Fugue: X-Men
Chapter 2
by
Duchess of the Dark
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Marvel Comics and Fox. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Helena Draven and her 'remembered' friends are mine.
Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. Alternative scenario of the movie.
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... Although I'm a 'struggling writer' by trade, this is my first fanfic.This assumes the events in "X-Men" take place around 2010. Sorry if I screw with the geography of Canada, it wasn't my strongest subject in school! If you don't understand the English slang, email me. Text in Italics indicates thought. Italic text in apostrophes 'italic' indicates telepathic conversation. Oh, and my Logan is tall, dammit!! Can't be doing with short-arse men.
Bobby Drake stood before the optical scanner that regulated access to Cerebro. He gave a small grin and his features shifted like liquid putty, eyes momentarily winking gold. Smooth teenaged skin gathered into the fine wrinkles of late middle age, hair receeding. The scanner zipped horizontal and vertical over the blue grey iris, emitting a short bleep.
"Welcome, Professor," a toneless computerised female voice intoned.
Shining deep blue skin and creeping scales replacing Xavier's paternal features, Mystique glided over the threshold. Pausing to gaze around at the vastness of the dull greyish dome housing the super computer, she quickly approached the control pannel and opened it. Faced with all manner of mechanisms and conduits, she pulled out a small defuser vial and attached it to the tube feeding a clear container. The swirling, semi-liquid blue substance within darkened to a noxious muddy green. Smiling, teeth startlingly white against her skin, the shapeshifter closed the pannel and rose to her feet. Her job was done. Wearing Bobby Drake's form, she had whispered seeping poison into Rogue's ear, leading her to believe she was no longer welcome at Xavier's School For The Gifted after accidentally half-killing Wolverine. The mutant teenager with the deadly skin had already fled, the ensuing scramble to prevent her leaving Westchester giving Mystique ample opportunity to boobytrap Xavier's machine. Without their precious Professor, the X-Men would fall into disarray. With a single thought, she bade her malleable flesh return to Bobby's form and left.
* * * * *
Arms locked around Logan's waist, listening as he flung curses into the wind and ground his teeth, Helena shook her head to clear the hair from her eyes. The leafy back lanes leading to the main Westchester highway tore past in a green brown blur as Cyclops's motorcycle roared along. Shifting her weight as the bike hugged a sharp corner, she hooked her chin over his shoulder.
"It's not your fault," she yelled over the engine noise and the hissing rush of air. "The kid's confused and upset."
A growl, barely audible over the wind, reached her ears. Hunkered down over the handlebars, Logan eyed an unusual switch set with a red light.
It's my fault the kid's run, he thought. Should've locked the damn door, should've told her I wasn't angry. Shit. . .
"Hey!" Helena's voice, accompanied by a hard squeeze to the stomach broke in on his thoughts. "You pack that in. With noses like ours, we'll find her, no probs."
He growled again, wishing that the bike could go faster. Much as he disliked it, he felt responsible. Finding his attention drawn to the inviting switch, he wondered what it was for.
"For Chrissake, just press the bloody button!"
Frowning, Logan thumbed the switch. The motorcycle seemed to gather itself beneath him, the speedometer needle leaping to a hundred and fifty and way beyond. Lips peeled back over his teeth, face stinging in the biting wind, Wolverine exclaimed with fierce delight, echoed by a whoop at his back.
* * * * *
"You should've waited," Scott Summers said, scanning the chattering throngs of commuters for a hooded figure. "This is just the opportunity Magneto needs to snatch you."
Helena wrinkled her nose and ignored the comment, inhaling deeply to try to catch Rogue's trail. The meaty stench of old hotdogs, burnt train fuel and decomposing newspaper swirled to the scent receptors in her brain. On arrival at the station, she and Logan had split up to cover more ground. Crossing the foyer by the crowded seating area, she had bumped into Cyclops, who was wearing his visor and a disapproving frown.
"Nice scoot, by the way, Cyke," she said. "Moves like a dream. . . love the turbo thingy."
"Don't get too attached to it," Scott sniffed, smothering his pride at the compliment.
