FIC: "The Winter of Banked Fires" (NC17, Charles/Erik, Logan/Rogue) Ch. 30-33 of 37
So near the end now!
30.
Awareness creeps into the body before the brain: bright light, a hard chair against his back, the ache of his bound wrists behind him. People shouting, not in panic but in a kind of frenzy. Burning pain in his shoulder.
Charles’ first, semi-conscious thought is How can it be so quiet while there’s so much noise?
Then he realizes the silence is internal; he isn’t hearing anyone’s thoughts.
“Don’t bother right now,” somebody says, and a light that’s been bright against his eyelids goes dim. “We’ll do light checks tomorrow. Sound checks too.”
The Purifiers. The Cure. Memory sweeps in low and dark like a hawk, and Charles has to repress a shudder. Good God, the children - are they all right? He doesn’t hear any of them near. Instinctively he reaches out with his mind for them before remembering that he won’t be able to sense their minds or anybody else’s …
… except that he can.
It’s not his usual ability, not even close. Only by straining can Charles detect even the outlines of the minds around him, and he’s not sure he’d be able to manipulate anyone. The thoughts are there, though, in the form of whispers. They hit him with the Cure after they shot him - he’s sure of that - but somehow, it didn’t fully work. Charles retains a fraction of his power.
How is that possible? In a flash, Charles glimpses the answer. The Cure targets the mutant gene - and Charles has taken over a body born without that gene. He’s been rewriting his host body’s genetic code, bit by bit, but that process isn’t complete. His psychic abilities belong to this body because his former body willed them there, and the strength of his original mutation has proved more powerful than the Cure.
It’s not much to work with, but he must use what he has.
While he can still feign unconsciousness and dedicate his entire attention to it, Charles thinks of Erik. Remembers what it was like to be lost in his own mind, and yet to still have Erik as his pole star, his true north. If Erik found him once, he can do it again.
For a moment, the image in his mind’s eye goes misty, and then he’s staring into darkness, into a vision of Erik levitating deep within the earth, helmet in his hands.
Erik. I’m here.
And then the image shatters as someone grips his wounded shoulder, harsh and cruel, and he jerks upright, only barely biting back a cry of pain.
“Thought that might wake you up.” The man in front of him doesn’t seem to take any particular pleasure in hurting Charles, the same way most people would remain unmoved while chopping a branch into firewood. “Do you feel it? You are as God intended you to be.”
“You have dosed me with the Cure,” Charles says. “You wanted to take away my greatest gift.”
“Spare me the mutant-agenda bullshit,” says the man - Gordon, his name is Gordon, Charles can glean that much. “You’re sorry to be in God’s image? Well, then I’m sorry for your soul.”
Not too sorry, Charles thinks.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to film a Testament. You’re going to tell the truth about what you mutants are and what you do. Maybe when they hear it straight from the so-called peacekeeper, they’ll finally pass some laws that give human beings real protection.”
Charles realizes that the bright lights are for a camera. He remembers the ghastly films they call Testaments and knows the next one will feature his death. “If you think I’m going to read from a prepared script, confessing to imaginary crimes before you execute me, think again.”
“No script. But you’re going to admit everything that really went on at that so-called school of yours.” This man is so sure of his righteousness that he has never questioned whether the truth might not be as demonic as his febrile imagination suggests. “If you don’t - I warn you now, I don’t want to hurt those little kids. They’re young enough to repent. But getting the message out there is more important than anything else. If one must die to save millions, then that’s how it is.”
Alarmed, Charles draws in a sharp breath - but then he realizes Gordon is bluffing. None of the children were taken, though Gordon wishes they had been, has shouted at the Purifiers who failed to kidnap them. The children are all safely back with the X-Men; that means Charles can speak as he likes.
No script. Live. Footage that will no doubt be seen by millions.
This isn’t the opportunity Charles would have chosen, but it’s the one he’s been given.
“Don’t hurt the children.” He’s never had to try to act before, so he keeps it simple - rushed and unsure. Most people’s fear sounds something like that. “I’ll tell the truth.”
Gordon looks wary. “We’ll see what you do. I’m not sure you care one whit about those kids, but after the Cure, maybe some humanity got into you.”
Charles doesn’t bother answering; Gordon’s not even that interested in what he’ll say. He would like a confession, but he would prefer to browbeat Charles with his accusations, prove to the world that the Purifiers have power over one of the most famous mutants known, and then -
--and then behead Charles Xavier for the world to see.
Beheading. Good God. The sheer physical terror of it is inescapable, but Charles breathes deep, fighting for whatever control he has.
So. If he isn’t found in time, it ends here, in a dingy room with bright lights on his face and his hands tied behind his back. He’s died before, at least he has practice, Charles tells himself - but that bravado doesn’t do much to sustain him.
He does better as he reminds himself of what matters most: The children are safe. The Cure is temporary, and even now, the X-Men are shutting down its production and claiming it for their own. His people will endure and prevail.
And Erik came back. He came back.
**
That night, they leave him in the chair. His shoulder hurts terribly, though more from muscle aches than the gunshot at this point. His legs have settled into an all-too-familiar numbness. Charles wishes he hadn’t spent his final hours of full mobility bound with rope, but it hardly matters. He wouldn’t be walking again in any case.
Pain and exhaustion pull him down into uncomfortable sleep from time to time, but he spends most of the long hours drifting in the peculiar twilight between slumber and waking. Sometimes he dreams with his eyes open.
He sees Erik in their cabin up north, surrounded by the X-Men, pacing and planning as they try to figure out where he is. Charles imagines that he’s standing in the middle of their group, so why don’t they look up and see him? Erik does, once, but as soon as their eyes meet, someone drops something loud across the room where he’s being held. The ringing impact against the concrete floor jerks Charles awake.
The rest of the night is nothing but hollowness and shadows.
**
They’re oddly polite to him the next day, apologetic even within their own minds. Someone helps him use a portable urinal. Someone else brings him a cup of water and sections of a peeled orange. Amazing, how good an orange tastes when you haven’t eaten in a day, and when you know it’s your last meal. Charles closes his eyes and lets the juice run down his throat.
When the hour comes, the lights all gleam back to full brightness, and Gordon takes his place to Charles’ side, his back to the camera to avoid recognition. A red indicator bulb blinks on the camera. They’re on.
“Peace unto you all,” Gordon says with no apparent sense of irony. “Today we announce the greatest victory of our movement. The Purifiers today captured and Cured the leader of the mutant unbelievers, Charles Xavier.”
Unbelievers in what? Charles wonders. In God? The Purifiers should talk with Kurt, whose gentle piety could never become so warped. But he says nothing, yet.
“His so called ‘school’ was a place where children were kept from the Cure. His ‘X-Men’ pretended to save the world from problems they themselves created. But by our efforts he sits here now, ready to confess his crimes and pay for them as judged by the word of God.”
