E.R./X-Men: Allegiance [1/8]
Title: Allegiance
Fandoms: E.R./X-Men Movieverse
Spoilers: Up to the end of E.R. season 13, rewriting "I don't," rewriting X2, and ignoring everything that came afterwards on both fronts, except for some backstory borrowed from X3
Characters: Ray, Neela, Jean, Xavier, Abby, Cyclops, Kovac, Gates & pretty much all the X2 ensemble
Pairings: Ray/Neela, canon pairings
Wordcount: ~ 33,000 words
Rating: teen (PTSD, discussion of child abuse, mutant hate, things going boom)
Summary: Ray doesn't need the Professor to tell him that you can't outrun your past. But that doesn't mean he'll stop trying - even when his mutant powers destroy the life he has built in Chicago, and William Stryker targets his old team.
AN: This fic is a reimagination of X2 (and parts of E.R.), pretty much like the story might have worked out if Ray Barnett was a central comicverse character who thus had to have been a part of the movie. I hope that many people will have fun reading it no matter the fandom combination is so obscure! Thanks to gabilar94 for answering questions about Boston, and to millari, who did a fabulous job betaing. She, BTW, doesn't know either fandom, so if you're considering reading this despite only knowing one of them, I think it's absolutely worth a shot. Plus, there are fandom cheat sheets.
Fandom Cheat Sheet for those who don't know E.R. -- Fandom Cheat Sheet for those who don't know the X-Men Movieverse
Prologue
Chapter 1
Ray pointed at the glass in front of him to request a refill. Then he drained it in one go. Neela and Gates. He couldn't remember how he'd ever thought it would all end well.
People were laughing behind him, chatting away and twirling across the dance floor. Abby looked stunning in her wedding dress, though from the way Hope was glowing, one could have confused her with the bride. It was probably ridiculous to have let himself be caught up in the celebratory mood of the wedding. It wasn't a mood that had a lot to do with the kind of person he wanted to be in the first place. But still. He'd had a feeling that tonight would be the night. He'd had a feeling that things would finally clear up between them.
Boy, and he'd been right. Things had cleared up plenty.
Running his hand through his hair again, Ray conceded that he was both too drunk to still be supposed to be here, but, also, to give a shit about it. Nothing left to do at this point but get plastered and numb the impact.
But it was never that easy.
Someone had walked up to stand next to his stool at the bar, and Ray groaned to himself when he heard the familiar voice. "Hi, I'd like a dry and dirty Martini and a Tequila Sunrise, please..."
Great. Exactly what he'd needed to make his night.
It was asking too much for Gates to just not notice him, or let it go.
"Hey Ray. What's shakin'?"
A startling pang of pressure built up in his head, trickling like an electrical shock, then resolving. Ray balled his hand into a fist. He hadn't been pissed off enough to consider using his powers since med school. Then again, Gates had always been special.
"Dry and dirty?" He snorted. "I should have figured that one out.
"Asshole," he muttered.
The mere thought of losing control in public because of that nitwit sent a special spark of rage down his spine. Ray wasn't sure if his voice had betrayed it, but the world was swaying too much for him to dwell on it.
Maybe it was better to focus on his drink.
Gates smirked. "Hey, Ray, I don't know if you noticed, but there's a party going on here. Everybody's having a good time, dancing and things... So any time you feel like, you know, jumping in, just get off your little stool..." He gesticulated at the bartender, then pointed at Ray. "Hot coffee for him! Keep it coming, fast and black, won't you?"
The intern turned to walk away, satisfication about having won the petty exchange coming off him in waves. Everything about him screamed provocation, too much of it to not be an act. Ray shook his head. A part of him continued to be amazed that that guy was for real, and that he couldn't just laugh him off. If it wasn't for Neela...
If it wasn't so fucking personal.
He'd lost her to that guy, for fuck's sake. Not to just another man, but to him.
"You're a real prick, you know that?" he called after Gates.
