A Captain Scarlet/X-Men Multiverse Story by Caroline Smith

Magnolia Jones paced up and down in her cramped quarters, gnawing on her knuckles and knowing that with every moment that passed she had to do something to stop Conrad Turner. After supper her premonition had continued to bother her, and so ignoring what was practically a command for her and Seymour to retire for the night, she followed Conrad, unseen, to the Control Room. Once there she eavesdropped on his ultimatum to the World Government. She listened with mounting horror – he planned to hurt millions of innocent people – and she knew she couldn’t stand idly by and have more blood on her hands.

But realistically, what could she do? It was her alone against Conrad, for she had grave doubts that Seymour would believe her unless he heard it from Conrad’s own mouth. She put her face in her hands in dismay. Somehow she had to get into the control computers and find out where the virus was located, and maybe she could destroy it before it was too late.

Determined now, she crept back along the corridors to the Control Room. Thankfully, on entering, she found it empty, silent except for the hum of the computer systems. She crossed swiftly to the main console, the nerve centre of operations, and ran a hand across the smoothly contoured surfaces, jittery at the thought of what she was about to do. Taking a seat, she flicked her fingers hesitantly across the touch panels. The system requested an authorisation code. With a dry mouth she entered the alphanumeric sequence from memory, praying that nothing had changed – it had been a while since she had last accessed the system. She gave a gasp of relief when the code was accepted and a multi-coloured holographic image-screen activated above the console. It took her agonising minutes to search – and she glanced nervously at the doorway every now and then – as if she expected either of the two men to appear at any minute - but she persevered until she found what she sought – the location of the virus canister. With a feeling of exhilaration she started to back out of the system when the sound of the door sliding open made her jump.

Her heart sank like a stone as she saw Conrad standing there. Suspicion chased surprise across his face.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

She flew to her feet, the chair sliding backwards, and desperately tried to keep the guilt from her face. Conrad walked cross to her with measured strides, his eyes narrowing as they raked over the holographic image suspended above the console. He hit a panel on the desk and the image dissolved.

“What’s your interest here, Magnolia? I wasn’t aware of your technical skills.”

The cold, flat tone scared her and she feared he must surely hear the thudding of her heart against her ribs. How could I ever have been so crazy to have believed he cared about either of us?

It was only now that she realised how little warmth he had in his soul. He was using them all right; if only Seymour wasn’t blind enough to see that for himself.

He leaned towards her, his dark, mesmerising stare pinning her into immobility.

“What a shame I can’t read minds like Gray. I wonder what I’d find in your pretty head.” His eyes narrowed, as if he really was trying to unlock the hidden thoughts of her mind.

God, don’t let him hurt me…

“I’ll ask you once again, why are you rooting around in the system?”

“Please,” she said quietly, her voice pleading. “Don’t kill those people down there, don’t make Seymour do it, please don’t.”

She tried to stop herself from trembling as he towered over her: a vision of black malevolence. She was backed up against the console, her escape route blocked. And in any case, where would she go? She had to bluff him out. She jumped suddenly, as he raised his gloved hand to her face and stroked the curve of her cheek in a gesture that was a peculiar mixture of intimidation and tenderness.

“So, you obviously overheard my address to the world. That’s a great pity, my dear.”

She was drawn into those dark eyes, felt swallowed up in them. For a second she couldn’t breathe. She nodded quickly, trying to swallow the hard lump in her throat, hardly daring to speak in case anything she said made it worse, or, heaven forbid, revealed that she knew where the virus was kept.

His eyes glittered, and he gripped both of her wrists hard, so she was unable to touch him.

“Stop it, you’re hurting me,” she said.

“I do not trust you, Magnolia, and I believe you will try to turn Seymour against me. You know I just can’t allow that to happen.”

Her heart twisted inside with sick terror, and in desperation she struggled, and opened her mouth to scream, hoping against hope that Seymour would hear her. When he saw Conrad’s act of naked aggression against her – surely that would be enough to convince him of the man’s evil intentions? But Conrad clamped his hand firmly over her mouth, silencing her cry. He brought one finger of his other hand slowly towards her temple. Her eyes widened in terror and she squirmed within his vice-like grasp – his finger stabbed against her temple –

- the sudden jolt of electricity through her brain stunned her instantly and she crumpled like a deflated doll in his arms. He lifted her up, cradling her against his body.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he whispered to her deaf ears. “You’ve become a liability. I can’t allow you to deflect your step-brother from his tasks; he’s far too valuable to me. You however, are not, anymore.”