“Yes, I am,” Charles interjects. Gordon seems surprised but not unwilling for Charles to begin, so he does. “My crimes. Let’s see. I have occasionally let members of the X-Men use one of the vehicles with my handicapped parking decal when I wasn’t with them, though only when they were in an extreme hurry. Though I don’t drive much any longer, when I did, I routinely broke the speed limit. Rarely drove under it, in fact. And for quite a while in the 1980s, at the mansion, I’m afraid we stole cable. I only allowed it at first because the children wanted to test their technical skills by proving they could do it, but then we never got around to taking it out and paying for it properly until we got the satellite dish fifteen years later. Maybe that’s not technically criminal, but it’s not on, is it?”
Gordon stares at him, outrage mounting. He’d thought Charles might back down, might contradict him … but he hadn’t expected to be mocked. “What are you talking about?”
“My so-called criminal activity.” There are other actions Charles has taken that skirted the law far more egregiously - forging paperwork and fogging the minds of officials to get mutants over difficult borders, for instance. Erasing Moira’s mind back in the beginning must count as interference with the duties of a federal official. So on and so forth. But he doesn’t owe the Purifiers that information or any other. “You asked me, I’ve told you.”
“You keep children from their parents. You keep them from taking the Cure that would restore them to normal lives.”
“The students at my school are there of their own free will. Those of them who have not been cast out by their families attend with their parents’ consent. And there are students with us who have taken the Cure and yet remain. It is a matter of each person’s individual choice, as it should be.”
“You encourage them to remain mutants. To deny their humanity and refuse to be made in the image of God.”
“Yes,” Charles says. “I do encourage them to remain mutants. Because I believe God has many faces. Male and female, gay and straight, of every race and with any mutation, or none.”
“There is only one God!” Gordon shouts, apparently believing he has caught Charles out in a weakness. “And he says to suffer the little children to come unto him. Why do you keep them from him? You want them to lead lives as outcasts.”
“I don’t. That’s your work. Mutants wouldn’t be outcasts if you didn’t spend so much time casting us out.”
Gordon’s confusion spirals upward, then shifts; his attack will change tenor, now. It becomes personal. “They said you could read thoughts. Influence minds. That you brainwashed the innocent.”
“My mutation makes me a telepath,” Charles says, remaining calm in the face of Gordon’s increasing apoplexy. “I can read minds. I can influence them. But I don’t waste my time victimizing the innocent.”
“You mean, you could,” Gordon says. “Before you were Cured and your power was taken away by the mercy of the Lord.”
Yesterday - the day before? He’s not sure how long he was out - Charles told the mutants of the world to take heart because the Cure was temporary. His final act must be to prove it.
“I can,” Charles says. “I can read minds, because your Cure isn’t a Cure. God appears to have a different sense of mercy than you do, Gordon.”
Gordon steps back, genuinely shocked.
“That’s right. Your name is Gordon Hall, and you live here in … Wisconsin.” Charles can’t get much, but the little he’s been able to glean over the last few hours should be more than enough. “Your wife’s name is Julia, and she doesn’t really understand what you’re up to, does she? You like the idea that she believes the Purifier militia is just a group of friends who drink beer and blow off steam. That she believes you’re on a hunting trip now. Though I’m guessing she’ll learn differently, thanks to this broadcast. You didn’t think that through, did you?”
“Get out of my mind!” Gordon moves, and fast as a flash, his gun is in his hand, the muzzle pointed at Charles’ head. “Don’t you brainwash me!”
“I haven’t, and I won’t.” No need to mention that he can’t. “You’ll notice I’m still tied to a chair with a gun being held on me. Proof enough that I’m not controlling your will.”
“You’ll brainwash us all. You’ll destroy us all, make us freaks like you.”
“You’ll prove otherwise if you shoot me,” Charles says. Though, to judge by the sheer murderous rage he feels coursing through his captor, the question isn’t if. It’s when.
31.
“Steady, now,” Hank calls as the Blackbird shudders slightly in the sky. “We’re at the limit of our supersonic capability.”
“Don’t remind me!” Marie shouts back. “I don’t need the extra pressure.”
Really, he thinks she’s handling this fairly well considering this is her second trip as a copilot, especially since Hank has left the cockpit to perform other, even more sensitive tasks.
“You’re sure we’re heading in the right direction?” Logan demands of Magneto, who stands like a statue in the middle of the plane. Everyone still capable of fighting has crowded in together, Kurt practically clinging to the ceiling, Colossus allowing Aurora and Northstar to perch on his broad shoulders. Despite her injury, Ororo pulled herself together enough to take her place in the Cured brigade, but her eyes are mournful beneath her crown of newly darkened hair. “If these jerks try something with the Professor, we’re not gonna have much time to act.”
“We’re heading in the right direction,” Magneto says. His body is still; his face is emotionless. Hank would know that wasn’t genuine calm even if he weren’t aware of the relationship between Magneto and the Professor - there’s something uncanny about it.
“I believe that is correct. If I’m tracing the signal correctly, that is.” Hank can’t be certain. His hands are so small and useless. Why did he ever miss having bony human fingers? He’s clumsy with the computer keyboard, just when he must trace this signal as fast as possible. Kitty works with him only a few feet away, but there’s a tremendous amount of chatter to get through. The entire Web is abuzz with the Purifier boast that they have imprisoned a mutant leader and intend to “make him pay for his crimes.” This brazen violence would be outrageous to Hank at any time, even if it weren’t Professor Xavier at risk, but it’s all the worse because it’s happening when he can’t work at top speed. “Damned Cure,” he mutters.
“I know.” Mystique’s voice is so gentle with sympathy that it’s hard for him to recognize it as hers. She sits next to him, their fates neatly reversed. Her skin is blue, her power restored. He is human, his face transformed enough by age that it doesn’t feel as if he switched back to his old self, but became some other person entirely. His feet are cold and narrow, uncomfortable in shoes that seem to bind him; he finds balance difficult, and misses his nimble paws.
He tells himself sternly, You’re thinking about irrelevant changes. You remain Dr. Henry McCoy, your brain is unhindered, and you are capable of finding the Professor. You have to be.
All this blasted Web traffic is fogging the source of the core signal; it’s been copied and broadcast and posted so often that even identifying the original is difficult, much less tracing it …
“Wait,” says Kitty. “Don’t trace. Triangulate.”
“Of course,” he whispers, tapping in new commands as quickly as he can. “When dealing with a multiplicity of data, one looks for trends. Gather the most-cited examples of the signal, determine the core locations, weed out major social media venues … ”
“We just passed into American airspace,” Marie says. “In another 15 minutes we hit Lake Michigan, which I’m just guessing is too far.”
Magneto straightens. “We’re close. Very close.”
“Bring her lower, Marie!” Hank calls.
“The signal’s going live!” Kitty pokes at one of the larger viewscreens in the plane itself, and they see a horrible video of the Professor, pale, bloody and clearly uncomfortable, tied up, good God what is wrong with people -
Even as the X-Men gasp and swear, even as Magneto draws himself up in either anger or pain, Hank turns his gaze back to his computer. He can’t help the Professor by watching this. He can only help by working fast and thinking faster.