The energy was tickling him again, pressure building up from the urge to assemble and charge it. Xavier was wrong, because it wasn't that he couldn't control it. He could control it just fine. It was the urge to control it right in Gates' face that was so overwhelming.
Gates turned around. Adrenaline and alcohol were clouding the world. Yet the fact that Gates had just been waiting for a way to pick a fight was clear on his face, coming through hard. Like a bully in a schoolyard fight, Ray thought unkindly.
Don't you know what I could do to you?
Gates crooked his head. "What's your damage, Ray?"
"Whoa, guys," Pratt's voice was saying somewhere close.
Ray stood up from his chair. He didn't sway - he was quite proud of that. Looking at Gates again, he decided to relish the opportunity. "My damage is that you walked into our E.R. like you owned the place. Can't say I appreciate that." He smirked, still not quite ready to take Gates for full. He'd take the bait anyway, though. It seemed like just the best idea he'd ever had. Just come at me. Just try. You've had it coming for every time you fucked up in the E.R. For every time you treated Neela like shit. "You want to leave a mess wherever you go, that's up to you. But there are two things I won't let you screw around with. That's patients’ lives and..."
There was that pang of pain again, right in the middle of the sentence.
Gates raised his eyebrows. "And what, Ray?"
He smiled without warmth. "And her."
"Hey, I take care of her, you sulky little pissant."
I can't believe I'm only doing this now.
It was the last coherent thought before drunk anger fully took over, coloring his vision.
"Yeah, like you took care of Meg."
There was such a thing as fighting words. Ray knew it before they'd even left his mouth. There was such a thing as words that might as well have been punches. All color had drained off Gates' face.
For a second, nothing happened. Then he flung himself at Ray.
Pratt and Morris were lunging forward in the corner of his eye like they'd seen it coming, putting themselves between them.
But Ray had moved already.
The world reeled forward; everything happened too fast. His hand was up before he could stop himself - no controlled and precise move like Lehnsherr had once taught him, but more of a vague upwards wave, far too easy to prepare - and there was screaming. Pratt was swept off his feet with a shout of surprise, and Gates - Ray's eyes were burning into Gates, all focus - had flown through the room, crashing against a wall in the distance. Ray swayed. The power within him had merged into the psionic field, pressed forward and imploded in one swift motion - more of a blow, less of a shield.
People were on the ground around him, nobody standing before him for several feet. Just like that, the music died down.
Somebody screamed, high pitched, and stopped.
"What the fuck," Pratt groaned, trying to pick himself off the floor.
There was a moaning sound from Gates, moving but not lifting his head.
Ray swallowed hard. He turned, eyes seeking out Neela.
She was staring at him from across the room, white as a ghost despite her dark skin, not an ounce of understanding on her face.
His ears were suddenly ringing.
There was no wedding celebration anymore. Everything had stopped. Without looking, Ray knew that everybody was staring.
He'd done this.
Too fucking drunk to remember how to do a roundhouse kick, but never too drunk for this.
Abby. Strangely, that was the first clear thought on Ray's mind. I shouldn't have done that to Abby.
To Abby and to his own life, that carefully erected one that he'd planned on clinging to and making come true more. The one where telling himself that he wasn't a mutant almost made it real.
I might have killed him.
It was suddenly hard to keep his balance; his head was feeling light.
There was a crash when Morris, realization dawning on his face, tried to scramble away from him on all fours but hit a fallen chair. He scuttled around it, hurrying off into safety.
The sound of polished boots on the dance floor, and Dr. Kovac was bending over Gates to softly call his name, eyes never leaving Ray - caution learned in a war zone.
It was too much to take in. Ray was in motion before his conscious mind caught up.
"Ray!" Pratt - an attending's order to stop.
People rushed out of his way; he knocked over a chair but barely noticed. The broad doors of the hall were coming closer, and seconds later, a wave of fresh cold air hit him, blowing through his suit and clearing that terrible silence in his head away.
There was no way he could deal with this. There just wasn't. Ray kept moving, not minding where he went. Fuck.
