abdomen--the cots were incredibly thin, little more than strips of cloth held between two metal bars--than from the ridiculously early hour--and that was only a guess, but it certainly felt like a ridiculously early hour. He was trying his best to ignore the continuation of his withdrawal.
Slowly, Charles managed to push himself up so that he was seated on the cot, legs hanging uselessly over the edge. His chair was across the cell--where the guard had moved it, and oh, Charles realized, seeking the man's thoughts, he wanted to see Charles drag himself to it.
Oh Erik, how I owe you so many apologies, Charles thought.
"Stryker wants to see you," the guard said--the same one from last night, though his companion was nowhere to be seen. A quick glance into Mystique's cell found her standing at the door, hands wrapped around the bars, watching the proceedings in Charles' cell with a tense jaw and narrow eyes.
"I'm looking forward to it," Charles said, reaching out to touch the guard's mind. His control was a little off--a combination of exhaustion, hunger, lingering withdrawal--and oh, God, how long was he meant to endure this?--and the collar. The guard stumbled a little, but raised no alarm, his thoughts remaining free of suspicion as he moved to collect the chair, holding it in place while Charles transferred into it.
He brought Charles out of his cell, Charles giving Mystique a reassuring smile as he passed her cell.
He wasn't brought to the surveillance room this time, but rather what looked like a debriefing room, Stryker sitting at a long table with only one chair. The guard wheeled Charles to the foot of the table, and then crossed to the head to trade off Charles' bracelet. Stryker secured it to his wrist. He stood and moved to a green filing cabinet on Charles' right. From its top drawer, he pulled two glasses and a bottle of American whiskey. Charles let his hands curl around the arms of his chair.
Yesterday he'd gone out of his way to project himself as healthy and whole, but today he was incapable of extending the effort--never mind that Stryker had undoubtedly been watching Charles through the cameras, and however grainy the images may have been, it was hard to miss a man retching into a bucket.
Charles hadn't seen a mirror since arriving, but he had no doubt he looked awful--his skin felt sallow and his eyes burned with lack of moisture. His hair was starting to grow back in and it itched painfully. He barely had the energy to remain upright in his chair, and he was certain the slump of his body made him look as feeble as he felt.
"I was wondering about the Diazepam--not in your name, which is interesting--but I've seen this before and I've heard it can be bad. I thought I might offer my assistance."
Charles tensed, even as he watched Stryker uncap the bottle and pour a finger's worth into the tumbler. His hands, which he'd managed to get steady on the trip here, began shaking in earnest.
Stryker pushed the glass towards him. "All I ask in return is a straight answer. You have to give me one anyway, but I don't trust you not to talk your way around my questions."
Charles debated, unable to take his eyes off the glass. On the one hand, he was entering his third day of withdrawal--nearing the end if Linda was to be believed, but also the worst of it--and having a drink would undoubtedly help him focus his attention on what had to be done. On the other hand, Charles was terrified of what would happen if he used the excuse. Mostly, though, he was trying not to picture the look of disappointment on Erik's face when he learned of it--which was odd considering Erik had never been anything but entirely supportive and understanding.
Still, it was getting more and more impossible to deny what he was, and he really, really didn't want to be that man.
"I'm fine," Charles said, relief swelling in his chest even as he tore his gaze from the glass. He felt like he'd passed some sort of test.
Stryker shrugged, perched on the table at Charles' side, and left the glass where it sat.
"I'm still going to ask my question. If that's not enough incentive, perhaps we can arrange a trade."
Charles' gaze narrowed at that. He calmly met Stryker's eye and raised an eyebrow.
Stryker smiled. "You answer my question honestly, and without prevarication, and I won't send my men in to kill Ms. Darkholme."
Charles' jaw clenched at that--it was hardly a trade, more like blackmail. It left it precariously little choice, unless he wanted to use the brunt of his telepathy, and he wasn't sure he had it in him to do it subtly enough to escape notice. He nodded.
"Excellent. I knew you'd see things my way. Here's my question: If I can get you to Genosha, can you get me and my men into the capital compound--into Cerebro--without notice?"