He carried her all the way to her room, remaining alert for Seymour’s presence. He would think of some explanation for her absence. A virus perhaps, caught on her sojourn at Gray’s mansion. That amused him. He smiled grimly as he dropped her gently onto the bed. He changed the access code to her room and reminded himself he would have to bring some foot and water to her quarters while she slept. He was not so sadistic as to starve her to death.

Dianne fidgeted with her engagement ring as she watched Rick slip on his thin black under-sweater in the basement locker room. “Why can’t I come with you?” she asked him.

“The fewer bodies on this trip the better.”

“Why aren’t you taking the X-Zero?”

“The security in Unity is going to be at fever-pitch; even with its stealth cloaking, our baby would stand out like a lap dancer in a convent. We’ll just take a Trans-World flight from Boston and mix with the locals.”

“You’ll be gone for ages.”

He smiled and tipped her chin up. “Hardly; we can make it back in twelve hours or less, assuming we don’t get arrested by the Secret Service.”

She bit her lip at his attempts at levity, unable to raise a smile. Ever since she had returned from Henderson Technologies she’d been overcome by feelings of misery and guilt, and time only seemed to make it worse. The few occasions she’d attempted to discuss her battle with Karen Wainwright with Rick, he seemed to brush off her concerns, insisting that she hadn’t had any choice, and he was just damned thankful that it wasn’t her lying comatose in the basement infirmary. But she needed to talk this out, not just have it dismissed with a hug and a kiss. He just didn’t seem to understand what she was going through. It was all right for him, he had such control over his power, so much control over himself – even to the point of seeming emotionless to people who didn’t know him better.

“Hey, babe, you’ve gone space-walking again…” she heard him saying. He took one of his leather jackets from the closet and pulled it on, zipping it closed. Then he pulled her tight in a strong embrace, and whispered against her hair. “I know this is hard, and I don’t know what’s going to happen, but as soon as I get back, I’m going to treat you to dinner, just us, all candlelight and romantic music, and the hell with Magneto and his threats - just for a few hours – what d’you say?”

She drew her hands up to cup his face, and then his lips were on hers, warm and soft, his golden aura encircling her.

She held her tears back with force of will.

President Younger smeared a hand across his face, as he cut the connection to the vid-phone. It was late, he was tired, and Loover had thrown no crumbs of comfort his way in their conversation. At the end of another frustrating day, the limits of their technical intelligence had become painfully apparent. Loover’s people had been unable to trace the breach into the communications satellite, which meant they were no further forwards to determining the location of this Magneto character. They were, of course, assuming that he was running around Unity City somewhere, planning to carry out his attack. Looking for him amongst the teeming millions in this tightly-packed cityscape would be like searching for one particular ant in an anthill. But what if he wasn’t even in Unity? That resulted in an even more depressing scenario.

And, he thought grimly, despite their assurances to the public that the threat was some fruitcake’s hoax, he and the Security Council had to assume that it was in fact, wholly legitimate. Even as he sat here, in the luxurious surroundings of his office, extra forces were being drafted in; silently and surreptitiously scouring the city for evidence of potential terrorist activity, and trying to accomplish it without alerting the general populace. For three square miles around the Senate Building the entire complex was being swept with detectors for explosives and biological agents. Traffic had been discretely diverted on the premise that there were problems with utility lines in the area. That kept ordinary members of the public away from the most probable area of attack.

But it was a painstaking task, and as the appointed time approached, they would have to come to a decision as to whether the risk was real or not. But one thing was sure. Stopping the voting process would make the government look weak in the face of a mutant terrorist threat. And that wasn’t a good thing. Shore and Martin were right about that.

An odd sound made him glance up – and his breath caught in his throat as he saw two intruders in his office, just a few feet away from where he sat at his massive oval desk.

His eyes narrowed as he took them in. He judged one of them to be a little older than himself, smartly dressed in a dark-blue suit and seated in a wheelchair; his tall brown-haired companion wore dark-red, polarised glasses and was dressed in a black leather flight-suit. He wondered for a heart-stopping moment if one of them was this Magneto guy, coming to him in person to exact his vengeance, yet his intuition told him that these people were not a danger to him. The thought calmed him, even as he wondered why none of his assigned U.S.S. agents were barging through the door and slamming both men onto the floor of his office.

“How in God’s name did you get in here?” he said, in as even a voice as he could muster.

The older man lifted a hand and said quietly, “Don’t be alarmed, Mr President, we’re not here to threaten you in any way.”

“My service staff –”

“Are exactly where they’ve always been. No one’s been harmed.”

Younger had been thinking he knew the man’s face from somewhere, but try as he might, the name refused to pop into his head.

The white-haired man spoke again. “Mr President, I apologise for this intrusion and for this rather childish display of our abilities. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Charles Gray, and this is my colleague, Richard Fraser.”