The English mutant grinned, gaze skipping over the huge seating area to the ticket office, where Ororo was questioning the clerk. Her smile faded as she saw an instantly recognisable figure lumbering towards the weather goddess, tossing people aside like rag dolls. Panic took less then ten seconds to break out amongst the flatscans queuing for tickets. Sabretooth clamped a black-clawed paw around Storm's throat, lifting her from her feet.
"Scream for me," he growled, basso profundo voice dripping menace as he slammed her head into the glass partition.
The thin glass broke, creating a halo of jagged cracks radiating out from the Ororo's milk white hair as she choked and gasped for breath.
"HEY, YOU! YEAH, YOU - THE OVERGROWN KITTY CAT!"
Hearing an English voice cutting through the clamour of the station, Creed turned to see a black-clad figure racing towards him. The woman he knew as Raven struck the air with both balled fists, adamantium claws shooting out with a metallic click. Attention diverted, he did not see Storm's chocolate eyes snap silver, tiny forks of lightning snaking through her white locks.
Startled by Creed's sudden appearance, Cyclops lifted a hand to his visor, yelling at Helena to get out of the line of fire. Her attention caught by a blur of movement at the juncture of a structural column and the glass-panelled roof, she saw Toad open his mouth and cried a warning. The amphibian mutant's elastic tongue hissed out and slapped off Scott Summer's visor. Without the ruby quartz to regulate it, the optic blast was uncontrollable. Cyclops cried out as twin beams of sizzling crimson ripped from his eyes, punching holes in the station roof.
"Shit," Helena muttered as the X-Men's leader recoiled from the shower of shattered glass and debris, eyes screwed shut. "That's Fearless Leader out for the count."
A darted glance telling her Toad was out of reach, her nostrils twitched with the acrid scent of burning ozone and she looked up to see a boiling mass of dark cumulonimbus cloud. Angry black and corpulent, the largest cloud began to swell for an imminent lightning strike.
"Uh-oh," she breathed, extremely aware that her metal-coated skeleton made her a walking conductor.
Feeling his hair stand on end with static electricity, Sabretooth threw back his head and roared with thwarted fury as a forked bolt of lightning scorched through the broken roof and struck his chest. Automatically dropping his prisoner, Creed flew backwards and crashed straight through the opposite wall, raining chunks of masonry. Silently thanking Storm for her impeccable aim, Helena looked about for Cyclops's visor. Smelling something vaguely mossy and reminiscent of pond life, her head snapped up and she pivoted on one heel. Mortimer Toynbee thudded into the concrete, mutant leg musculature absorbing the shock of his impact.
"Missed!" he snarled, greenish lips curling over tiny yellow-tinged teeth. "Bloody northern bint."
For a fraction of a moment, speckled brown newt-like eyes met hazel green. Before she could respond to the unconsciously projected thoughts, Toad hawked a gob of radioactive-green spit at her feet and bounded away, leaping through the hole in the wall left by his comrade. Gagging, trying to force air past her crushed windpipe, Storm wheezed and pointed to Scott's visor, which lay under a dusty chunk of rubble.
"No!" Helena yelled, to the weather goddess's amazement. "It's not us they're after! They want Rogue!"
Before the dazed X-Men could question her conclusion, she retracted her claws, looked wildly around, and sprinted away towards the platforms housing departing trains.
* * * * *
"The first boy ah kissed ended up in a coma for three weeks," Rogue stated, her voice thick with tears. "Ah can still feel him inside mah head. . . an' it's the same with you."
She looked away, bottom lip quivering as she stared out of the train window. Her brown eyes closed and the tears came, running down her cheeks to drip from her chin. Wordlessly, Logan reached out and looped his arm around her trembling shoulders. She resisted, frightened of contact, worried she may inadvertantly hurt him. All at once, she collapsed against him, face buried in his shoulder, sobbing. Cradling her hooded head, he drew a deep breath, wishing Helena were there to provide more suitable comfort than a taciturn loner like him could.
"There's not many people who'll understand what yer goin' through. But I think this guy, Xavier, is one of them," he said quietly. "He seems to genuinely want to help you. And that's a rare thing, for people like us."
Rogue looked up at him hopefully, huge fawn eyes so full of pain that Logan felt his heart twist with sympathy. She sniffled a little and gulped some air to control her sobs.
"Okay, so whaddaya say we give these geeks one more shot?"
Marie did not reply, torn between running as far away as she could and allowing herself to hope for an understanding home.
