Instinct

A discordant chorus of metal on metal rings out as wrenches, screwdrivers, scalpels and pens all clatter back onto the benches. A lone screwdriver rolls over the lipless edge and impacts loudly with the floor. It lies, unmoving where it has fallen.

Alex watches the shallow breaths rattling through his father’s chest with trepidation. Erik’s body lies limply in the chair, his eyes closed and his face pale.

Shaw circles the chair slowly, deliberately. The expression on his face is one of pure, giddy delight. Alex’s stomach clenches painfully as Shaw leans in closer. Face inches above Erik’s. His father is hurt and vulnerable and Shaw is drinking it all in. He wants to do something, stand between them, but the sharp bloom of pain across his face keeps him rooted to the spot. Shaw could strike out in a split second and Erik is defenseless beneath his hands.

Shaw reaches out to trace the raised lines of veins on the back of Erik’s hand.

“What power I have given you.” His voice is quiet and awed. “All this time. The potential, right here in your body.” He steps back. An artist regarding his masterpiece.

“I have set it free.”

His blue-eyed stare cuts through the air and lands on Alex. Piercing through him where he stands. His head tilts, taking in every inch of him. Alex’s chest constricts, his breathing grows thin. His father’s nightmares of dark places and pain with no end and hands that seek only to tear him apart…

Alex sees them all in the man stalking towards him.

“Alex, I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.” Shaw speaks lightly. He descends on Alex. His steady steps carry him with deceptive pace. Alex tries to back away but there is nowhere to go. His back collides with Logan.

“No. No.” He pushes back against the man, searching for some give. An escape. He is a wall and there is no weakness.

Shaw reaches out a hand, fingers just touching the curve of Alex’s chin.

No. No. No. Don’t touch me. Don’t be here. Don’t do this.

“No!”

A voice that is not his own steals Shaw’s attention. He stops, hand falling slowly away from Alex’s face.

“No.” Logan’s voice cuts in again. Low and steady.

Alex stumbles backwards as the strong presence behind him gives way. Logan steps around him, claws sliding out.

He stands between Shaw and Alex.

There is a new tension in the room and Emma shares a quick glance with Moira in her periphery. Her companion is tense but gives little visible sign of it. A slight twist of her right heel, a tightening of her lips. Emma is well versed in reading beyond the surface. With Shaw it is always a tedious task.

Here he is, a vicious child with a brand new toy. The barrier that now stands between him and his prize only makes him more dangerous.

“Logan.” His voice is condescending. “You are no longer worthy of my attention.” He gestures back behind him at Erik’s slack form. “You have been surpassed.”

Shaw is a cruel master. His words are poison but Logan has not been Shaw’s puppet for many years. Emma allows herself a small smile. Not Shaw’s puppet. Hers.

Logan’s claws glint as he twists them in the fluorescent light. “Back off.” He is terse and ready for a fight. “You‘ve done enough. This kid is not an option.”

Shaw scoffs in mock offence. “All my hard work. Look at what I made you.” He gestures broadly at Logan, unconcerned by the blades brandished near his face. “Nothing was easy with you. I had to build you from scratch and even now you are just an afterthought in my legacy. You are just the experiment I made you but this, this is creation.”

Emma bites her tongue to keep in a groan. Moira is not so restrained beside her. She can indulge Shaw his moment but she senses it is coming to an end. The boy takes another small step backwards into Logan’s protective shadow. His terror shows on his face. She reaches into her pocket. She does not have time for Shaw’s posturing.

“The value you hold lies in the resource I stored in you.” Shaw continues, finally acknowledging the claws in such close proximity to his throat. “You are a deposit box. Nothing more.”

“I won’t let you make him like me.” Logan spits.

Emma sees the tension coil in his shoulders, sees the control about to snap and silently curses Shaw for blundering in and breaking what is hers. What she has made hers with patience and time and words and effort.

But she is still a chess player and this is her pawn.

“I am sorry, James.” She offers to the angry, broken weapon across the room. He spares her a brief glance, his rage finally breaking back through to the surface.

He lashes out, claws slicing through the air. Shaw is twisting aside, slipping out of reach like oil but Emma is already activating the small device in her hand.

Logan’s attack stutters and halts. His hand raised, frozen in its arc. A river of silver trickles from his tear ducts.

His eyes search wildly before they find hers. His expression is not one of betrayal.

It is one of peace.

Logan stops. A cold, paralyzing ache spreads inside his head. His limbs collapse beneath him. His eyes shutter closed, blinded by a layer of something thicker than tears.

The floor is cold against his side but it feels more like home than anything has in longer than he can remember. This darkness is not terrifying. It is not unknown.

It is a place where he can rest.

He made a decision and it was his and no one else’s. Rage bleeds out of him and he does not think of Shaw or Frost or pain and blades that tear his knuckles to shreds.

He thinks of the satisfaction of choice.

It is not the worst feeling to leave with.

Emma swallows heavily. She will allow herself that. Every weapon has an off switch. It is an inevitable outcome. She looks away from the body on the floor. One more mess she will have to clean up.

Shaw steps over the still form before him, straightens his jacket and proceeds towards the boy with a callous shake of his head. Alex is frozen to the spot, fully exposed to Shaw’s advance, staring at Logan’s body in horror.

She looks away from them, she cannot be distracted. Shaw is drawn by shiny things but her focus must remain on the main event. It is still in progress, unconscious in the nearby chair.

Except that it is not.

A metallic symphony announces the change in situation.

Erik is already tearing through the second wrist tie when Emma’s gaze lands on him and before she can breathe a word he is propelling himself across the room.

Shaw turns sharply but he is not fast enough to counter Erik’s momentum. Erik collides heavily with Shaw, arms wrapping quickly, desperately around his neck and drawing him into a chokehold.

A small screw protrudes from his grip, pressed tightly against Shaw’s jugular.

Erik’s teeth are bared in a savage betrayal of the toll the sudden movement has taken on his body. He is shaking slightly and leaning heavily on Shaw but his arms trap his tormenter’s neck in a death grip.

Emma follows Erik’s wild stare to Alex, standing stunned a few feet from his father.

If she has learned anything from Shaw’s methods over the years, it is this: There is nothing more dangerous than a man with something precious to lose.

And Shaw has given Erik power that only increases that drive. Increases his danger.

Shaw, with his clumsy fingers, prodding at weakness and stabbing in the dark does not know how to harness that power.

Emma though, she has some ideas.