On hearing Gray’s name, Younger’s memory kicked in at last. “Professor Gray, I don’t understand; why couldn’t you just have made an appointment to see me?”

“Sir,” Gray replied, “I knew there was little chance of getting in to see you personally without some lengthy process, and we don’t have that luxury of time. I must speak to you regarding the threat made to Unity City by the rogue mutant who calls himself Magneto.”

“What do you know of him?” Younger said, in a harsher tone than he’d intended.

“We were good friends – once upon a time - and I know him well enough to believe that he is not bluffing. I ask you to consider taking his threat seriously.”

“Of course I take it seriously,” Younger retorted. “The world security forces have been on high alert since this terrorist’s broadcast.”

“Have you been able to locate his whereabouts?” Gray asked.

Younger frowned. “That’s classified information, I’m afraid.”

Fraser, silent up to now, cut in, “You haven’t, have you, sir? And chances are – you won’t.”

Before Younger could make a reply, Gray held up a hand. “Mr President, I would have preferred not to disclose this information, but under the circumstances I feel that honesty is necessary so that you begin to trust me. I too am a mutant, like Magneto – in my particular case it is the ability to read minds – ”

“So that’s how you got in here,” Younger interjected. “Did you tamper with my people’s minds?”

“It was merely an auto-suggestion to ignore us, so we could pass undisturbed into your office. I hope you won’t berate them for that lapse. I detested the action; using my powers in that fashion is anathema to me. However, as I said, circumstances sometimes force things upon you. Now, if I may continue on my original point?”

Younger exhaled, he had the distinct feeling that anything he might do would be pointless anyway. “Go ahead.”

Gray nodded and continued, “Another of my abilities is to be able to locate other mutant minds; however in Magneto’s case I have been unable to do so. That is why I’m here. I beg of you, please consider postponing the vote, in order to give us all some time to resolve this situation.”

Younger shifted forward in his chair, and frowned. “As I’ve already said in my statement to the press – we simply cannot allow ourselves to be blackmailed by the demands of any terrorist – but most especially one who is a mutant. Surely even you can you imagine what would happen if we did?”

Younger saw Gray’s face move in the faintest of sighs. No doubt thinking I’m just peddling that old politician routine. Well, I have to, or there would be chaos. He frowned as something Gray said niggled at him. “What do you mean – give us all some time?”

“I intend to find Magneto and stop him myself.”

“From war-hero to vigilante – a strange path you’re treading, Mr Gray.”

“We live in extraordinary times, Mr President. But I fear we digress. I repeat, the man I knew as Conrad Turner, who calls himself Magneto, is entirely capable of carrying out his proposed terrorist threat to the inhabitants of Unity City, and he will not postpone it. If you refuse to stop the voting process, then you must evacuate as many people as possible from the city, otherwise innocents will suffer; that I can promise you.”

“Are you out of your mind? Do you realise the resources that would take? Not to mention the widespread panic that would ensue. We are taking it seriously, but it could still be a hoax. We can’t afford to make the wrong decision.” Younger narrowed his eyes and he shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here having this discussion with you, why should I believe anything you say?”

“You’re an intelligent man and you didn’t get to this particular pinnacle without being able to rely on your own particular intuition. Do you believe I’m lying?”

Younger shook his head slowly. “Damn me if don’t believe you, just as you say; although if I were any of the other heads of the security forces….” Younger pictured Sam Shore sitting in this chair, “…let’s just say they probably would have nuked the building by now.”

“Which is precisely why I came to you directly, sir. This is not simply insincere flattery; I truly regard you as a reasonable man.”

“That I may be, but even so, I can’t accede to your requests. I’m sorry.”

Gray gave another almost imperceptible sigh, as if accepting the inevitable. “Then, Mr President, it’s entirely probable that you will be in the firing line as well.”

Younger smiled thinly. “Hazards of the job.” Another thought occurred to him. “You say you were unable to locate this Magneto up to now. That implies you will continue to try to find him. So, if you do succeed, you realise that the information should be disclosed to the security forces. We cannot have other mutants acting in vigilante fashion – do you understand me?”

Gray regarded Younger with an even gaze. “Indeed, if I succeed, you will be the first to know, sir. And I hope that you will still consider my alternative. Here is my card, if you need to contact me - if you should change your mind.”

Younger accepted the proffered white card, noting Gray’s moniker and contacts details in silver. There was something trustworthy and sincere about the man, even though Younger knew that to grant his request was out of the question. He glanced up then, about to shake Gray’s hand in farewell, and with a start of surprise, realised he was sitting alone in his office.