"C'mon," Logan cajoled, lowering his voice as if imparting a great secret. "I'll take care of you."
"You an' Helena?" the teenager whispered hesitantly.
"Well, me an' her aren't. . . " he began, realising she assumed they were a couple. Seeing her brow pleat, he nodded quickly. "Yeah, me an' Hels, kid. We'll look after yer."
"Ya promise?" she prodded, desperate to trust
"Yeah, I promise," he vowed.
The train began to move off, trundling slowly forward towards the end of the platform. Abruptly, the wheels shrieked discordantly and the entire carriage stopped, trembling like an unbroken horse. Ceiling pannels groaned and buckled, an aluminium suitcase rattling inside the luggage compartment. The lights flickered and died, passengers stared about in confusion. Mutters of bewilderment rose to shrieks of terror as the entire roof peeled away like the lid of a sardine tin, cascading sprays of bright sparks. Leaping into the aisle, hazel eyes darting, ears ringing with the screech of tearing metal, Logan saw a caped figure floating through the gloom. His claws snapped out, prompting fresh wails of fear from the passengers. Grey eyes crinkled with amusment, Magneto executed a neat landing through the torn end of the carriage.
"Ah, you must be Wolverine," he observed in a mellifluous voice more suited to a Royal Shakespeare Company actor. "But no Raven? What a shame."
Inclining his helmeted head, the master of magnetism regarded the Canadian mutant's claws with interest. Logan went to lunge, only to find he could not move.
"That remarkable metal doesn't run through your entire body, does it?" he asked, extending a hand.
Snarling with fury as his arms spread wide against his will, adamantium claws flexing and twisting out of shape, Wolverine's features contorted. Slowly, his feet left the floor. Rogue began to scream as she saw how much the manipulation of his claws was hurting him.
"STOPPIT! STOPPIT!"
Catching a flash of movement behind Magneto, the Southern girl saw Helena Draven clambering noiselessly into the ruined carriage. Hazel green eyes widening with shock as she saw Logan suspended in midair, groaning between clenched teeth, she stretched out a hand. Seconds ticked by and her forehead crinkled as she realised his helmet was blocking her telepathy. Unable to disorientate him psionically, she frowned and tried a different approach.
Chin lifting as he felt a strong telekinetic impulse slice through his magnetic field to tug at his helmet, Magneto flung a hand out behind him. With a startled yell, the Englishwoman sailed over his head like a yo yo on a string, limbs pinwheeling.
"Ah, Miss Draven, so good of you to come," he purred urbanely, eyes narrowing. "I believe you have acquired adamantium. . . Let's see, shall we?"
Inch by inch, pushing through resisting muscle and flesh, her claws reluctantly emerged from between her knuckles. Hanging upside down, long hair trailing on the carpet, she hissed between her teeth with pain. Magneto gestured and flipped her upright like a coin. With a flick of his index finger, he sent her cannonballing into Logan, knocking the breath from them both. Glued to his chest, barely able to draw breath, she struggled vainly as her arms came up, claws inexorably moving towards the Canadian's temples.
"What d'yer want with us?" Wolverine demanded as the tips of her claws pricked his skin.
"It's not us the bastard wants!" Helena gritted near his ear, jaw aching with the effort of speaking. 'Marie! Run!'
Magneto chuckled softly, an indulgent teacher faced with misguided questions from a deluded child.
"My dear boy, whoever said I wanted you?" he asked, grey eyes moving to rest on a terrified, tearful teenager.
With a careless wave of his hand, he sent the clawed mutants hurtling down the carriage like missiles from a slingshot. Galvanised by the loud crash, Marie scrambled from her seat and ran as fast as she could, heart pounding. Released from Magneto's belt, zipping quicksilver through the air, a full hypodermic pursued her. Sinking to the barrel into her neck, it delivered a large dose of sedative. Rogue dropped like she had been knee-capped.
"Young people," Erik Lenscharr scoffed, striding towards his unconscious prize.
Attention diverted, the immobilising magnetic field waned enough for Helena to pull her head from beneath Logan's chin.
"Get yer fuckin' knee outta my crotch," he hissed hoarsely, spitting out a mouthful of her hair. "I'm gonna kill him!"