---
It had to be hours and at least two bars later, although Ray hadn't thought to keep count. He didn't want the night to end, he wanted to drown in scotch and to forget. Nondescript buildings growing out of the darkness he passed by, the freezing night air was starting to clear his head again and he really didn't want that to happen. He knew he should go home. He knew he should fish his cell out of his pocket and check why the fuck it kept buzzing.
The police had probably told people to try and contact him.
He stumbled when crossing the street, swearing at himself for thinking that it could be Neela, hating himself for grabbing the damn thing and still reacting in his guts when her name lit up on the display. Fuck. Goddammit. Fuck.
It buzzed again, sliding out of his hand, and the strain of bending over to grab it made him stagger again. Ray closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath, before looking at it. Still her name. Maybe police was standing right next to her. Maybe she'd say, Why did you do that to me although they'd told her to stay calm, and, I thought you were human, at least and he'd--
Headlights were suddenly blinding him. Horns were hoinking. Ray twisted around, staring at the truck rushing towards him, but it was already too late.
His last coherent thought was of his powers - you can stop this you can't use them again you can stop it remember what--
The figure came twirling out of nowhere, glimpse of white hair fanning, pushing him off the street with her full weight. The screams of the truck became overwhelming and Ray's back connected, hard, to the heavy concrete on the sidewalk. The truck rushed past, getting the hell out without slowing down, already gone.
The slim woman who had crushed him to the ground had scrambled to loom above him before her weight had even made an impact, her motions startling and swift.
"What do you think you are doing!" she shouted, stark dots of white pupils the only fixed point in the dark, African accent heavy. "You idiot, Threshold, that truck would have killed you if I hadn't found you! You could have used your powers to stop it! You pigheaded---" It became gibberish at that point or rather, Ray's muddled brain supplied, probably Swahili. Thunder rolled and exploded above them in a moment of localized fury. It just figured that the atypical flare of temper unreeling at him startled him more than the sudden change of weather. The weather, he was still used to.
Xavier's cavalry had arrived.
Ray groaned, attempting to get up and giving up on the thought when the world tilted dangerously. His stomach was revolting.
"Are you hurt?" 'Ro asked, voice low and clipped. "You would deserve to be."
He tried to get up again. "Just drunk."
"The more things change." The idiom sounded weird coming from her, much like the whole situation felt. He had to have scared the living crap out of her.
The clouds above them were thinning out rapidly. 'Ro had turned her head upwards as she spoke, clearing them away to show the moon-lit sky again. When she looked down, her eyes had changed back to their normal color, and she had calmed herself by what had to be iron force of will. She could have been any woman - if a really angry one in a weird uniform - tilting her head.
"What are you even doing here?" Ray muttered. Like he didn't know the answer already. It was what the X-Men did, after all, it was what they'd even built Cerebro for. If mutants were in need, the X-Men came to help them out. It was an almost perfect repetition of the first time around except it was 'Ro instead of the professors.
And hopefully, except Gates wasn't dead. Ray's stomach churned again.
"The Professor led me here with Cerebro. He said there was an accident at a wedding," 'Ro said, as if it explained it all. It probably did - the Blackbird could make it to Chicago in less than an hour. Then, "You could have stopped that truck with your powers."
Ray thought of wiping that smirk off Gates' face, clouded memory of that drunk decision. Accident. He couldn't even call it faith that Xavier had in him, it was just ridiculous all over. The force field had been perfectly deliberate, and it had felt really good at the time. It still did. The bad decisions always had.
"I could have hurt the driver if I'd used a force field."
'Ro just gave him an exasperated look. She'd been there, Ray remembered - the day he'd decided to leave the mansion for good, shouting match with Scott and all, daring them to try and stop him - daring them to say he couldn't make it on his own.
Instead of arguing, though, 'Ro just extended her hand. Well - Ray guessed there was nothing left to argue about, not after tonight. He considered her hand for a moment before accepting, letting her help him up. He'd fucked it up.