Dianne stared at Karen Wainwright. She hadn’t meant to come down to the infirmary, but something drew her here, even though it felt like pouring alcohol on a graze. Karen lay, dressed in white, beneath stark white sheets, her head cradled on the pillow. Her face was shockingly pale, her breathing shallow. On the screen above her head, a moving blip traced the fragile murmur of her heartbeat.

“Are you in dreamland, Dianne?” Edward’s hand was waving in front of her eyes, dragging her out of her reverie.

She blinked. “Oh, Doc, I’m sorry, I was miles away.”

He smiled. “So I see. But now that you’re with me – what do you think of this?”

She wandered across to the body scanner with him, and looked at the direction of his pointing finger on the screen. The three-dimensional image of Karen’s brain was a complex array of vivid colours – each one representing different areas of cerebral functionality. Edward pointed to a section of chromatic blue, his other hand flicking crazily over the console which flipped up various windows on the split screen next to the images.

“Look here, this is interesting. This is part of the brain that Charles and I believe is where higher order telepathic activity takes place.”

Dianne peered closely at the display, and thought it was nice of him to assume she was more intelligent than she was. “I give up,” she said at last, with a sigh. “All I see are pretty colours, what does it actually mean?”

His voice rose in that excited way when he was afforded the chance to explain his work. “It looks as if activity in that area has stopped; the neural pathways seem to be bypassing it altogether.”

Dianne frowned. “So that’s what’s causing her comatose state?”

“It might only be a symptom of the primary cause.”

“What are you saying?”

Edward drew a deep breath. “I think she’s psionically numb.”

Dianne felt her stomach drop. “You mean she’s lost her telepathic abilities?”

He nodded.

“Do you think she’ll recover from her coma?”

Edward scratched his head. “Not entirely sure, she might, or might not. There’s still so much we don’t understand about this fascinating lump of tissue…”

Dianne bit her lip; Doc could be so infuriating at times. “That fascinating lump of tissue belongs to Adam’s lover,” she said, “and that’s not a lot of comfort to give him when he returns.”

And it’s my fault, she thought miserably.

“Her telepathic ability comes from the X-Factor gene and that’s still within her bodily make-up,” Edward tried to reassure her. “So, it’s possible she’s just suppressing her powers, almost like – a self-defence mechanism.” He stopped and sighed. “Look, at the moment, I just don’t know and that’s the truth of it. But I’m going to keep at it.”

He saw her doubtful glance. “When did Adam say he was coming back to the mansion?” he added.

“Tomorrow, I think,” Dianne replied, rubbing her forehead. “He had more problems with his board than he thought he would. And he doesn’t need all of this distraction. He blames me, I know he does.”

“From what I heard, there was little else you could do. When you’re in the middle of a fire-fight you’ll chuck water anywhere to put it out.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not the point. We’re supposed to use our powers for good, not to maim.”

She fell silent, and he pursed his lips, unsure of what to say to her. She traced a finger along the screen, at the vibrant colours, aware of the irony – vibrant wasn’t a word to describe the state of Karen Wainwright’s brain functions.

She said absently, almost to herself: “When I felt her mind crumple, I had the strangest sensation that a tiny part of her welcomed what I was doing – and I thought I felt that part of her mind join with mine – making my psychic-knife stronger…” She paused and turned to Edward with wide eyes. “Oh, God, what have I done?”

Distraught, and hardly able to look at the screen, she glanced across to the cot where Karen lay silent. The monitor continued its slow beep. For long minutes she waited in vain for a movement of fingers, a flicker of eyelids that would herald the awakening of the young woman. Whatever she had tried to do to her, Dianne did not want to be responsible for her being a vegetable.

Edward pursed his lips and swallowed uncomfortably as he draped an arm clumsily around her shoulder. “Look,” he said, “don’t torture yourself with this. There’s no point in hanging around here. Staring at her isn’t going to make her suddenly wake-up. Get upstairs and have something to eat. I’ll keep an eye on her and let you know if there’s any change.”

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

He looked at her with a touch of concern. “You’ll be a bag of bones at this rate.”

She sighed, and thrust her hands in the pockets of her skirt. “All right, I’ll eat something, if it makes you happy.”

“Good girl,” he beamed, and turned back happily to his work.

Dianne wandered back along the gleaming corridors of the basement and up into the main hallway of the mansion, still deep in thought. Psionically numb, it was the telepathic equivalent of going deaf and blind, and she tried vainly to imagine how she would feel if it happened to her….

During her ransack of Karen Wainwright’s mind, she had glimpsed so many images of hurt and betrayal. Forced into a mental institution. She shivered involuntarily. Despite everything, at least her mother had cooperated with her father to find a solution that was infinitely less traumatic than the one bestowed upon Karen Wainwright by her parents. She tried to imagine what might have happened to her if she had suffered the same misfortune. There but for the grace of God, she thought with dismay.

