Fic: The Use of a Knife (X-Men: First Class, R)
title: The Use of a Knife
author: ilovetakahana
word count: approx. 850
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]
characters: Charles Xavier; mention of Raven Darkholme and Erik Lehnsherr
rating: R
notes: Part of the universe of Knife and Needle and Rope, in which we ride along with Charles as he goes about his - um - work.
Warning for basically most serial killer / murder mystery tropes and everything else that might be associated with the idea of a dark version of Charles Xavier.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
He is nose-deep into The Count of Monte Cristo when he looks up.
The woman with the black braid walks past him, heels tapping resolutely on the sidewalk, talking quietly on her mobile phone.
She is alone.
Charles turns back to his page and savors the rest of the conversation between Albert and Haidee and the Count, and all the while he is listening for the woman.
He feels he has to apologize to Dumas père for being so distracted, and he thinks he'll make it up later. Perhaps he'll read this chapter out to Raven and really perform it for her, leave her thinking about traveling the world.
He knows, in his heart, that this is always how he reacts after one of his jobs, and he knows there's no questioning his instincts. It's what's gotten him this far. It's why he can keep working. It's the spur and the lash to him, reason or the lack of it be damned, and he craves it.
Finally, he gets to the end of the chapter and he hurriedly packs the book away, starts running down the street and people must see him as just another kid, and that's all to the good. The pedestrian lights turn green just in time and he dashes forward, dodges past a line of schoolchildren giggling and tromping off after their teacher and he waves at them, hears a fresh burst of laughter.
The woman with the braid is fifteen, then ten, then five feet ahead of him. He puts on a final burst of speed and draws level with her, and he still has enough breath to say, "I know about your son" - and he's gone, running, and as he leaves her behind he glances over his shoulder. Her pale face, eyes wide in fear and fury and - hatred. Hatred is good. Hatred makes people irrational.
He is certainly the farthest thing from irrational right now, and he is counting on her to lose her wits.
He slows down to a walk and when he looks up, oh, this is a familiar area, and he likes it, though he'll have to dodge out of it as soon as he can. Here is the tattoo joint and there in the window, is the man working on Charles's black phoenix. Erik. They had exchanged names after one of their first sessions together.
Charles smiles and lingers for a moment and watches; inside, an oblivious Erik pushes his glasses up on his nose. Licks his finger and turns the page on his battered paperback.
Charles will have to remember to ask Erik about the books he likes to read - but there is the woman, running, and he grins and turns another corner, and another, and then.
Into the silence.
Brick walls.
The buildings hover like ominous sentinels. Watching him? Judging him? No, that's not how it works, not for Charles. These are his shadows, and this is his bourne, and this is how he works.
He retreats into the back of the alley.
The woman's shoes, her harsh breaths. The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
Charles reaches for his knife and snaps out the blade, silent, deadly, and waits.
The woman's voice shakes with fear. "What do you know?"
He answers her quietly. The alley bounces his voice around. "I know what he did to you. He existed. And you put up with him, you tried your best to love him, and you blamed him because you could only hate him. You never wanted him, did you. He was...trouble. So you gave him two spoonfuls of cough syrup and then you suffocated him." He swallows his rage and continues, in the same conversational tone. "Three years old. What did he ever do to you?"
The woman screams and pulls the trigger, and the bullet goes wild.
They are in a place where no one can hear either sound.
Charles walks out of the shadows and confronts her. Ashen-faced, wild-haired, and the gun in her hands shakes.
He takes it from her.
Her hands drop to her sides.
Charles puts his arms around her. He puts a hand at the back of her neck and urges her to place her forehead on his shoulder. He makes soothing noises and rocks her back and forth.
And in the other hand he has the knife, and he plunges it into her back, into her heart, and it slides in and out and the woman never makes a sound, only falls limp in his arms.
Charles smiles and sinks to his knees, bears the woman down to the alley floor and lays her out.
There is still a spark of life in those wide-open eyes.
He smiles and murmurs, "Do you think you'll be forgiven so easily?"
The woman gasps, and dies.
Charles shrugs off his jacket and wraps a sleeve around his fingers, and he closes the woman's eyes.