And Charles should have known that was Stryker's interest. He may have had his collars, but they weren't ready--a handful of prototypes not enough for Charles' telepathy to override Stryker's natural reluctance and paranoia--but Cerebro offered him a different path; a better path. Charles saw no reason to lie. It still got Stryker to Genosha.
"It depends on how many men. Two-hundred? No. Twenty? Maybe. A dozen? Certainly. But then if you're looking to have me use Cerebro, my concentration would need to shift--especially if you want me to do something global--that requires the full of my attention. Anyone locked inside Cerebro would be secure, but anyone outside would automatically lose my protection."
"And how many can fit inside Cerebro?"
Now Charles did see the need to lie. "Half a dozen at best," he said.
Stryker paused to consider this, his thumb absently tapping against the table. The vibration of it caused the whiskey in Charles'--and Charles hated that he thought of it as his--glass to ripple. The sight was almost as hypnotic as the sound.
"Then I suggest you prepare for a little journey," Stryker eventually said, rising. He reached towards the side of the table and depressed a silver button. With some effort, Charles sat forward in his chair. It brought the scent of liquor to his nose.
"Can I make a request?" he asked. Stryker glanced over, seeming amused by the question. He nodded. "Something to eat wouldn't go amiss."
Stryker didn't have time to answer before the door slid open, the same guard that brought Charles here appearing in the doorway. He saluted, and then held out his hand for Charles' bracelet.
"Return Mr. Xavier to his cell, please, and ensure that he and Ms. Darkholme get something to eat. Then, hose them both down," Stryker said. He returned his attention to Charles. "Mr. Xavier, at least, is starting to smell," he said, meeting Charles' eye.
The solider saluted a second time, attached the bracelet to his wrist, and then came forward to gather Charles' chair. It took all of Charles' concentration to slip into Stryker's thoughts--to seek out the full scope of his plans. Stryker's mind was a worse maze than Erik's, trip wires and land mines blocking Charles at every turn, but eventually he found what he was looking for.
He waited until he got back to his cell to smile, face turned away from the cameras. The odds were starting to look in their favour. Surreptitiously, Charles made eye contact with Mystique, giving a slight nod that automatically drained her tension. She moved from her place against the bars--where she'd undoubtedly stood, awaiting Charles' return--and perched on the edge of her cot. There was no time for conversation--not even telepathically--the door to the room opening a moment later, the scent of food rolling Charles' stomach. Mystique licked her lips appreciatively.
~*~
Even without trying, he could feel every piece of metal within a hundred yards of where they were crouched--huddled behind one of the destroyed tanks they'd taken out yesterday morning. If Erik had wanted to, he could have called it all to life and destroyed everything and everyone in the vicinity--he could have pulled the entire base from the mountainside, crumpled its steel frame like a discarded soda can.
Except doing so would have undoubtedly killed Charles, so Erik stayed his hand.
They were still too far away to make out anything happening around the base, save a general flurry of activity--soldiers obediently going about their work, loading supplies into two Hercules aircraft that sat at the start of a seemingly endless runway. Cyclops, his visor equipped with binoculars, had already scanned the area, and had found no trace of Charles. Did that mean Charles was still inside somewhere? Was this Charles' doing? Were they heading to Genosha? Was Charles alright?
Erik wasn't used to worry--wasn't used to this blinding terror that clenched in his chest and left him choking around too little air. He didn't want to sit here and watch. He didn't want to get back in the Blackbird and return to Ecuador. He didn't want to leave this place until Charles was safely by his side and if that meant storming the base right now, just the four of them, and ripping Charles out then so be it.
"Whatever you're thinking, don't," Cyclops warned. He'd been watching Erik closely and now curled a restraining hand around Erik's arm. Magneto battled his way to the surface, features turning to stone as he turned to glare at Cyclops' hand.
"Do not presume to order me," Magneto said. On his other side, Destiny inhaled sharply.
"Magneto, we go in there, we're going to get Charles and Mystique killed, and I know you don't want that."