All of a sudden her legs gave way and she leant against the shiny smooth wall in the basement corridor for support. She clutched her head, as if to expunge the ability inside of her that caused all this sudden self-flagellation. Wasn’t this what she had always wanted? To have an ability as awesome as that of Juliette, or Gray, or Rick himself and to be able to control it and have it do your bidding?

And now, just as she had begun to feel the latent power finally blooming strong within her, she had used it to harm. The image of Karen Wainwright lying comatose on the cot refused to go away. She realised she had slumped down the wall, her bottom resting on the cold surface of the floor. She closed her eyes, letting her mind drift, silently repeating a mantra that Gray had taught her, steadying her inner universe. As she became calmer, she allowed her mental shields to drop, sending herself into a meditative trance, feeling her mind expand with butterfly wings, picking up the free-floating emotions around the mansion, her inner eye catching all the colours that she associated with each individual –

And she found one in particular – that familiar passionate red-hot aura – dangerous – unpredictable. She stopped. Felt her breathing ratchet up again. She knew where he was.

In his room.

Don’t even think about it – a little voice warned silently in her head.

She pulled herself up from the floor, her heart fluttering. With faltering steps she moved, like a sleepwalker: into the elevator, then along the corridor, up the sweeping staircase. She stopped for a moment at a window, and saw flakes of snow fluttering in the leaden sky to coat the grass below – winter still tenaciously refusing to give up its hold to spring. The grey sky only exacerbated the feelings of desolation that gripped her. For a moment she stood immobile, knowing she could turn back, and yet that scarlet-aura drew her. On she went, along the corridor of the sleeping wing until she reached the source of that siren-call.

The door was ajar, and she could hear him moving around inside. She took a couple of steps closer, her eyes searching the room, saw him, with his back to her, at the window, looking out towards the gardens at the rear of the mansion, as if in deep thought. Dianne stood still and breathless for a second; she knew that she stood on the edge of an abyss. One direction would keep her on the landscape she knew; comfortable, secure and loving, and another step forward would throw her into the unknown; treacherously exciting, volatile.

She lost her nerve, and turned away.

“Dianne, is that you?” he called out, and his head peered around the doorway, his sapphire-blue eyes locking onto hers like heat-seeking missiles. She used every ounce of her telekinesis to stop her face from burning.

“I knew it was you, halfway up the stairs,” he said in a low voice, tapping the side of his nose. “I always do.”

She gave a little laugh, to hide her embarrassment, and even as she did so, she sensed his mind – brittle and tight – as if he was trying to hold onto something – as if he was afraid of –

“You look tired,” he said, as if he sensed her focusing on him and wanted to interrupt it. “You should go sleep for a while.”

“You’re as bad as Doc; I couldn’t sleep if I tried.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked her, his dark brows knitting together. “You’re not still feeling guilty about that Wainwright woman? Seems to me she got what she deserved.”

She didn’t reply, and dropped her gaze in sudden embarrassment, but continued to feel his eyes burn into her.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” he said quickly.

She lifted her head with a little start at his perception, forgetting that he always seemed to see right through to her soul. It scared and thrilled her, and she remained rooted to the floor, even as her thoughts floated like wraiths, some of them whispering: go, go – before it’s too late.

“Yes, yes there is, but I don’t know if it makes any sense…”

He cocked his head at her. “You could try me and see.”

She swallowed the burgeoning sense of betrayal – stronger than ever at her desperation to pour out her heart to someone, anyone that would listen. How she had wanted Rick to hear her out, but he preferred to be miles away, trying to save a world that could care less about them, while she burned inside with fear and self-loathing. She stood, breathing deeply, her eyes shut fast. “I’m scared of my mutant telepathic power, of what my mind is capable of doing. I felt so strong after I merged with Cerebro, after finding you; for a while I felt I could do almost anything. But now, it all tastes like ash –”

The words came out in a flood now, as if desperate to finish what she had to say before he could interrupt her flow. “When I was fighting Karen – the White Queen – a tiny part of me actually enjoyed that sensation of power over another human being. It’s almost as if, how can I explain it, as if my darkest desires have come seeping to the surface. Adam says that’s what happened to her – that using her mind to control people was like a drug, and she got hooked.”

She looked up at Paul with wide eyes, and dared to speak the thought that had jabbed at her for days.

“What if the same thing happens to me?” she whispered.

He considered it carefully before answering. “It hasn’t happened to Gray, has it? From everything I understand about him, he’s a pretty powerful telepath. Perhaps you’re more like him than her, with his willpower, or – maybe - your sense of morality will kick in to protect you from it.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t feel that way right now; not at all.”