But part of his brain still registers Professor Xavier’s bravery, the fact that he’s actually mouthing off to his captor - heavens, Magneto must have had quite a lot of influence on him these past few weeks -
Hank shouts, “I’ve got it!” A data peak on the northern outskirts of Milwaukee. “We’re almost on top of it, Marie. Transmitting to the cockpit now!”
The sudden shift in direction the Blackbird takes sends people reeling and makes ears pop; everyone except Magneto clutches for balance - no doubt he can stick to the metal floor. Given the short notice, though, Hank thinks Marie’s doing an admirable job.
“Beast?” Magneto never takes his eyes from the image of the Professor on the viewscreen. “I want you to cut into the Purifiers’ transmission.”
Hank frowns in consternation. Does Magneto want to spare his friend the degradation of being murdered for public amusement? He understands the impulse, but - “That would be unwise. Professor X is making a brave stand. The world should see it.”
Magneto nods. “The world has seen Charles’ courage. But now the Purifiers should hear what I have to say.” His eyes are unfathomably dark as he turns to Hank at last. “Cut into their signal. Make sure they receive instead of send for a change. Can you broadcast along the same frequencies, make sure the entire world hears us as well?” Almost in shock, Hank nods and starts doing what Magneto has suggested. Magneto grimly adds, “It’s our turn to create a Testament.”
32.
They will recognize him, because of the helmet.
When Beast points at him, Erik smiles into the dark square of the camera lens and speaks.
“I speak now to the Purifiers holding Charles Xavier. This is Magneto. No doubt you remember me. I am leading the X-Men toward your location at this very moment. We will rescue Xavier without human aid.”
From one corner, Moira MacTaggart shoots him a look, but Erik ignores this.
He continues, “For too long, you’ve run rampant, Curing mutants against their will and causing harm. Now your brutality has been turned against the single individual who has worked hardest to bring about peace between mutantkind and humanity. This cannot be borne. It will not be borne.”
The metal of the descending plane surrounds him, but Erik pushes his powers beyond that. He concentrates not on his fury at the men holding Charles, but on the way he felt when he woke up in Charles’ arms yesterday morning. It splits the surface he calls his self. He opens himself up to magnetic forces as never before - feels himself buffeted by the immense geomagnetic bands that coil the earth, feels the core solid beneath him as if it is the true planet and the rest is merely illusion.
Between rage and serenity, he thinks, and knows that he never fully experienced his true power before now. Charles is still acting within him, still summoning forth his best self.
“Hear this,” Erik says. “If you kill Charles Xavier, I will make sure that not only you but also your entire world feels the impact of his death. If you think I lack the power to do this, you are gravely mistaken.”
Everyone in the plane is staring at him - except Mystique, who looks both happy and unsurprised, and Rogue, who is even now settling the plane on the ground. Good. They’re here. Perhaps they can still save Charles -
Charles who will look on such threats with disgust, Charles who may abandon him for this, and yet if that is the price of protecting mutantkind - the price of rescuing Charles - Erik will pay it.
“You may have heard that I was Cured,” he continues. “This is true. But you also heard Charles Xavier explain that the Cure is not permanent. I’m about to prove it.”
He reaches down into the Earth itself; it reaches back into him.
The geomagnetic core burns hot like a coal in his heart.
Erik takes every fiber of his being, projects his spirit and his breath and his life outward, outward, ever outward - until the world turns upside down.
Literally, more or less.
“What just happened?” Wolverine mutters. Others in the plane are looking around, confused and disoriented but unsure why. “Did the plane swerve around?”
Kitty frowns as she shakes her head. “We didn’t move, but it felt like we did -”
Erik relaxes. Now that it’s done, it’s as natural to the Earth as anything else; he can leave it alone and his handiwork will remain intact for the next 250,000 years or so.
He hears the ring of triumph in his voice as he says, “The planet’s magnetic poles have now switched. Check your compasses and see for yourselves. I can do far more than this - and if you hurt Charles Xavier, I will. Now ask yourself if you’re ready to commit violence against mutants at the price of your own civilization.” He pauses, then adds, “It always was the price, you know. It only falls to me to prove it.”
The camera light goes off. Immediately Wolverine growls, “We didn’t sign up for your terrorist bullshit - ”
“You signed up to save Charles. We’ll argue the rest later.”
Iceman protests, “You switched the poles! There’s going to be - planes crashing, and stuff blowing up - ”
Erik replies, “You watch too many bad movies. Almost nothing is affected. Migrating birds are now flying in the wrong direction. Do you want to arrest me for that? Or would you rather focus on the task at hand?” Already Beast is pushing open the Blackbird door. Erik tears off the now-useless helmet; if Charles is still alive, still possesses some fraction of his power, Erik wants him to know they’re coming. “It’s time.”
The Purifier compound is almost pitiful, really - an old warehouse made of cinderblocks and rebar, a makeshift barbed wire fence surrounding the muddy field around it, and a handful of plastic sheds most people would use for their gardening equipment. Already the guards are shouting and going for their guns, but they don’t have plastic armaments. They are nearly outnumbered by the X-Men, who could probably take them without their powers. The Cured brigade is about to try.
And Erik remembers how to tear through barbed wire.
He rips the fence away along with the guns, sending them all skyward. Two Purifiers in front are almost instantly taken down with darts from Storm’s tranquilizer gun. One meaty-looking young man charges toward Erik with a baseball bat, only to be tackled with the full six hundred pounds of Logan’s weight. A jeep is driven toward them at high speed, but before Erik can toss the vehicle aside, Colossus barrels into it. Steel smashes against steel, and the jeep is the loser.
Charles, he thinks. Charles, can you hear me? We’re almost there. So close.
There’s no answering flicker in his mind - but no matter. Charles can hear them by now. He’ll hear the tearing of metal and the cries of his captors, and he’ll know that Erik is about to save him. That must be how it is.
It is unthinkable that Charles cannot hear him.
It is impossible that they have taken his head.
If they have - if the impossible is possible - the Purifiers in this compound will be able to scour the Book of Revelation without finding words for the fury of Erik’s vengeance.
33.
Why didn’t she train with the Cured brigade? Marie wants to rip her hair out in frustration. Eventually she would have gotten around to practicing with the tranquilizer guns, but instead Beast had her focus on her flying lessons. Which would be great, except that now, while the Professor’s life hangs in the balance, her job is to just sit in the plane.
Marie can’t just sit in the plane.
As she unbuckles the straps of the pilot’s seat, Dr. MacTaggart says, “What are you doing?”
“I have to go in there. If there’s anything I can do, I need to do it.”
“You need to be available to fly the Blackbird,” the doctor replies, which makes sense. “You think I don’t want to be in there helping Charles? I do. But I know I can’t be of any use to him after the battle if I get my head shot off during it.”
Young and untrained as she was, Rogue was one of the deadliest weapons in the X-Men arsenal. Now she’s like Dr. MacTaggart - no, not even that good. She remembers Logan telling her that the doc was a dead shot the first time she ever picked up a gun, during a Cured brigade training session, when she joked that she must have been a sharpshooter in a past life. Marie hasn’t even held a gun besides her granddaddy’s broken, unloaded Civil War pistol.