She was right he didn't, but there was still a good chance that wouldn't happen--a good chance Erik could make it through in time. Certainly now, filled with this awesome power, he was unstoppable. If he wanted to, he could stop the earth turning on its axis.
"Don't know about you two, but I'm with Mags here," Logan said, his claws coming out then, the metal singing to Erik even louder than the surrounding tanks and cars and planes. To Erik, he said, "I say we go in, gut Stryker, get your boy and then burn the place to the ground."
And oh, that sounded like such a wonderful idea. Magneto smiled, feeling a sudden kinship with Wolverine.
Destiny and Cyclops exchanged looks, their resolve hardening. Magneto cast around for something to tear apart--to make into bindings to secure them in place, so that they didn't interfere with...
Erik, love, you're being exceptionally loud with your thoughts.
Erik froze, his whole world compressing to a single voice, confined within his head, but undoubtedly Charles.
Charles? he still asked.
Also, you really shouldn't be here. Not only is this not part of the plan, but it also puts the plan at risk--never mind that you're putting yourself at risk. Honestly; is three days really too much to ask?
Erik could feel Charles' exasperation. He let himself break out into a grin, knowing he was thoroughly confusing Cyclops and Destiny--even Logan was looking at him askew, not quite sure what to make of Erik's sudden distraction.
Tell me you're alright, Erik thought.
I'm fed, bathed, and there was far too much irony in the way Charles said bathed, and about to be en route to Genosha. I would suggest you do the same.
Erik was laughing now, just under his breath, smile threatening to take over his entire face even as his eyes began to water.
What do you need? Erik asked, bringing his thumb to wipe aside threatened tears.
Get to Genosha, and then get Emma connected to Cerebro. She needs to contact the Seychelles government. Stryker's landing his main force at the base, intending to claim it as a training exercise. We need to ensure they are detained after they arrive, by any means necessary.
The rest of Charles plan was vastly different from his original, and he sounded hurried--almost panicked--as he told it. Erik suspected he was probably worried about someone overhearing, so he did his best not to interrupt or ask too many question.
When Charles had finished, he nodded, even though Charles couldn't see him. Destiny, who had clued in to what was going on, leaned forward excitedly. Erik met her eye and then asked, Is Mystique alright?
She's fine, and a remarkable woman--I can see why you entrust her with so much.
A swell of pride filled Erik upon hearing the words. To Destiny, he said, "She's fine." Destiny instantly relaxed. The curse of Destiny's gift was that she couldn't choose what to foresee--she couldn't look ahead and determine Mystique's fate; only wait until if and when it was presented to her.
By now Cyclops had clued in to what was going on. "He's talking to Charles right now," he told Logan, who looked lost--though Erik suspected he was just bored. He grunted, sounding oddly disappointed. Erik turned his attention back to Charles, relishing the warm weight in his head.
Please be careful, and stay safe, Erik thought, still wanting to storm the base and sweep Charles into his arms, though the need had lessened considerably now that he knew Charles was safe.
I will. Please do the same, Charles answered, and then he was gone, Erik left feeling hollow and empty. He cast another glance around the side of the tank, the planes almost loaded now. He turned back to the others.
"We need to get back to Genosha, immediately," he said. Aside from a longing glance that Logan cast back towards the base, there were no objections.
~*~
Contacting Erik had been a risk, certainly, but Charles could hardly have avoided it--the second Erik had come into range Charles had sensed him, the man practically screaming for Charles' attention. He had known Erik's impatience would likely end up a problem; he only hoped that his reassurance had calmed Erik enough for him to see this through to the end.
He felt bad lying to Erik--making him think Charles was in better shape than he actually was--but if Erik had known Charles had barely managed to keep down the runny eggs and dry toast he'd just eaten, or that the urine he'd just drained from his bag had been dark and concentrated--or that there had been nowhere near as much as there should have been, which Charles was really hoping was just a by-product of having been given next to nothing to drink--then he probably wouldn't have agreed to return to Genosha to carry out Charles' instructions.
"Charles," Mystique said, crouching at his side, blocking Charles from the camera because he was currently incapable of using his telepathy without a physical crutch, and that meant bringing his fingers to his temple, something he doubted Stryker would overlook.