“You have people around you who are strong, and care about what happens to you. From what I gather, she had little of that to mould her sense of self. Anyway, the first rule of addiction is knowing when you are addicted. So, at least you’re recognising the fact, if that’s the case.”

He stopped for a moment, no doubt noting the uncertainty and agitation on her face. He opened his mouth, shut it again for a second, and then gave voice to his own thoughts. “Why are you talking to me about this? Have you told him about your feelings?”

She jumped. “The professor?”

“No, your fiancé.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “He doesn’t understand.”

She saw him smile – almost, and she suddenly felt foolish at the admission, and guilt at even discussing such intimate details of her and Rick’s relationship with this man she hardly knew. And yet I do know him in a way, I know every intimate detail of his life…

She sighed deeply. Oh, what’s happening to me?

As if sensing her confusion he said quietly: “What makes you think I understand what you’re going through?”

She clutched her arms to her chest, as if for support. “You’ve been around so long…you must have seen so much of life. You’re a soldier – you must have hurt people, killed them even… I wanted to know how you live with it.”

He shifted uneasily, the faint smile wiped off his face by her words. She saw it darken, and she instantly wished she could take them back. “I’m not sure I want to talk about it,” he said. “That era of my life holds no pleasure for me. It’s too easy to become desensitised to violence, to killing. That’s why what they did to me was so bloody awful. I behaved more like an animal, single-minded, no compassion, no rational thought beyond the kill. I was scared witless. I still am. Though all the pointers say I’m free of their conditioning, I still can’t shake the feeling that it’ll happen again. And if it does –”

His face was tight, devoid of emotion, but his hands had gripped the edges of the bed’s wooden footboard. Through their link she sensed his aura turn dark-red – swirling like molten lava – and from its depths – rose the black raptors of despair that she had glimpsed fluttering in his mind back at the X-Zero in the woods. Her mind suddenly became wide-open to his thoughts – and the raptors were let loose. They flew at her – swooping and shrieking – bombarded her with the secrets he had tried so hard to hide from her: mutant killer – mutant killer –

She uttered a little cry of shock, and stumbled against the edge of the footboard, grasping it to keep from falling. She sat down and stared at him with horror.

“So now you know,” he said in a dull voice.

Dianne tried to speak but her tongue was thick in her mouth. She had come looking for help only to find that Paul was wrestling with his own demons. And then, she heard his voice in her head:

< I told Gray not to tell you, but I knew I couldn’t hide the truth from you – and now you hate me for it and I don’t blame you. I never wanted any of this, please believe me.>

So stunned was she that she found herself unable to form a telepathic reply, and she watched helplessly as he strode across to the wardrobe, hauling his hold-all from the shelf. He dragged open a drawer and began to stuff clothes into it.

“W – what are you doing?” she stammered finally, out loud.

“Leaving, like I should have done already. It’s too dangerous for me to stay here.”

“But you can’t! I mean, what about Roberts, what about helping to stop him, and Magneto?”

“I’m not going to be a help, Dianne. I’m a crazy man.”

Her thoughts flew wild. “You’re not crazy, I won’t believe it.”

He shook his head, stuffing another vest into the bag. “I daren’t take the chance. Maybe Gray thinks everything is fine and I won’t lose control again, but I’m not convinced of it. I’m going to have to face hard facts, Dianne; it’s only a matter of time before they trace me here to the school, and then what happens? You saw how easy it was for Henderson, how hard do you think it’s going to be for the government to get into the school?”

“So what are you going to do – keep running for the rest of your life? What sort of existence is that?”

He stopped from packing for a second, and his eyes flashed with pain as he looked at her. “It’s my life, my choice, and after everything that’s happened I would have thought you would be glad to see me go.”

<You know that’s not true!>

For a moment the two of them remained rigid, staring at one another. The next, Dianne was only dimly aware of a blur of motion – and in the space of two heartbeats her wrist was grasped by strong fingers, and he was pulling her roughly across the bed towards him. With a slicing sound of metal through wet flesh the claws of his other hand extended, the points cold and sharp against her exposed neck.

“I’m a killing machine, Dianne,” he hissed savagely in her ear, “designed to destroy mutants; I can’t take the chance I’ll be responsible for that - that I might kill you….”

She tried to swallow in a dry throat; she hadn’t counted on this at all. Myriad thoughts and emotions teemed in a sparkling kaleidoscope of passion and fear and anguish that spun too fast for her to absorb. An obliterating sense of madness gripped her, washing away reality, leaving only the fact that they were touching – skin-to-skin – mind-to-mind.