Once again she feels that crackle under the skin - the potential for her power - but she’d still have to dive deep for it.
Stop it, she thinks. You don’t have to decide anything right now. You just have to be an asset instead of a liability. You’re an asset by waiting to fly the plane. It just feels useless and worthless and totally chickenshit.
“I hate this!” She smacks her hands against the armrests of her seat.
“I do too.” The doctor’s voice is low and soothing, as if she were beside a sickbed. “I don’t think I’ll breathe easily until they get Charles into this plane where I can take a look at him.”
“I know - the video signal!” Marie goes for the viewscreen, which they’d cut off after Magneto went on his tirade about remagnetizing the world or whatever the hell it was he threatened to do. “They might still be broadcasting.”
“Surely not.”
But they are.
Professor X remains in the chair, still pale and exhausted, but still undaunted. All around him, the Purifiers are shouting at each other about the mutants invading their camp, fucking mutants have come to kill them, they’re past the fence, there is no more fence -
“We have a hostage!” The guy named Gordon has his gun aimed at the Professor’s head. He stares at the camera, glassy-eyed. “We are under mutant attack! If they’re listening to this - you should know that if you kill our men, we’ll kill yours!”
Unruffled, the Professor says, “I think they understood that when you advertised my beheading.”
Marie can’t bear it one second longer. She grabs a handheld and tucks it into her belt, so her hands will be free in the fight. “I know what’s happening in there and they don’t. Somebody needs to know what’s going on!”
Dr. MacTaggart says only, “Go!”
The battle outside the building is already pretty much won. The Cured brigade has added a few members, but the Purifiers have lost far more. As Marie runs across the muddy field, muck splashing on her boots and coverall, she sees Kurt swirling in blue smoke from one assailant to the next, striking so quickly that they push back at thin air. She sees Bobby in his ice form, skating along above the ground, creating walls of ice between them and any assailants with the Cure. A few Purifiers are making a bolt for a smaller concrete structure at the edge of the property - more weapons? Something else? - but a swirl of silver almost too fast to be seen turns out to be Northstar, who drops Logan in the Purifiers’ path. Even across the courtyard, she can hear the metallic snick of his claws.
So Marie runs toward the central structure. On the ground she sees an abandoned baseball bat; she reaches low to grab it without ever slowing down. Maybe it’s not the most high-tech weapon ever, but she’s ready to swing it smack dab into the face of that guy holding a gun on the Professor.
Nobody shoots at her. Nobody comes after her. The Purifiers seem to sense she’s not a threat.
Well, that was stupid of them, she decides. Because they pretty much just let her run right up to the door, and a baseball bat ought to take care of that real quick.
She swings it at the door, aiming for the lock. The impact jars her arms and shoulders, but she swings again, and again, bashing at it with all her might. Though the door itself hardly shows a dent, the doorknob shudders, then shatters. As metal parts slide apart, Marie jabs her fingers within - maybe it’s not so different from the car locks Logan showed her - nope, it’s not. The lock gives way, and she’s the first inside.
Magneto seems to appear out of thin air behind her. Quickly she says, “They’re threatening to shoot him right now. Looks like just the one guy from the video.”
“This way,” he says. “Charles is this way.”
How does he know? Do they have like some kind of gay psychic tractor beam? But Magneto found them in the Rockies, so there must be something to it. Marie follows him, feeling a little stupid to be the baseball-bat backup to a guy who just messed with the whole planet. Then again, somebody might come at him with a weapon that’s not metal.
They hurry down a cinderblock corridor. The first Purifier they see is a skinny guy in a hurry, who not only doesn’t come after them but also screams as he runs the other way.
But the next ones are made of sterner stuff.
Four of them, and one starts firing his gun immediately - shots ringing out in the narrow hallway, almost deafening her - but Magneto sends the bullets into the ceiling and pulls the men’s weapons away from them. Then a set of metal lockers bolted to one wall tugs free and slams into the Purifiers, pinning them to the floor.
One more guy, and he’s throwing something -
A grenade, Marie thinks, hurling herself backward. Oh, shit.
Magneto flings out one arm, and the grenade sails into a side room - but it doesn’t go far enough in time.
The explosion rips through the cinderblocks. Cement dust and heat and light and a horrible roar fill the corridor, and for a moment Marie doesn’t know which way is up or down. Maybe Magneto is doing something to the world again.
But she opens her eyes, only then realizing she’d shut them, as rough coughs rack her body. The blast has taken out the whole length of that wall, and part of the outer wall behind it; Marie can glimpse a crack of daylight. The Purifiers are stunned, injured or dead. At any rate, they’re not getting up.
Neither is Magneto.
He’s half-buried by the rubble of the cinderblock wall. His face is creased in pain, but he’s struggling with all his strength to get out from under the debris. He can’t.
“Stone,” he says. With her ears ringing from the blast, it sounds like a whisper. “Useless against stone.” She tries to clear some of the broken blocks from him, but it would take her an hour to do it by herself. Magneto looks up at her, and there’s none of his usual arrogance, none of his condescension. Right now, he’d beg her if he had to. “Get to Charles.”
Marie had thought this would be such a huge decision when the time came. But it’s easy. It’s obvious. The itching beneath her skin stops feeling scary and starts feeling wonderful. It’s like watching the first sparks from kindling begin a fire.
She didn’t get to kiss Logan one last time, didn’t get to hold him close. That just about kills her. But if Logan were here, he wouldn’t hold her back. He’s always encouraged her to make her own choices - even when her choices took her away from him.
Goodbye, Marie. She imagines it in Logan’s voice, even though she’s the one saying farewell.
That inner battle is fought and won in the space of a heartbeat. She holds out her bare hands toward him, stopping just short of his face. “Will you give it to me?”
In his state, her touch might kill him, but Magneto doesn’t look scared. He looks grateful. “Quickly.”
She reclaims her power one split second before she steals Magneto’s.
She seizes his face in her hands, and everything Magneto can do - everything he is - flows into her. Rogue cries out in pain, his pain but she has to feel it too, as her mind warps and bends to admit a reflection of his. She remembers his life in an instant, feels the enormity of his love for Charles Xavier, knows the purity of his anger. His power reverberates within her, more massive even than it was the last time on the Statue of Liberty. Is he stronger or is she? Both, maybe. All Rogue knows is that nothing can stop her from reaching Professor X now.
Just in time, she yanks her hands away. Magneto slumps on the floor, unconscious.
“For the record,” Rogue mutters as she gets to her feet, “I still hate your guts.”
Then she uses her new power to reach for the rebar lining the walls and uses it to levitate herself above the rubble from the blast. She levitates faster, still faster, until she has to think of it as flying.
**
concluded tomorrow --
**
It has been a long, long, long freakin' day (work commitments began at 6:20 a.m. and let up about 10 minutes ago), and I am about to jog out the door in hopes of catching an afternoon showing of "Contagion." Yes, I unwind with deadly plagues and pandemics.