Time to go home.
on to the next part
Fandoms: E.R./X-Men Movieverse
Spoilers: Up to the end of E.R. season 13, rewriting "I don't," rewriting X2, and ignoring everything that came afterwards on both fronts, except for some backstory borrowed from X3
Characters: Ray, Neela, Jean, Xavier, Abby, Cyclops, Kovac, Gates & pretty much all the X2 ensemble
Pairings: Ray/Neela, canon pairings
Wordcount: ~ 33,000 words
Rating: teen (PTSD, discussion of child abuse, mutant hate, things going boom)
Summary: Ray doesn't need the Professor to tell him that you can't outrun your past. But that doesn't mean he'll stop trying - even when his mutant powers destroy the life he has built in Chicago, and William Stryker targets his old team.
AN: This fic is a reimagination of X2 (and parts of E.R.), pretty much like the story might have worked out if Ray Barnett was a central comicverse character who thus had to have been a part of the movie. I hope that many people will have fun reading it no matter the fandom combination is so obscure! Thanks to gabilar94 for answering questions about Boston, and to millari, who did a fabulous job betaing. She, BTW, doesn't know either fandom, so if you're considering reading this despite only knowing one of them, I think it's absolutely worth a shot. Plus, there are fandom cheat sheets.
Fandom Cheat Sheet for those who don't know E.R. -- Fandom Cheat Sheet for those who don't know the X-Men Movieverse
Prologue
Chapter 1
Ray pointed at the glass in front of him to request a refill. Then he drained it in one go. Neela and Gates. He couldn't remember how he'd ever thought it would all end well.
People were laughing behind him, chatting away and twirling across the dance floor. Abby looked stunning in her wedding dress, though from the way Hope was glowing, one could have confused her with the bride. It was probably ridiculous to have let himself be caught up in the celebratory mood of the wedding. It wasn't a mood that had a lot to do with the kind of person he wanted to be in the first place. But still. He'd had a feeling that tonight would be the night. He'd had a feeling that things would finally clear up between them.
Boy, and he'd been right. Things had cleared up plenty.
Running his hand through his hair again, Ray conceded that he was both too drunk to still be supposed to be here, but, also, to give a shit about it. Nothing left to do at this point but get plastered and numb the impact.
But it was never that easy.
Someone had walked up to stand next to his stool at the bar, and Ray groaned to himself when he heard the familiar voice. "Hi, I'd like a dry and dirty Martini and a Tequila Sunrise, please..."
Great. Exactly what he'd needed to make his night.
It was asking too much for Gates to just not notice him, or let it go.
"Hey Ray. What's shakin'?"
A startling pang of pressure built up in his head, trickling like an electrical shock, then resolving. Ray balled his hand into a fist. He hadn't been pissed off enough to consider using his powers since med school. Then again, Gates had always been special.
"Dry and dirty?" He snorted. "I should have figured that one out.
"Asshole," he muttered.
The mere thought of losing control in public because of that nitwit sent a special spark of rage down his spine. Ray wasn't sure if his voice had betrayed it, but the world was swaying too much for him to dwell on it.
Maybe it was better to focus on his drink.
Gates smirked. "Hey, Ray, I don't know if you noticed, but there's a party going on here. Everybody's having a good time, dancing and things... So any time you feel like, you know, jumping in, just get off your little stool..." He gesticulated at the bartender, then pointed at Ray. "Hot coffee for him! Keep it coming, fast and black, won't you?"
The intern turned to walk away, satisfication about having won the petty exchange coming off him in waves. Everything about him screamed provocation, too much of it to not be an act. Ray shook his head. A part of him continued to be amazed that that guy was for real, and that he couldn't just laugh him off. If it wasn't for Neela...
If it wasn't so fucking personal.
He'd lost her to that guy, for fuck's sake. Not to just another man, but to him.
"You're a real prick, you know that?" he called after Gates.