<Paul, don’t do this…>

<Dianne – I - >

His emotions; pent-up desire, frustration, bombarded her, making her dizzy. And then she was seeing the images of her in his mind – saw him undressing her in his imagination – seeing the soft skin that haunted him. She gasped at the strength of it and closed her eyes, swept away by the intensity of the sensations. She felt as if he was actually touching her skin. It felt so real – all too real –

Then she felt the cold points retract from her skin, and her eyes flared open. They stared at one another for a moment, then some wild instinct and inner desperation moved Dianne’s head forward of its own volition. Her lips pressed softly against his and she heard him groan; it was almost a growl, a rumble deep in his throat as his eyes clenched shut against the sensation of the sweet pliancy of her body against his.

Her scent mingled in his nostrils, and through their link she felt his nerves tingle with fire. His cheek brushed hers, his rough stubble scraping her skin.

Her mind unlocked – self-control slipped, slid sideways – their colours blending, dissolving, until they had no idea where one of them began or the other ended. Being caught up in the maelstrom of their joined mental bond shattered what little self-restraint Paul had left, and she, the powerful telepath, felt her own carefully controlled will dissolve with his touch, becoming wholly subservient to the command of their bodies. Dianne’s mouth opened to his ravaging kiss, her arms sliding up and around his neck, locking her fingers in his hair. The kiss led into madness; he tore at her blouse and brought his lips to her neck, her breasts. No frustrated imagination this time; it was her, it was him, the taste of one another firing their blood. She was a flame that consumed him – a fire incarnate that threatened to burn away every sense of who he was, who she was.

He fell upon her; lost in the insanity, his teeth abrading her skin, like an animal in heat.

The beast…

His cry was a ragged, incoherent thing, dragged up from the depths of his psyche, shattering the siren-like grip of Dianne’s aura.

Through the searing heat of their passion had come an image: a tall man, wreathed in a golden aura, a man who personified a secure love, protection and a joy that had given her a solid base to her life. He froze – it was Fraser – he had no doubts.

With a superhuman effort he wrenched his mind and body free from her all-encompassing hold – his sense of honour the only thing that saved him from drowning in the awful sense of loss that followed the action. A vast chill swept into the empty space between them, like air rushing to fill a vacuum. Paul sat up as the red mist cleared; cold ash on his tongue in the aftermath of the conflagration. He wiped his face with one hand, and blindly staggered off the bed. Dianne rose to follow him, her eyes soft with despair.

“No!” he cried hoarsely.

She fell back, and again Paul saw the slippage in her eyes; and something shifted, displacing the momentary mix of lust and compassion that had triggered the yearning to comfort him with her kiss. With a strangled cry he did the only thing he could. He fled the room before giving her the chance to stop him.

A sudden storm had blown in from Canada, creating blizzard conditions around the eastern seaboard all the way to the Great Lakes, so Rick and Gray’s flight back to Boston from Unity was delayed by some twelve hours. Stuck in the airport, Gray had tried several telepathic summons to Dianne, but for some reason her thoughts were hazy, indistinct. After he admitted that he was unable to contact her, he saw Rick’s face tighten up and the younger man resorted to using his cell phone. Edward picked the call up and in answer to Rick’s anxious query about Dianne, he told him that she was probably still asleep. Rick asked about the others and Edward told him Brad, Patrick and Juliette had taken the students tobogganing and snowboarding, since the unexpected fall of snow had made them all stir-crazy. He assured the two men that everything was calm and no one had tried to break down the doors of the mansion in their absence, and Rick breathed a sigh of relief.

Finally they were able to board the plane, and Rick sipped abstractedly at a glass of mango juice as they waited for their clearance out of Unity. His other hand gripped the edge of his seat, the only outward indication that he hated sitting anywhere on an aircraft except in the pilot’s seat. He admitted to himself that he had gone with Charles for more than just the obvious reason. He felt guilty – but truth be told, ever since returning from the mission to rescue the others from Henderson’s clutches, he had felt a strange sense of exhilaration.

He didn’t try to explain it to himself - for fear that it showed a dark side of him he wasn’t sure he liked - but using his powers in real battle seemed to release all the pent-up frustration and anger he felt at life with his mutant curse. Despite All his years of self-control, all his fear about hurting anyone close to him with the slightest slip of his protective glasses, in upstate New York, fighting those mutants who wanted to kill and hurt him and his friends, he’d been able to cut loose, no holds barred, and he’d felt a sick pleasure in the process, like some teenager high on drugs.

Dianne wanted to talk about her issues with using her powers, but he was afraid that his own feelings on the subject might come out at the same time. And then he could imagine how much of a juvenile jerk she would think he was.