30.
Awareness creeps into the body before the brain: bright light, a hard chair against his back, the ache of his bound wrists behind him. People shouting, not in panic but in a kind of frenzy. Burning pain in his shoulder.
Charles’ first, semi-conscious thought is How can it be so quiet while there’s so much noise?
Then he realizes the silence is internal; he isn’t hearing anyone’s thoughts.
“Don’t bother right now,” somebody says, and a light that’s been bright against his eyelids goes dim. “We’ll do light checks tomorrow. Sound checks too.”
The Purifiers. The Cure. Memory sweeps in low and dark like a hawk, and Charles has to repress a shudder. Good God, the children - are they all right? He doesn’t hear any of them near. Instinctively he reaches out with his mind for them before remembering that he won’t be able to sense their minds or anybody else’s …
… except that he can.
It’s not his usual ability, not even close. Only by straining can Charles detect even the outlines of the minds around him, and he’s not sure he’d be able to manipulate anyone. The thoughts are there, though, in the form of whispers. They hit him with the Cure after they shot him - he’s sure of that - but somehow, it didn’t fully work. Charles retains a fraction of his power.
How is that possible? In a flash, Charles glimpses the answer. The Cure targets the mutant gene - and Charles has taken over a body born without that gene. He’s been rewriting his host body’s genetic code, bit by bit, but that process isn’t complete. His psychic abilities belong to this body because his former body willed them there, and the strength of his original mutation has proved more powerful than the Cure.
It’s not much to work with, but he must use what he has.
While he can still feign unconsciousness and dedicate his entire attention to it, Charles thinks of Erik. Remembers what it was like to be lost in his own mind, and yet to still have Erik as his pole star, his true north. If Erik found him once, he can do it again.
For a moment, the image in his mind’s eye goes misty, and then he’s staring into darkness, into a vision of Erik levitating deep within the earth, helmet in his hands.
Erik. I’m here.
And then the image shatters as someone grips his wounded shoulder, harsh and cruel, and he jerks upright, only barely biting back a cry of pain.
“Thought that might wake you up.” The man in front of him doesn’t seem to take any particular pleasure in hurting Charles, the same way most people would remain unmoved while chopping a branch into firewood. “Do you feel it? You are as God intended you to be.”
“You have dosed me with the Cure,” Charles says. “You wanted to take away my greatest gift.”
“Spare me the mutant-agenda bullshit,” says the man - Gordon, his name is Gordon, Charles can glean that much. “You’re sorry to be in God’s image? Well, then I’m sorry for your soul.”
Not too sorry, Charles thinks.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to film a Testament. You’re going to tell the truth about what you mutants are and what you do. Maybe when they hear it straight from the so-called peacekeeper, they’ll finally pass some laws that give human beings real protection.”
Charles realizes that the bright lights are for a camera. He remembers the ghastly films they call Testaments and knows the next one will feature his death. “If you think I’m going to read from a prepared script, confessing to imaginary crimes before you execute me, think again.”
“No script. But you’re going to admit everything that really went on at that so-called school of yours.” This man is so sure of his righteousness that he has never questioned whether the truth might not be as demonic as his febrile imagination suggests. “If you don’t - I warn you now, I don’t want to hurt those little kids. They’re young enough to repent. But getting the message out there is more important than anything else. If one must die to save millions, then that’s how it is.”
Alarmed, Charles draws in a sharp breath - but then he realizes Gordon is bluffing. None of the children were taken, though Gordon wishes they had been, has shouted at the Purifiers who failed to kidnap them. The children are all safely back with the X-Men; that means Charles can speak as he likes.
No script. Live. Footage that will no doubt be seen by millions.
This isn’t the opportunity Charles would have chosen, but it’s the one he’s been given.
“Don’t hurt the children.” He’s never had to try to act before, so he keeps it simple - rushed and unsure. Most people’s fear sounds something like that. “I’ll tell the truth.”
Gordon looks wary. “We’ll see what you do. I’m not sure you care one whit about those kids, but after the Cure, maybe some humanity got into you.”
Charles doesn’t bother answering; Gordon’s not even that interested in what he’ll say. He would like a confession, but he would prefer to browbeat Charles with his accusations, prove to the world that the Purifiers have power over one of the most famous mutants known, and then -
--and then behead Charles Xavier for the world to see.
Beheading. Good God. The sheer physical terror of it is inescapable, but Charles breathes deep, fighting for whatever control he has.
So. If he isn’t found in time, it ends here, in a dingy room with bright lights on his face and his hands tied behind his back. He’s died before, at least he has practice, Charles tells himself - but that bravado doesn’t do much to sustain him.
He does better as he reminds himself of what matters most: The children are safe. The Cure is temporary, and even now, the X-Men are shutting down its production and claiming it for their own. His people will endure and prevail.
And Erik came back. He came back.
**
That night, they leave him in the chair. His shoulder hurts terribly, though more from muscle aches than the gunshot at this point. His legs have settled into an all-too-familiar numbness. Charles wishes he hadn’t spent his final hours of full mobility bound with rope, but it hardly matters. He wouldn’t be walking again in any case.
Pain and exhaustion pull him down into uncomfortable sleep from time to time, but he spends most of the long hours drifting in the peculiar twilight between slumber and waking. Sometimes he dreams with his eyes open.
He sees Erik in their cabin up north, surrounded by the X-Men, pacing and planning as they try to figure out where he is. Charles imagines that he’s standing in the middle of their group, so why don’t they look up and see him? Erik does, once, but as soon as their eyes meet, someone drops something loud across the room where he’s being held. The ringing impact against the concrete floor jerks Charles awake.
The rest of the night is nothing but hollowness and shadows.
**
They’re oddly polite to him the next day, apologetic even within their own minds. Someone helps him use a portable urinal. Someone else brings him a cup of water and sections of a peeled orange. Amazing, how good an orange tastes when you haven’t eaten in a day, and when you know it’s your last meal. Charles closes his eyes and lets the juice run down his throat.
When the hour comes, the lights all gleam back to full brightness, and Gordon takes his place to Charles’ side, his back to the camera to avoid recognition. A red indicator bulb blinks on the camera. They’re on.
“Peace unto you all,” Gordon says with no apparent sense of irony. “Today we announce the greatest victory of our movement. The Purifiers today captured and Cured the leader of the mutant unbelievers, Charles Xavier.”
Unbelievers in what? Charles wonders. In God? The Purifiers should talk with Kurt, whose gentle piety could never become so warped. But he says nothing, yet.
“His so called ‘school’ was a place where children were kept from the Cure. His ‘X-Men’ pretended to save the world from problems they themselves created. But by our efforts he sits here now, ready to confess his crimes and pay for them as judged by the word of God.”
