Forgive Us Our Transgressions 11/16
“It’s a research facility,” Mystique said, her lip curling in disgust.
“And what’s their work on?” Erik paged through the brief that Emma had prepared, having done reconnaissance with a thoroughness only a telepath could manage.
“Does it matter?” Mystique gave him a sharp, suspicious look. The kind she’d been throwing him since he returned. “They’re studying mutants.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Erik said wearily, resisting the urge to reach up and massage his temple. The helmet weighed on him these days, no longer the comfort it once had been. “They’re studying mutations. But I don’t see in here whether there are even any mutants in the facility.”
“So?” Emma asked, confusion furrowing her porcelain brow. “They’re humans, studying mutants. Any knowledge they gain could be an advantage over us.”
Erik frowned. “Or it could be an asset to the whole mutant community. They could learn something useful.”
“They’re humans,” Emma reiterated scornfully.
“So we just kill them all, in case they’re doing something to endanger our kind?” Erik asked sternly.
No one even flinched.
Was this really what his Brotherhood had become? Charles thought he was the bad guy, but Erik had his ideals, too. It was just how they enforced those ideals that was different.
He wanted to protect his kind, just as Charles did. More so, he liked to think. Charles was willing to compromise in a way Erik never would.
Not when he knew so clearly what the consequences of those compromises could be.
But this-this wasn’t protecting mutants. This was just violence, lashing out at the humans before they had even shown themselves worthy of the Brotherhood’s attention.
This was the start of genocide.
Erik would know.
He shook his head minutely, even as he saw the frowns settle into his followers’ faces.
“No, what?” Mystique asked.
“I want more information, before we go in,” Erik said, trying to sound more commanding than he felt. “I want to know what they’re studying.”
Scorn etched its way onto Mystique’s expressive face, and Erik hurried on.
“If it’s of use to use, we’re going to need to extract their files, their data.”
The table relaxed, ever so slightly.
“I’ll see what else I can find out,” Emma agreed, rising gracefully. “Are you going to complain if I give anyone a headache during my search?”
Erik closed his eyes. “Just go,” he growled.
The Brotherhood filtered out of the room, with only Mystique lingering, her eyes narrowed.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked.
Erik looked up, narrowing his own eyes in return. “Nothing.”
“It doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“You’re criticizing me for wanting all the information? For wanting to be prepared?” he taunted, pleased when Mystique blanched.
“Fine,” she said shortly. “We’ll get you all the information you could ever want. And then we’ll burn the place to the ground.”
As she stormed out, Erik was hit with the vision of a beautiful blonde girl in a short black dress, dancing on a couch as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Then that same girl, tears tracking down her face as she cried over lives lost, Darwin’s, but also all the agents, the multitude of fully human bodies scattered around the CIA base. He watched, helplessly, so inured to death already, as she flung herself at Charles, clinging to him as she sobbed her horror out on his shoulder.
He remembered the way she had looked at him that day on the beach, fear tinged with admiration, hope and horror intermingling in her bright yellow eyes.
So when had she become the woman who just stormed out of the room, scorning his hesitance, scoffing at his concern for human life?
When had she decided that those men and women didn’t matter?
When had she decided that they deserved to die?
He closed his eyes, finally giving in to the urge to massage the bridge of his nose, awkward under the bulky helmet.
He knew it was his doing-he was the one who had changed Raven. Who had destroyed Raven, leaving only Mystique in her wake.
She had been angry and humiliated and frightened when she came to him. She was just a young girl who wanted someone to tell her she was beautiful.
And he had taken advantage of that, shaping her to be another perfect killing machine.
Just like him.
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He woke, panting, with the image of Hank-Beast-burned into his mind. His doctor, his almost-friend, snarling in his face, his yellow X-Men jumpsuit bright against his blue fur. His lips pulled back to reveal his glistening fangs, and the growl that reverberated out of his chest seeming to shake the whole room.
He faced off against Erik-against Magneto-there to put a stop to his plans, once again.
Because Charles had found out. Because Charles sent him.
He could see the disappointment shining in Hank’s eyes and knew it reflected the disappointment Charles felt.
Erik sat up shakily, wincing as he adjusted the helmet on his head. He couldn’t believe he’d been sleeping in the thing for years, so afraid of Charles getting in, getting an opening to work his magic on Erik.
It was almost laughable, now. He had spent weeks in the telepath’s presence, not only without the helmet, but without any idea that he needed it.
It’s what he had been afraid of for years, and yet it had been…nice.
He sighed, slinging his legs over the side of the bed as he gave up on sleep for the night.
He missed Charles.
He despised Charles.
The man had taken advantage of him at his very weakest, had kept him from his followers, from his mission. And who knows what else. Erik had no idea how much the man had been in his mind, looking, searching, tinkering.