Ignoring him, the English mutant's eyes narrowed to intense slits as she strove to dislodge Magneto's protective helmet. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she strained to counteract the enormously powerful magnetic force holding it down. It lifted a centimetre or two and wobbled, then plunged back down into place as Erik reinforced the field surrounding his body.
"You, my dear, are just as troublesome as Mr Creed warned," he boomed.
His hand snapped up and she flew back against the bulkhead above Logan, skull striking home with a resounding clang. She groaned and dropped heavily across the Canadian's chest, eyes rolling back in her head. Pinned by her adamantium-enhanced weight, torn metal and an inescapable magnetic field, Wolverine could only watch helplessly as a green-skinned mutant bounded into the carriage and carried Rogue away.
* * * * *
Dozens of gun mechanisms clicked as they were cocked by invisible hands, floating in the air before astonished, petrified policemen. The crushed remains of four squad cars see-sawed gently, bathed in flashing red and blue lights. Sabretooth's huge paw wrapped around his throat, Magneto gazed calmly at the ring of flatscan faces. At his side, Toad turned slowly like a radio-controlled manniquin and began to walk away. Rogue hung limply over his shoulder, wrapped in a zip-up bodybag.
"Fire," Erik said softly, almost reverently.
People shrieked as a gun went off, the deafening report echoing. From his limousene behind the police lines, the Professor flinched, but did not relinquish his telepathic hold over Magneto's henchmen. At his side, Jean shot him an anxious glance, hands knotted in her lap.
'He stopped the bullet,' Xavier observed.
"Come now, Charles," the master of magnetism said cheerfully. "I don't think I can stop them all."
Breathing fast and shallow, the unfortunate police officer stared at the bullet spinning in place scant milimetres from the centre of his forehead. He whimpered, feeling an increasing circle of heat as the point of the bullet touched his skin. In the chauffer-driven Bentley, Xavier's jaw tightened with frustration as his bluff was called. Sighing, he severed the mental bonds bypassing free will. With a surprised grunt, Victor Creed shook his head and blinked. Realising he was strangling his boss, he apologetically let go. Toad straightened and squinted short-sightedly, shifting the boneless weight slung over his shoulder.
"You're not willing to make sacrifices, Charles" Erik said contemptuously, glancing skywards at the approaching helicopter piloted by Mystique. "And that makes you weak."
Unwilling to endanger the lives of the police, the Professor watched as the Brotherhood climbed into their stolen helicopter. It rose into the cloudy night, the whump of rotar blades almost drowning out the clatter of gunmetal as dozens of firearms dropped to the floor. Shaken and disbelieving, hardly able to comprehend what they had witnessed, the police began to pick their way towards what remained of the train station.
* * * * *
"I thought yer said he was after us?!" Logan snarled, splashing cold water onto his face from the basin in his room.
He had been forced to watch from the sidelines as Magneto held half the county's police force hostage with their own guns, Rogue slung over Toad's shoulder like a trussed sacrificial lamb. Along with Storm and Cyclops, the two clawed mutants had sneaked out of the station's side exit. Quickly bypassing the police lines in the confusion, they had seen cars thrown like dinky toys and bullets stopped mid-flight. Even the Professor's mind-controlling telepathy had not been enough to prevent the Brotherhood Of Mutants making their escape.
"I'm sorry, I made a terrible mistake," the Professor admitted. "His helmet seems to be designed to somehow block my telepathy."
Quivering with contained rage, adamantium knuckles showing mercury through the skin, he tossed a glance at Helena.
"C'mon, Hels. We'll find the kid."
"How?" Xavier questioned.
"The traditional way," Logan snapped.
"Look!" Helena finished.
The English mutant followed him as he stalked out of the room, shooting back a glare containing equal fury. Unable to follow down the stairs in his wheelchair, Xavier listened as Ororo ran after them, snowy hair streaming behind her.
"Wait!" the weather goddess called. "You can't do this alone!"
Skidding to a halt on the smooth varnished floor, Ororo fought a sudden nip of anxiety as they turned to look at her. She was put in mind of the alpha male and female of a wolf pack, prepared to do anything to protect a lost cub.
"Who's gonna help?" Helena demanded coldly, already buttoning her long leather coat. "You? So far you've done a bang-up job."