“Yes, I am,” Charles interjects. Gordon seems surprised but not unwilling for Charles to begin, so he does. “My crimes. Let’s see. I have occasionally let members of the X-Men use one of the vehicles with my handicapped parking decal when I wasn’t with them, though only when they were in an extreme hurry. Though I don’t drive much any longer, when I did, I routinely broke the speed limit. Rarely drove under it, in fact. And for quite a while in the 1980s, at the mansion, I’m afraid we stole cable. I only allowed it at first because the children wanted to test their technical skills by proving they could do it, but then we never got around to taking it out and paying for it properly until we got the satellite dish fifteen years later. Maybe that’s not technically criminal, but it’s not on, is it?”
Gordon stares at him, outrage mounting. He’d thought Charles might back down, might contradict him … but he hadn’t expected to be mocked. “What are you talking about?”
“My so-called criminal activity.” There are other actions Charles has taken that skirted the law far more egregiously - forging paperwork and fogging the minds of officials to get mutants over difficult borders, for instance. Erasing Moira’s mind back in the beginning must count as interference with the duties of a federal official. So on and so forth. But he doesn’t owe the Purifiers that information or any other. “You asked me, I’ve told you.”
“You keep children from their parents. You keep them from taking the Cure that would restore them to normal lives.”
“The students at my school are there of their own free will. Those of them who have not been cast out by their families attend with their parents’ consent. And there are students with us who have taken the Cure and yet remain. It is a matter of each person’s individual choice, as it should be.”
“You encourage them to remain mutants. To deny their humanity and refuse to be made in the image of God.”
“Yes,” Charles says. “I do encourage them to remain mutants. Because I believe God has many faces. Male and female, gay and straight, of every race and with any mutation, or none.”
“There is only one God!” Gordon shouts, apparently believing he has caught Charles out in a weakness. “And he says to suffer the little children to come unto him. Why do you keep them from him? You want them to lead lives as outcasts.”
“I don’t. That’s your work. Mutants wouldn’t be outcasts if you didn’t spend so much time casting us out.”
Gordon’s confusion spirals upward, then shifts; his attack will change tenor, now. It becomes personal. “They said you could read thoughts. Influence minds. That you brainwashed the innocent.”
“My mutation makes me a telepath,” Charles says, remaining calm in the face of Gordon’s increasing apoplexy. “I can read minds. I can influence them. But I don’t waste my time victimizing the innocent.”
“You mean, you could,” Gordon says. “Before you were Cured and your power was taken away by the mercy of the Lord.”
Yesterday - the day before? He’s not sure how long he was out - Charles told the mutants of the world to take heart because the Cure was temporary. His final act must be to prove it.
“I can,” Charles says. “I can read minds, because your Cure isn’t a Cure. God appears to have a different sense of mercy than you do, Gordon.”
Gordon steps back, genuinely shocked.
“That’s right. Your name is Gordon Hall, and you live here in … Wisconsin.” Charles can’t get much, but the little he’s been able to glean over the last few hours should be more than enough. “Your wife’s name is Julia, and she doesn’t really understand what you’re up to, does she? You like the idea that she believes the Purifier militia is just a group of friends who drink beer and blow off steam. That she believes you’re on a hunting trip now. Though I’m guessing she’ll learn differently, thanks to this broadcast. You didn’t think that through, did you?”
“Get out of my mind!” Gordon moves, and fast as a flash, his gun is in his hand, the muzzle pointed at Charles’ head. “Don’t you brainwash me!”
“I haven’t, and I won’t.” No need to mention that he can’t. “You’ll notice I’m still tied to a chair with a gun being held on me. Proof enough that I’m not controlling your will.”
“You’ll brainwash us all. You’ll destroy us all, make us freaks like you.”
“You’ll prove otherwise if you shoot me,” Charles says. Though, to judge by the sheer murderous rage he feels coursing through his captor, the question isn’t if. It’s when.
31.
“Steady, now,” Hank calls as the Blackbird shudders slightly in the sky. “We’re at the limit of our supersonic capability.”
“Don’t remind me!” Marie shouts back. “I don’t need the extra pressure.”
Really, he thinks she’s handling this fairly well considering this is her second trip as a copilot, especially since Hank has left the cockpit to perform other, even more sensitive tasks.
“You’re sure we’re heading in the right direction?” Logan demands of Magneto, who stands like a statue in the middle of the plane. Everyone still capable of fighting has crowded in together, Kurt practically clinging to the ceiling, Colossus allowing Aurora and Northstar to perch on his broad shoulders. Despite her injury, Ororo pulled herself together enough to take her place in the Cured brigade, but her eyes are mournful beneath her crown of newly darkened hair. “If these jerks try something with the Professor, we’re not gonna have much time to act.”
“We’re heading in the right direction,” Magneto says. His body is still; his face is emotionless. Hank would know that wasn’t genuine calm even if he weren’t aware of the relationship between Magneto and the Professor - there’s something uncanny about it.
“I believe that is correct. If I’m tracing the signal correctly, that is.” Hank can’t be certain. His hands are so small and useless. Why did he ever miss having bony human fingers? He’s clumsy with the computer keyboard, just when he must trace this signal as fast as possible. Kitty works with him only a few feet away, but there’s a tremendous amount of chatter to get through. The entire Web is abuzz with the Purifier boast that they have imprisoned a mutant leader and intend to “make him pay for his crimes.” This brazen violence would be outrageous to Hank at any time, even if it weren’t Professor Xavier at risk, but it’s all the worse because it’s happening when he can’t work at top speed. “Damned Cure,” he mutters.
“I know.” Mystique’s voice is so gentle with sympathy that it’s hard for him to recognize it as hers. She sits next to him, their fates neatly reversed. Her skin is blue, her power restored. He is human, his face transformed enough by age that it doesn’t feel as if he switched back to his old self, but became some other person entirely. His feet are cold and narrow, uncomfortable in shoes that seem to bind him; he finds balance difficult, and misses his nimble paws.
He tells himself sternly, You’re thinking about irrelevant changes. You remain Dr. Henry McCoy, your brain is unhindered, and you are capable of finding the Professor. You have to be.
All this blasted Web traffic is fogging the source of the core signal; it’s been copied and broadcast and posted so often that even identifying the original is difficult, much less tracing it …
“Wait,” says Kitty. “Don’t trace. Triangulate.”
“Of course,” he whispers, tapping in new commands as quickly as he can. “When dealing with a multiplicity of data, one looks for trends. Gather the most-cited examples of the signal, determine the core locations, weed out major social media venues … ”
“We just passed into American airspace,” Marie says. “In another 15 minutes we hit Lake Michigan, which I’m just guessing is too far.”
Magneto straightens. “We’re close. Very close.”
“Bring her lower, Marie!” Hank calls.
“The signal’s going live!” Kitty pokes at one of the larger viewscreens in the plane itself, and they see a horrible video of the Professor, pale, bloody and clearly uncomfortable, tied up, good God what is wrong with people -
Even as the X-Men gasp and swear, even as Magneto draws himself up in either anger or pain, Hank turns his gaze back to his computer. He can’t help the Professor by watching this. He can only help by working fast and thinking faster.