And yet, he missed him, so, so much.
He didn’t just miss those few weeks, the blossoming of feelings that had taken him completely by surprise, the realization that Charles was returning his every look, interest and affection sparkling in his blue eyes. He wasn’t just left to agonize over that one night, those few hours of touching Charles, of feeling that soft skin under his hands.
Because every time he thought of that night, the memory of another night would sneak in. He’d remember how Charles looked under him, and suddenly, he’d remember how he looked over him, healthy legs clenched on either side of Erik’s hips, his body undulating as he rose and fell above Erik.
Every look, every smile, every touch-they all had echoes, reverberating through the years, layer upon layer of memories.
He had loved Charles, not once, but twice. He had fallen for him and his sunny smiles and his ridiculous ideals twice over, and no matter how angry it made him, he couldn’t shake the want that throbbed within him.
He remembered missing Charles, now, remembered the sleepless nights right after he left, aching for the other man. He remembered his longing, his frustration, his anger, as time passed and the X-Men began to be a thorn in his side.
And now he was living it all again, in memory and reality.
He paced to the window of the compound du jour, small and sterile, just like the rest of the surroundings. Outside was pitch black, but Erik could feel the twenty-foot fence surrounding the building, the barbed wire curled over it’s top. The grounds were overgrown and unkempt, the building appearing abandoned by design.
It was a far cry from the Westchester mansion.
He had grown to consider that house home, to feel comfortable there, to feel welcome. He had played with the children, talked with Hank, and flirted with Charles within its walls.
But somehow he had to return to thinking of it as the base of his enemies.
He looked out at his bleak surroundings, and tried to remember that this was what he wanted.
This was what he had chosen.
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“They’ve got mutants,” Mystique said defiantly, slamming a stack of papers down in front of him.
Erik squinted at them wearily. “You’re sure?”
“Emma confirmed. There are mutants in the building.”
Erik looked up at her, seeing the righteous indignation burning in her yellow eyes. A look that he foggily remembered seeing in his own, every time he glanced in a mirror.
He picked up the papers, shuffling through, trying to pick out the pertinent information at a glance. “Being experimented on?” he asked, feeling his anger start to rise.
It was a good feeling, a familiar feeling.
“What else would they be doing with them?” Mystique sneered.
Erik looked up sharply. “Emma didn’t say?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “You know she doesn’t have that kind of range or control. It’s not like she’s-“ She stopped mid-word.
“Charles,” Erik supplied.
Mystique winced.
No, Emma was nothing like Charles. She didn’t have his power, but she also didn’t have his morals, his ideals. She was happy to commit any atrocity in the name of mutant rights-even Shaw’s dream of the end of all humankind.
Emma looked at him, cold and calculating. She narrowed her eyes, despite his ever-present helmet, as she slunk closer.
“So what now?” she all but purred, hands on her slender hips. She cast her eyes around the sparse safe house Azazel had transported them to. “Do you even have a bed in here?”
“I’ll make sleeping arrangements,” Erik grunted, discomfited by her empty gaze.
“I wasn’t talking about sleeping, sugar.”
She was a cold, crafty bitch, who threw herself at Erik at every opportunity. If she wasn’t warming the boss’s bed, it seemed she didn’t know what to do with herself.
Erik wore his helmet as much to keep her out as Charles. Maybe more.
“So what does she know?” he asked, impatient.
“Three mutants on the premises. Twenty humans. Government funding,” Mystique rattled off.
Erik squeezed his eyes shut. It was exactly the kind of set-up he used to jump at, racing in, guns blazing.
A single mutant was normally enough to set him off.
He’d bring the whole building down, along with every human in it.
Now, though, he hesitated.
Why?
“Tell Azazel to be ready in an hour,” he said, trying to sound resolute.
“We’re bringing the whole team?”
Erik paused. “Let’s leave Sabretooth.”
Mystique gave him a sharp look. “Why?”
“Someone’s got to guard the house,” Erik snapped.
Sabretooth wanted bloodshed, no matter what the mission. He would tear the humans limb from limb and watch them bleed out, a spluttering, crying stump of a torso.
Erik had seen him do it.
“Fine. One hour,” Mystique bustled out of the office, in full mission-mode.
She was efficient and ruthless. Just what Erik had wanted in a second-in-command.
He hadn’t seen her blonde form since the night she showed up in his bed.
He hadn’t seen compassion in her eyes in almost as long.
What would Charles say, he wondered, if he knew how Erik had changed his sister, twisted and bent her to his will?
She had been so quick to laugh, offering easy smiles to those around her. She had liked to dance, to sing along to the radio. She loved Charles.
And now…?
Now she was what he had made her-a killer, just like him.
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Chapter Twelve