"I'm alright," Charles said. Mystique looked doubtful, so Charles added, "And Destiny sends her regards."
Mystique flushed at that, but she still didn't look appeased. Her red hair hung damp around her shoulders, the ends still dripping from their impromptu shower--in actuality they'd been locked back in the same cell and had a firehouse turned on them, the water icy cold and stinking strongly of chlorine.
They hadn't even given Charles a chance to remove his clothes. They clung to him now, chilling him to the bone. It certainly wasn't helping the shaking, which seemed to have travelled from his hands, up his arms and into his torso.
"All we have to do is get to Genosha. A few more hours; I promise," Charles said. Mystique nodded.
There was little more to say on the subject, so Charles sunk down in his chair, Mystique leaving momentarily to retrieve the thin blanket from the cot. When she returned, she draped it over Charles' legs. Charles offered her a grateful smile, to which she shrugged.
"You're practically my brother in law now," she said. Charles' smile grew delighted.
It was touching how quickly Erik's friends--Erik's family--had accepted him into their fold. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of Mystique's damp hair behind her ear, trying to convey how much her acceptance meant to him--how much it undoubtedly meant to Erik. She rolled her eyes, obviously discomforted by the gesture, though her thoughts suggested she was secretly pleased.
"I hate to interrupt such a touching moment." Stryker's arrival instantly dispelled the camaraderie between them, Mystique standing swiftly, coming into a defensive stance. She placed her body directly between Stryker and Charles. Charles tutted and wheeled around her. He paused in front of the door, calmly waiting for Stryker to release them.
"I'm tempted to leave her here," he said. "Give the men I leave behind something to play with."
Charles' expression grew dark, even as he fought not to lash out, to cripple Stryker's mind with a single blow--and he was starting to want that, oh how he was starting to want that. Instead he curled his hands into fists, feeling his nails dig half-moons into his palms.
"But I have a feeling you'll be a little more cooperative if she comes along," Stryker said, clearly a question.
Charles nodded. "She comes with us, untouched and unharmed, and I will cooperate."
If Stryker had been thinking--if Charles hadn't been manipulating his thoughts--then he likely would have realized the ridiculousness of that sentence. Stryker was expecting him to kill every mutant on the planet, including Mystique; Charles' willingness to cooperate for a temporary extension of her life should have raised several red warning flags. Keeping those flags from appearing was taking a good deal of Charles' strength. It probably didn't bode well for what he had planned next.
"Very well," Stryker said, and then, to one of his soldiers, "Secure the rest of the baggage."
It was an incredibly frustrating thing being shot with a tranquilizer dart twice inside a twenty-four hour period. Charles struggled against the pull of unconsciousness, even knowing it was futile. Charles' last thought, as darkness claimed him, was that he would at least be spared the tedium of the flight.
Interlude
Emma stared at Hank McCoy in absolute horror. Clearly the man had lost his mind. She shook her head, blonde tresses--which she was quite fond of, thank you very much--flipping over her shoulders.
"You are not shaving my head," she said. Hank wrung his hands.
"I still haven't figured out what's interfering with the connection, but removing Charles' hair seemed to work, so I suspect it will work for you, too."
Emma let her gaze turn to ice. She knew the effect it would have even before Hank stepped back, suddenly uncertain.
"You are not shaving my head, and we are not discussing this again."
Emma didn't give Hank a chance to offer a new argument--or even rehash an old one--she strode from the room, Cerebro making her slightly claustrophobic anyway. How Charles tolerated the thing she had no idea; especially now that it had cost him his hair--Charles had had such lovely hair.
She intended to return to her office. The carpenters were arriving today to fit a new door, this one custom made and entirely wood--she'd like to see Erik try to storm his way into her office now--but she only made it as far as the lifts before Jubilee was running towards her, hands outstretched as if she actually intended to make physical contact. Emma side-stepped the girl, recoiling at the thought--she was fairly certain those gloves were polyester, after all.