But part of his brain still registers Professor Xavier’s bravery, the fact that he’s actually mouthing off to his captor - heavens, Magneto must have had quite a lot of influence on him these past few weeks -
Hank shouts, “I’ve got it!” A data peak on the northern outskirts of Milwaukee. “We’re almost on top of it, Marie. Transmitting to the cockpit now!”
The sudden shift in direction the Blackbird takes sends people reeling and makes ears pop; everyone except Magneto clutches for balance - no doubt he can stick to the metal floor. Given the short notice, though, Hank thinks Marie’s doing an admirable job.
“Beast?” Magneto never takes his eyes from the image of the Professor on the viewscreen. “I want you to cut into the Purifiers’ transmission.”
Hank frowns in consternation. Does Magneto want to spare his friend the degradation of being murdered for public amusement? He understands the impulse, but - “That would be unwise. Professor X is making a brave stand. The world should see it.”
Magneto nods. “The world has seen Charles’ courage. But now the Purifiers should hear what I have to say.” His eyes are unfathomably dark as he turns to Hank at last. “Cut into their signal. Make sure they receive instead of send for a change. Can you broadcast along the same frequencies, make sure the entire world hears us as well?” Almost in shock, Hank nods and starts doing what Magneto has suggested. Magneto grimly adds, “It’s our turn to create a Testament.”
32.
They will recognize him, because of the helmet.
When Beast points at him, Erik smiles into the dark square of the camera lens and speaks.
“I speak now to the Purifiers holding Charles Xavier. This is Magneto. No doubt you remember me. I am leading the X-Men toward your location at this very moment. We will rescue Xavier without human aid.”
From one corner, Moira MacTaggart shoots him a look, but Erik ignores this.
He continues, “For too long, you’ve run rampant, Curing mutants against their will and causing harm. Now your brutality has been turned against the single individual who has worked hardest to bring about peace between mutantkind and humanity. This cannot be borne. It will not be borne.”
The metal of the descending plane surrounds him, but Erik pushes his powers beyond that. He concentrates not on his fury at the men holding Charles, but on the way he felt when he woke up in Charles’ arms yesterday morning. It splits the surface he calls his self. He opens himself up to magnetic forces as never before - feels himself buffeted by the immense geomagnetic bands that coil the earth, feels the core solid beneath him as if it is the true planet and the rest is merely illusion.
Between rage and serenity, he thinks, and knows that he never fully experienced his true power before now. Charles is still acting within him, still summoning forth his best self.
“Hear this,” Erik says. “If you kill Charles Xavier, I will make sure that not only you but also your entire world feels the impact of his death. If you think I lack the power to do this, you are gravely mistaken.”
Everyone in the plane is staring at him - except Mystique, who looks both happy and unsurprised, and Rogue, who is even now settling the plane on the ground. Good. They’re here. Perhaps they can still save Charles -
Charles who will look on such threats with disgust, Charles who may abandon him for this, and yet if that is the price of protecting mutantkind - the price of rescuing Charles - Erik will pay it.
“You may have heard that I was Cured,” he continues. “This is true. But you also heard Charles Xavier explain that the Cure is not permanent. I’m about to prove it.”
He reaches down into the Earth itself; it reaches back into him.
The geomagnetic core burns hot like a coal in his heart.
Erik takes every fiber of his being, projects his spirit and his breath and his life outward, outward, ever outward - until the world turns upside down.
Literally, more or less.
“What just happened?” Wolverine mutters. Others in the plane are looking around, confused and disoriented but unsure why. “Did the plane swerve around?”
Kitty frowns as she shakes her head. “We didn’t move, but it felt like we did -”
Erik relaxes. Now that it’s done, it’s as natural to the Earth as anything else; he can leave it alone and his handiwork will remain intact for the next 250,000 years or so.
He hears the ring of triumph in his voice as he says, “The planet’s magnetic poles have now switched. Check your compasses and see for yourselves. I can do far more than this - and if you hurt Charles Xavier, I will. Now ask yourself if you’re ready to commit violence against mutants at the price of your own civilization.” He pauses, then adds, “It always was the price, you know. It only falls to me to prove it.”
The camera light goes off. Immediately Wolverine growls, “We didn’t sign up for your terrorist bullshit - ”
“You signed up to save Charles. We’ll argue the rest later.”
Iceman protests, “You switched the poles! There’s going to be - planes crashing, and stuff blowing up - ”
Erik replies, “You watch too many bad movies. Almost nothing is affected. Migrating birds are now flying in the wrong direction. Do you want to arrest me for that? Or would you rather focus on the task at hand?” Already Beast is pushing open the Blackbird door. Erik tears off the now-useless helmet; if Charles is still alive, still possesses some fraction of his power, Erik wants him to know they’re coming. “It’s time.”
The Purifier compound is almost pitiful, really - an old warehouse made of cinderblocks and rebar, a makeshift barbed wire fence surrounding the muddy field around it, and a handful of plastic sheds most people would use for their gardening equipment. Already the guards are shouting and going for their guns, but they don’t have plastic armaments. They are nearly outnumbered by the X-Men, who could probably take them without their powers. The Cured brigade is about to try.
And Erik remembers how to tear through barbed wire.
He rips the fence away along with the guns, sending them all skyward. Two Purifiers in front are almost instantly taken down with darts from Storm’s tranquilizer gun. One meaty-looking young man charges toward Erik with a baseball bat, only to be tackled with the full six hundred pounds of Logan’s weight. A jeep is driven toward them at high speed, but before Erik can toss the vehicle aside, Colossus barrels into it. Steel smashes against steel, and the jeep is the loser.
Charles, he thinks. Charles, can you hear me? We’re almost there. So close.
There’s no answering flicker in his mind - but no matter. Charles can hear them by now. He’ll hear the tearing of metal and the cries of his captors, and he’ll know that Erik is about to save him. That must be how it is.
It is unthinkable that Charles cannot hear him.
It is impossible that they have taken his head.
If they have - if the impossible is possible - the Purifiers in this compound will be able to scour the Book of Revelation without finding words for the fury of Erik’s vengeance.
33.
Why didn’t she train with the Cured brigade? Marie wants to rip her hair out in frustration. Eventually she would have gotten around to practicing with the tranquilizer guns, but instead Beast had her focus on her flying lessons. Which would be great, except that now, while the Professor’s life hangs in the balance, her job is to just sit in the plane.
Marie can’t just sit in the plane.
As she unbuckles the straps of the pilot’s seat, Dr. MacTaggart says, “What are you doing?”
“I have to go in there. If there’s anything I can do, I need to do it.”
“You need to be available to fly the Blackbird,” the doctor replies, which makes sense. “You think I don’t want to be in there helping Charles? I do. But I know I can’t be of any use to him after the battle if I get my head shot off during it.”
Young and untrained as she was, Rogue was one of the deadliest weapons in the X-Men arsenal. Now she’s like Dr. MacTaggart - no, not even that good. She remembers Logan telling her that the doc was a dead shot the first time she ever picked up a gun, during a Cured brigade training session, when she joked that she must have been a sharpshooter in a past life. Marie hasn’t even held a gun besides her granddaddy’s broken, unloaded Civil War pistol.