He walks away and doesn't look back, and he turns his steps homeward, already thinking of the smile on Raven's face as they discuss Dumas over dinner.
author: ilovetakahana
word count: approx. 850
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]
characters: Charles Xavier; mention of Raven Darkholme and Erik Lehnsherr
rating: R
notes: Part of the universe of Knife and Needle and Rope, in which we ride along with Charles as he goes about his - um - work.
Warning for basically most serial killer / murder mystery tropes and everything else that might be associated with the idea of a dark version of Charles Xavier.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
He is nose-deep into The Count of Monte Cristo when he looks up.
The woman with the black braid walks past him, heels tapping resolutely on the sidewalk, talking quietly on her mobile phone.
She is alone.
Charles turns back to his page and savors the rest of the conversation between Albert and Haidee and the Count, and all the while he is listening for the woman.
He feels he has to apologize to Dumas père for being so distracted, and he thinks he'll make it up later. Perhaps he'll read this chapter out to Raven and really perform it for her, leave her thinking about traveling the world.
He knows, in his heart, that this is always how he reacts after one of his jobs, and he knows there's no questioning his instincts. It's what's gotten him this far. It's why he can keep working. It's the spur and the lash to him, reason or the lack of it be damned, and he craves it.
Finally, he gets to the end of the chapter and he hurriedly packs the book away, starts running down the street and people must see him as just another kid, and that's all to the good. The pedestrian lights turn green just in time and he dashes forward, dodges past a line of schoolchildren giggling and tromping off after their teacher and he waves at them, hears a fresh burst of laughter.
The woman with the braid is fifteen, then ten, then five feet ahead of him. He puts on a final burst of speed and draws level with her, and he still has enough breath to say, "I know about your son" - and he's gone, running, and as he leaves her behind he glances over his shoulder. Her pale face, eyes wide in fear and fury and - hatred. Hatred is good. Hatred makes people irrational.
He is certainly the farthest thing from irrational right now, and he is counting on her to lose her wits.
He slows down to a walk and when he looks up, oh, this is a familiar area, and he likes it, though he'll have to dodge out of it as soon as he can. Here is the tattoo joint and there in the window, is the man working on Charles's black phoenix. Erik. They had exchanged names after one of their first sessions together.
Charles smiles and lingers for a moment and watches; inside, an oblivious Erik pushes his glasses up on his nose. Licks his finger and turns the page on his battered paperback.
Charles will have to remember to ask Erik about the books he likes to read - but there is the woman, running, and he grins and turns another corner, and another, and then.
Into the silence.
Brick walls.
The buildings hover like ominous sentinels. Watching him? Judging him? No, that's not how it works, not for Charles. These are his shadows, and this is his bourne, and this is how he works.
He retreats into the back of the alley.
The woman's shoes, her harsh breaths. The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
Charles reaches for his knife and snaps out the blade, silent, deadly, and waits.
The woman's voice shakes with fear. "What do you know?"
He answers her quietly. The alley bounces his voice around. "I know what he did to you. He existed. And you put up with him, you tried your best to love him, and you blamed him because you could only hate him. You never wanted him, did you. He was...trouble. So you gave him two spoonfuls of cough syrup and then you suffocated him." He swallows his rage and continues, in the same conversational tone. "Three years old. What did he ever do to you?"
The woman screams and pulls the trigger, and the bullet goes wild.
They are in a place where no one can hear either sound.
Charles walks out of the shadows and confronts her. Ashen-faced, wild-haired, and the gun in her hands shakes.
He takes it from her.
Her hands drop to her sides.
Charles puts his arms around her. He puts a hand at the back of her neck and urges her to place her forehead on his shoulder. He makes soothing noises and rocks her back and forth.
And in the other hand he has the knife, and he plunges it into her back, into her heart, and it slides in and out and the woman never makes a sound, only falls limp in his arms.
Charles smiles and sinks to his knees, bears the woman down to the alley floor and lays her out.
There is still a spark of life in those wide-open eyes.
He smiles and murmurs, "Do you think you'll be forgiven so easily?"
The woman gasps, and dies.
Charles shrugs off his jacket and wraps a sleeve around his fingers, and he closes the woman's eyes.
He walks away and doesn't look back, and he turns his steps homeward, already thinking of the smile on Raven's face as they discuss Dumas over dinner.