"Then help us, fight with us!" Storm entreated, brown eyes darting from one to the other.
They paused at the door and regarded the African mutant with varying degrees of incredulity. Helena clicked her tongue stud and folded her arms, studying the other woman's expression. Logan shook his head and took a step towards the weather witch.
"What? Join the team, be an X-Man?" he snorted dismissively. "Look at yer - who the hell d'yer think yer are? Yer a mutant. The whole world out there's full of people that hate an' fear yer, an' yer wastin' yer time tryin' ta protect them? I dunno about Hels, but I got better things ta do."
"Y'know, Magneto's right," the English mutant said suddenly, her hand resting on the brass door handle. "There is a war coming - you sure you're on the right side?"
Storm's jaw tightened and she regarded the clawed mutants steadily, gathering her composure. She had half-expected such a reaction from Logan, but had thought Helena to possess more restraint. It appeared the iron control exercised by the psionically gifted did not always extend to her temper and feral instincts.
"At least I've chosen a side," she said with dignity and conviction.
Huffing, throwing up a hand, Logan flicked a glance at Helena, who yanked open the door in preparation to leave. A bedraggled, dripping-wet man with white hair staggered over the threshold.
"I need to see Dr Jean Grey!" he gasped, clutching at Logan's shoulder like a drowning man.
The Canadian's brow furrowed with bewilderment and he looked around questioningly, feeling a wet patch seeping through his jacket from the grasping hand.
"He's that Senator bloke!" Helena exclaimed in disbelief, watching as he collapsed onto the black and white marble tiles of the entry. "The one who's pushing for mutant registration."
The three mutants peered down at the exhausted, terrified man as if he was something nasty trodden in on the soles of their shoes. Storm stepped back as a puddle of water grew around his body, soaking the toes of her suede boots.
"What is the matter with him?"
* * * * *
Shaken, despite his external composure, the Professor removed his fingers from the cold, slightly damp forehead of the trembling, mortally-afraid man on the medical bed. Mind overflowing with images of transformative, retina-scorching white light and spinning metal rings, he sat back in his wheelchair. Wordlessly, Jean stepped forward and tended to her patient. Senator Robert Kelly twitched like a beaten dog, body racked with needling pain as his cellular structure decomposed beneath the onslaught of a flawed forcible mutation.
"Is that a real memory?" an English voice asked, words underlined with dismay.
Xavier turned, realising Helena had picked up on the telepathic exchange. Her psionic abilities were much more acute than he had originally estimated. He nodded sombrely, seeing the young woman's eyes widen at the concept of a machine capable of turning normal humans into mutants.
"Jesus," she muttered, shaking her head. "This Magneto is definitely two biscuits short of a packet."The Professor watched her exchange glances with Logan, noting how they each unconsciously curled a fist at their sides. Both clawed mutants were agitated, unnerved by their encounter with Magneto. Erik had manipulated their limbs with the ease of a child jerking a marionette's strings. Delving into their surface thoughts, Xavier read their protective concern for Rogue and felt a sharp pang of guilt.
I was so sure he was after them. I didn't see the truth until it was too late. Why do you want the child, Erik. . . ?
Prostrate on the pod-legged medical bed, the senator looked at the assembled mutants with mingled fear and longing. He could feel himself gradually dissolving, treacherous cells losing their cohesiveness, breaking down into water and simple protein sequences. Eyes gelid and sticky within their orbits, he looked at Dr Grey and Professor Xavier, collected and professional as only scientists could be. His gaze locked briefly with that of the astonishingly beautiful white-haired South African woman and he was dumbfounded to read sympathy there. Guarded disdain radiated from the muttonchop-bearded man with fierce hazel eyes, though Kelly believed he was paying close attention to his surroundings. The pale Englishwoman was studying him dispassionately, twining a lock of her unruly curly hair around her index finger like a child. She barely looked older than his own daughter. He could discern nothing of what the young, neatly groomed man in red glasses thought, emotion hidden behind reflective lenses. It occurred to Robert Kelly that he was going to die, surrounded by the people who had most reason to hate him. The same people had taken him in and tended to him as best they could.
Was I wrong? he asked. Was I wrong about them all along?
Nobody answered and he was left alone in the cool, antiseptic twilight of the medbay, listening as his life trickled away and dripped onto the floor.
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