Once again she feels that crackle under the skin - the potential for her power - but she’d still have to dive deep for it.
Stop it, she thinks. You don’t have to decide anything right now. You just have to be an asset instead of a liability. You’re an asset by waiting to fly the plane. It just feels useless and worthless and totally chickenshit.
“I hate this!” She smacks her hands against the armrests of her seat.
“I do too.” The doctor’s voice is low and soothing, as if she were beside a sickbed. “I don’t think I’ll breathe easily until they get Charles into this plane where I can take a look at him.”
“I know - the video signal!” Marie goes for the viewscreen, which they’d cut off after Magneto went on his tirade about remagnetizing the world or whatever the hell it was he threatened to do. “They might still be broadcasting.”
“Surely not.”
But they are.
Professor X remains in the chair, still pale and exhausted, but still undaunted. All around him, the Purifiers are shouting at each other about the mutants invading their camp, fucking mutants have come to kill them, they’re past the fence, there is no more fence -
“We have a hostage!” The guy named Gordon has his gun aimed at the Professor’s head. He stares at the camera, glassy-eyed. “We are under mutant attack! If they’re listening to this - you should know that if you kill our men, we’ll kill yours!”
Unruffled, the Professor says, “I think they understood that when you advertised my beheading.”
Marie can’t bear it one second longer. She grabs a handheld and tucks it into her belt, so her hands will be free in the fight. “I know what’s happening in there and they don’t. Somebody needs to know what’s going on!”
Dr. MacTaggart says only, “Go!”
The battle outside the building is already pretty much won. The Cured brigade has added a few members, but the Purifiers have lost far more. As Marie runs across the muddy field, muck splashing on her boots and coverall, she sees Kurt swirling in blue smoke from one assailant to the next, striking so quickly that they push back at thin air. She sees Bobby in his ice form, skating along above the ground, creating walls of ice between them and any assailants with the Cure. A few Purifiers are making a bolt for a smaller concrete structure at the edge of the property - more weapons? Something else? - but a swirl of silver almost too fast to be seen turns out to be Northstar, who drops Logan in the Purifiers’ path. Even across the courtyard, she can hear the metallic snick of his claws.
So Marie runs toward the central structure. On the ground she sees an abandoned baseball bat; she reaches low to grab it without ever slowing down. Maybe it’s not the most high-tech weapon ever, but she’s ready to swing it smack dab into the face of that guy holding a gun on the Professor.
Nobody shoots at her. Nobody comes after her. The Purifiers seem to sense she’s not a threat.
Well, that was stupid of them, she decides. Because they pretty much just let her run right up to the door, and a baseball bat ought to take care of that real quick.
She swings it at the door, aiming for the lock. The impact jars her arms and shoulders, but she swings again, and again, bashing at it with all her might. Though the door itself hardly shows a dent, the doorknob shudders, then shatters. As metal parts slide apart, Marie jabs her fingers within - maybe it’s not so different from the car locks Logan showed her - nope, it’s not. The lock gives way, and she’s the first inside.
Magneto seems to appear out of thin air behind her. Quickly she says, “They’re threatening to shoot him right now. Looks like just the one guy from the video.”
“This way,” he says. “Charles is this way.”
How does he know? Do they have like some kind of gay psychic tractor beam? But Magneto found them in the Rockies, so there must be something to it. Marie follows him, feeling a little stupid to be the baseball-bat backup to a guy who just messed with the whole planet. Then again, somebody might come at him with a weapon that’s not metal.
They hurry down a cinderblock corridor. The first Purifier they see is a skinny guy in a hurry, who not only doesn’t come after them but also screams as he runs the other way.
But the next ones are made of sterner stuff.
Four of them, and one starts firing his gun immediately - shots ringing out in the narrow hallway, almost deafening her - but Magneto sends the bullets into the ceiling and pulls the men’s weapons away from them. Then a set of metal lockers bolted to one wall tugs free and slams into the Purifiers, pinning them to the floor.
One more guy, and he’s throwing something -
A grenade, Marie thinks, hurling herself backward. Oh, shit.
Magneto flings out one arm, and the grenade sails into a side room - but it doesn’t go far enough in time.
The explosion rips through the cinderblocks. Cement dust and heat and light and a horrible roar fill the corridor, and for a moment Marie doesn’t know which way is up or down. Maybe Magneto is doing something to the world again.
But she opens her eyes, only then realizing she’d shut them, as rough coughs rack her body. The blast has taken out the whole length of that wall, and part of the outer wall behind it; Marie can glimpse a crack of daylight. The Purifiers are stunned, injured or dead. At any rate, they’re not getting up.
Neither is Magneto.
He’s half-buried by the rubble of the cinderblock wall. His face is creased in pain, but he’s struggling with all his strength to get out from under the debris. He can’t.
“Stone,” he says. With her ears ringing from the blast, it sounds like a whisper. “Useless against stone.” She tries to clear some of the broken blocks from him, but it would take her an hour to do it by herself. Magneto looks up at her, and there’s none of his usual arrogance, none of his condescension. Right now, he’d beg her if he had to. “Get to Charles.”
Marie had thought this would be such a huge decision when the time came. But it’s easy. It’s obvious. The itching beneath her skin stops feeling scary and starts feeling wonderful. It’s like watching the first sparks from kindling begin a fire.
She didn’t get to kiss Logan one last time, didn’t get to hold him close. That just about kills her. But if Logan were here, he wouldn’t hold her back. He’s always encouraged her to make her own choices - even when her choices took her away from him.
Goodbye, Marie. She imagines it in Logan’s voice, even though she’s the one saying farewell.
That inner battle is fought and won in the space of a heartbeat. She holds out her bare hands toward him, stopping just short of his face. “Will you give it to me?”
In his state, her touch might kill him, but Magneto doesn’t look scared. He looks grateful. “Quickly.”
She reclaims her power one split second before she steals Magneto’s.
She seizes his face in her hands, and everything Magneto can do - everything he is - flows into her. Rogue cries out in pain, his pain but she has to feel it too, as her mind warps and bends to admit a reflection of his. She remembers his life in an instant, feels the enormity of his love for Charles Xavier, knows the purity of his anger. His power reverberates within her, more massive even than it was the last time on the Statue of Liberty. Is he stronger or is she? Both, maybe. All Rogue knows is that nothing can stop her from reaching Professor X now.
Just in time, she yanks her hands away. Magneto slumps on the floor, unconscious.
“For the record,” Rogue mutters as she gets to her feet, “I still hate your guts.”
Then she uses her new power to reach for the rebar lining the walls and uses it to levitate herself above the rubble from the blast. She levitates faster, still faster, until she has to think of it as flying.
**
concluded tomorrow --
**
It has been a long, long, long freakin' day (work commitments began at 6:20 a.m. and let up about 10 minutes ago), and I am about to jog out the door in hopes of catching an afternoon showing of "Contagion." Yes, I unwind with deadly plagues and pandemics.