"Sorry, sorry; it's just a message came from Magneto, over the wire." She handed over a slip of paper, printed in that strange encoding that the Blackbird's central computer system tended to use. Emma stared at it, feeling her eyes begin to cross.
They were all supposed to have memorized the encryption, but Emma hadn't bothered--she had far more important things to worry about.
"Can you give me the gist," she said, handing it back to Jubilee. Jubilee looked thrilled by the prospect. She accepted the paper gladly, squared her shoulders and began to read.
"Blackbirds en route. ETA 3 hours, 47 minutes," here Jubilee paused, "except, this was received thirty-eight minutes ago, so now its 3 hours and..." she calculated, "3 hours and 9 minutes." She seemed ridiculously pleased when Emma didn't correct her. Emma made a mental note never to allow this woman to have anything to do with the Brotherhood's books.
"Stryker en route to Seychelles. Must contact government and have them detain Stryker's forces indefinitely. Stryker to be allowed to continue on to Genosha with squadron. Make use of Cerebro. Authorized to use any means necessary." Emma couldn't help but smile at that, even as she ran a hand through her hair. Oh she hated Erik, she really, really did. The man had probably planned this.
Jubilee was looking at Emma expectantly, so Emma snatched the transmission from her hand and shooed her on her way. Then she turned back the way she had come--lamenting having to postpone selecting her new door--and headed back to Cerebro.
Hank glanced up excitedly as she entered. "Please tell me you've found a solution," she said.
Hank nodded enthusiastically. "I suspect I have, although I will need to cover your head in ultrasound gel."
Emma blanched at that. She was certain her expression must have conveyed her horror--her lip curled, even as her nose wrinkled--because Hank held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Would it help if I mentioned it's composed largely of propylene glycol, which is very moisturizing? You could think of it as an exotic spa treatment."
Emma wasn't convinced, but if it meant not having to shave off her hair, she would take the option. Hank motioned her to the stool he'd placed beside the interface--and if Emma was going to continue using this infernal machine, she was going to order something far more comfortable than a three-legged wooden stool.
She sat gingerly upon, taking a moment to set aside the stole she wore--and oh, her silk blouse was likely going to be ruined; she very much doubted ultrasound gel's moisturizing properties were meant to be applied to silk. She watched with narrowed eyes as Hank approached, a tube of something--the gel, Emma presumed--held in his outstretched hand. He seemed far too cheerful, and Emma made a mental note to give him a night of bad dreams in retaliation.
He arrived at her side and without warning--and quite unceremoniously, Emma thought--poured the gel onto her head. It dripped down her forehead, cold slimy viscous stuff that she suspected she would never feel clean from. She could feel a tendril of it sliding down her neck--under the collar of her blouse and oh, she was wearing her La Perla lingerie. This was almost a crime against nature.
"That ought to do it," Hank announced, placing that awkward, god-awful helmet on her head--it mashed the gel further into her hair, streaks of it trailing behind her ears now. Emma shuddered, shoulders drawing up as she was forced to endure the worst experience of her...
Oh.
In all the years she had exercised her telepathy, she had never experienced this. It was like breathing pure oxygen after a lifetime of car exhaust. She felt infinitely light--was infinitely light, she realized, floating from her body, her mind reaching out in so many directions at once. Was this what it felt like to be Charles? She couldn't imagine--he was so much more powerful than she--but even if it was only a fraction, it was wonderful. Emma laughed, delighted, letting her mind stretch further still, until the whole of the island sat at her fingertips. She extended beyond Genosha's borders, seeking out her neighbours. It was like trailing her fingertips through pleasantly warm water. She had never felt so pure--so powerful. She basked in it, even as she set about executing Magneto's instructions.
This was an experience she wanted to continue indefinitely. She understood immediately why Charles had been willing to shave his head for it. She suspected she would gladly do the same.
It was so easy to address the Seychelles government through Cerebro, to bend their will to hers. The process took next to no time at all, and then she was free to drift, to explore; to reach across the globe and touch thousands of minds, all of them calling out for her attention. Erik would be home in a little under three hours, but until then, Emma was lost to Cerebro's siren song.
On to chapter 25