The energy was tickling him again, pressure building up from the urge to assemble and charge it. Xavier was wrong, because it wasn't that he couldn't control it. He could control it just fine. It was the urge to control it right in Gates' face that was so overwhelming.
Gates turned around. Adrenaline and alcohol were clouding the world. Yet the fact that Gates had just been waiting for a way to pick a fight was clear on his face, coming through hard. Like a bully in a schoolyard fight, Ray thought unkindly.
Don't you know what I could do to you?
Gates crooked his head. "What's your damage, Ray?"
"Whoa, guys," Pratt's voice was saying somewhere close.
Ray stood up from his chair. He didn't sway - he was quite proud of that. Looking at Gates again, he decided to relish the opportunity. "My damage is that you walked into our E.R. like you owned the place. Can't say I appreciate that." He smirked, still not quite ready to take Gates for full. He'd take the bait anyway, though. It seemed like just the best idea he'd ever had. Just come at me. Just try. You've had it coming for every time you fucked up in the E.R. For every time you treated Neela like shit. "You want to leave a mess wherever you go, that's up to you. But there are two things I won't let you screw around with. That's patients’ lives and..."
There was that pang of pain again, right in the middle of the sentence.
Gates raised his eyebrows. "And what, Ray?"
He smiled without warmth. "And her."
"Hey, I take care of her, you sulky little pissant."
I can't believe I'm only doing this now.
It was the last coherent thought before drunk anger fully took over, coloring his vision.
"Yeah, like you took care of Meg."
There was such a thing as fighting words. Ray knew it before they'd even left his mouth. There was such a thing as words that might as well have been punches. All color had drained off Gates' face.
For a second, nothing happened. Then he flung himself at Ray.
Pratt and Morris were lunging forward in the corner of his eye like they'd seen it coming, putting themselves between them.
But Ray had moved already.
The world reeled forward; everything happened too fast. His hand was up before he could stop himself - no controlled and precise move like Lehnsherr had once taught him, but more of a vague upwards wave, far too easy to prepare - and there was screaming. Pratt was swept off his feet with a shout of surprise, and Gates - Ray's eyes were burning into Gates, all focus - had flown through the room, crashing against a wall in the distance. Ray swayed. The power within him had merged into the psionic field, pressed forward and imploded in one swift motion - more of a blow, less of a shield.
People were on the ground around him, nobody standing before him for several feet. Just like that, the music died down.
Somebody screamed, high pitched, and stopped.
"What the fuck," Pratt groaned, trying to pick himself off the floor.
There was a moaning sound from Gates, moving but not lifting his head.
Ray swallowed hard. He turned, eyes seeking out Neela.
She was staring at him from across the room, white as a ghost despite her dark skin, not an ounce of understanding on her face.
His ears were suddenly ringing.
There was no wedding celebration anymore. Everything had stopped. Without looking, Ray knew that everybody was staring.
He'd done this.
Too fucking drunk to remember how to do a roundhouse kick, but never too drunk for this.
Abby. Strangely, that was the first clear thought on Ray's mind. I shouldn't have done that to Abby.
To Abby and to his own life, that carefully erected one that he'd planned on clinging to and making come true more. The one where telling himself that he wasn't a mutant almost made it real.
I might have killed him.
It was suddenly hard to keep his balance; his head was feeling light.
There was a crash when Morris, realization dawning on his face, tried to scramble away from him on all fours but hit a fallen chair. He scuttled around it, hurrying off into safety.
The sound of polished boots on the dance floor, and Dr. Kovac was bending over Gates to softly call his name, eyes never leaving Ray - caution learned in a war zone.
It was too much to take in. Ray was in motion before his conscious mind caught up.
"Ray!" Pratt - an attending's order to stop.
People rushed out of his way; he knocked over a chair but barely noticed. The broad doors of the hall were coming closer, and seconds later, a wave of fresh cold air hit him, blowing through his suit and clearing that terrible silence in his head away.
There was no way he could deal with this. There just wasn't. Ray kept moving, not minding where he went. Fuck.