Dawn was breaking when they arrived at the mansion. Gray excused himself immediately and made for his quarters. Rick nodded, and made his way towards their quarters, cradling the exquisitely wrapped bottle of Verdain No 5 he’d spotted in the airport gift-shop in one hand – a small token to ask forgiveness for ignoring her before he left for Unity. Maybe they could spend a few hours in precious isolation together away from the others, and rekindle that spark of passion that had brought them together in the first place.

He keyed in the access code to his and Dianne’s suite and padded in quietly as the door slid open. His vision quickly adjusted to the gloom and he saw she wasn’t in bed. He frowned as he noted it was unslept in. He put the perfume down onto the dresser and left his room, to wander the remainder of the house looking for her: kitchen, den, library, and finally the basement. Doc was still sprawled across one cot in the infirmary, snoring softly and Karen Wainwright on the other, still comatose. Ignoring the fluttering in his guts he bolted back up the stairs to Metcalfe’s room; the door was ajar and he simply hadn’t noticed it first time around. With an almost uncontrollable sigh of relief he saw that this room was also empty with the bed unslept in. His eyes trailed to the hold-all on the floor, clothes half-strewn around it. Rick frowned again, anxiety gnawing at him. Where the hell is she? For that matter, where’s Metcalfe?

His thoughts in disarray, he didn’t think to wake any of the others, instead some inexplicable notion took him and he dashed out into the garden, leaving footprints in the slush on the lawns, all the way to the summerhouse – where she always went when she was upset or simply needed to escape –

Maybe I shouldn’t have left her, she was trying to reach out to me and I just – just –

He found her there, sitting on the curved bench, knees up against her chest, in foetal position, her head leaning against the glass, staring out to the garden. His heart thumped in his chest, dread stealing over him. There was something very wrong – he could feel it. She turned her head from the glass at his approach and he saw the haunted look in her eyes.

His mouth went dry; maddened thoughts whirling around his mind at what had got her into this state – trying to make sense of her tousled hair, swollen lips, and reddened eyes. His gaze dropped to the intense blue of the lapis lazuli butterfly around her neck.

And then he saw the marks imprinted on her skin…

“What in the name of God –” he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her, and he heard his voice crack, “Who did this to you – who did this?”

There were tears in her eyes, large, wounded tears that she struggled to hold back.

“It was Metcalfe, wasn’t it? That’s it, I’m gonna kill him, he’s a dead man,” he said in a flat voice. He pulled away but she clawed at him with surprising strength, dragging him back.

“Rick, no!”

“Dianne, let me go…just look at you, for Chrissakes!”

“It wasn’t his fault, it was mine!”

“What?”

He stared into those wide, blue eyes and saw the guilt swimming with the tears and he felt his whole world crumble into pieces around him.

“Rick, Oh, God, please I can explain! It isn’t like you think,” she said in a whisper.

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this. I trusted you – I trusted you! All the time he’s been sniffing around you - since the day he arrived - I was jealous as hell – but you told me to trust you – and I did – like the frigging idiot that I am!”

“I was lost, Rick!” she shouted at him. “You didn’t want to listen to me!”

“So you ran to Metcalfe?” he couldn’t stop himself shouting back. “Don’t kid yourself, Dianne, or me! Admit it; you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since he arrived. What was it about him – did you like the way he made you feel? Was I just way too tame for you?”

He was sweating and shaking inside, and he felt his control fraying. She backed her bottom across the seat padding, her eyes widening in dismay as he loomed over her.

“Rick, stop it, this isn’t like you –”

He leaned in – almost nose to nose with her - his breath hot and his voice harsh.

“You don’t want me to be like me! You don’t want good, old, reliable Richard Fraser; you want someone dangerous, someone unpredictable. Did he give your fantasies the edge they needed? Were you always thinking of him when I made love to you?”

“You’re scaring me. I didn’t want any of this to happen; you have to believe me – I just couldn’t help it!”

He ignored her, grasping her arm hard and her breath caught at the force of it.

“You want me to cut loose, hurt you the way he did – is that how you really like it?”

<STOP IT!>

Her eyes flared wide-open, the irises flashing fire and his fingers were forced away from her wrist and he was whirling, his back pinned against the glass, spread-eagled – unable to move. In utter shock, he realised he had heard her telepathic scream in his head. Then, her hands flew to her face and she fell back on the bench again, her shoulders convulsing in silent sobs. He felt her telekinetic grip dissolve, releasing him from the window frame…

<WHAT IN THE DEVIL’S NAME IS GOING ON?>

Rick flinched as Gray’s voice boomed inside his head – something that had happened only three times before that he could remember. He was instantly transported back to being a nineteen-year-old teenager again and it acted like a basin of cold water in his face.

Dianne had heard him too, and she sat up, sweeping her hair back from her face.