---
It had to be hours and at least two bars later, although Ray hadn't thought to keep count. He didn't want the night to end, he wanted to drown in scotch and to forget. Nondescript buildings growing out of the darkness he passed by, the freezing night air was starting to clear his head again and he really didn't want that to happen. He knew he should go home. He knew he should fish his cell out of his pocket and check why the fuck it kept buzzing.
The police had probably told people to try and contact him.
He stumbled when crossing the street, swearing at himself for thinking that it could be Neela, hating himself for grabbing the damn thing and still reacting in his guts when her name lit up on the display. Fuck. Goddammit. Fuck.
It buzzed again, sliding out of his hand, and the strain of bending over to grab it made him stagger again. Ray closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath, before looking at it. Still her name. Maybe police was standing right next to her. Maybe she'd say, Why did you do that to me although they'd told her to stay calm, and, I thought you were human, at least and he'd--
Headlights were suddenly blinding him. Horns were hoinking. Ray twisted around, staring at the truck rushing towards him, but it was already too late.
His last coherent thought was of his powers - you can stop this you can't use them again you can stop it remember what--
The figure came twirling out of nowhere, glimpse of white hair fanning, pushing him off the street with her full weight. The screams of the truck became overwhelming and Ray's back connected, hard, to the heavy concrete on the sidewalk. The truck rushed past, getting the hell out without slowing down, already gone.
The slim woman who had crushed him to the ground had scrambled to loom above him before her weight had even made an impact, her motions startling and swift.
"What do you think you are doing!" she shouted, stark dots of white pupils the only fixed point in the dark, African accent heavy. "You idiot, Threshold, that truck would have killed you if I hadn't found you! You could have used your powers to stop it! You pigheaded---" It became gibberish at that point or rather, Ray's muddled brain supplied, probably Swahili. Thunder rolled and exploded above them in a moment of localized fury. It just figured that the atypical flare of temper unreeling at him startled him more than the sudden change of weather. The weather, he was still used to.
Xavier's cavalry had arrived.
Ray groaned, attempting to get up and giving up on the thought when the world tilted dangerously. His stomach was revolting.
"Are you hurt?" 'Ro asked, voice low and clipped. "You would deserve to be."
He tried to get up again. "Just drunk."
"The more things change." The idiom sounded weird coming from her, much like the whole situation felt. He had to have scared the living crap out of her.
The clouds above them were thinning out rapidly. 'Ro had turned her head upwards as she spoke, clearing them away to show the moon-lit sky again. When she looked down, her eyes had changed back to their normal color, and she had calmed herself by what had to be iron force of will. She could have been any woman - if a really angry one in a weird uniform - tilting her head.
"What are you even doing here?" Ray muttered. Like he didn't know the answer already. It was what the X-Men did, after all, it was what they'd even built Cerebro for. If mutants were in need, the X-Men came to help them out. It was an almost perfect repetition of the first time around except it was 'Ro instead of the professors.
And hopefully, except Gates wasn't dead. Ray's stomach churned again.
"The Professor led me here with Cerebro. He said there was an accident at a wedding," 'Ro said, as if it explained it all. It probably did - the Blackbird could make it to Chicago in less than an hour. Then, "You could have stopped that truck with your powers."
Ray thought of wiping that smirk off Gates' face, clouded memory of that drunk decision. Accident. He couldn't even call it faith that Xavier had in him, it was just ridiculous all over. The force field had been perfectly deliberate, and it had felt really good at the time. It still did. The bad decisions always had.
"I could have hurt the driver if I'd used a force field."
'Ro just gave him an exasperated look. She'd been there, Ray remembered - the day he'd decided to leave the mansion for good, shouting match with Scott and all, daring them to try and stop him - daring them to say he couldn't make it on his own.
Instead of arguing, though, 'Ro just extended her hand. Well - Ray guessed there was nothing left to argue about, not after tonight. He considered her hand for a moment before accepting, letting her help him up. He'd fucked it up.
Time to go home.
on to the next part