Instinct

Crack. His knees crash hard into the tiles. His body shudders with the impact. His arms reach out, grasping nothing. Nothing. Nothing. There. A sharp tug deep in his stomach. He grabs hold of it. Grabs hold with everything he has.

It weighs him down hard. Buzzes through him. He maps the edges of the box through the vibrations. Tries to reach around, below, any way to contain it, to slow it.

A loud, high pitched screech cuts back up the shaft towards him and he slams his eyes shut, lets the grating, scraping ugliness fill his ears until it sounds like victory.

He can feel the corners of the box, the thickness of its walls, the precious weight it carries. He feels every inch and his veins are like wires pulling, tugging, drawing it back towards him.

He is stretched so far he could snap.

The barrage of metal on metal urges him onwards and the elevator begins to shift. It is such a weight to bear. Too much. He pulls again. And again. A groan of frustration seeps through his lips, gathering in his chest until it is a roar of agony.

He blinks as something hot and thick and red streams from his eyes. His ears. His lips. His arms shake violently, outstretched before him holding nothing. Holding everything.

He can’t see. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

He pulls.

With a devastating crunch the box comes to a halt, half exposed in the shaft before Erik.

One last piece, solidifying in the ether. A solid, constant hum cutting through the rest. He flicks a finger and feels rather than hears the cuff click open. He blinks back the red from his eyes. His arms are sagging, falling. He has nothing.

A hand snaps out of the gap and slams onto the tile floor. Followed by another. Wrist red raw but clinging to the surface and then Alex is hauling himself up. Dragging himself out. Panting on the floor just out of reach.

Alive.

He lets go. Lets the box drop, severs his hold on it and lets it fall away.

And then so does he.

Alex is shaking and he cannot stop.

The floor is cold and hard under him and there is nothing to grab onto. Nothing to steady himself with. He gasps in breath after breath. He is alive. He is not falling. He is here.

His head aches with the adrenaline. The room is only just starting to stay still.

Straight. Go straight. That is where his father has fallen. He crawls, closing the space between them.

He crawls until their faces are side by side. Until he can see the slight flaring of Erik’s nostrils. The glazed eyes that waver and finally focus on him. The tracks of blood lining his father’s cheeks, running down his earlobes, staining his teeth.

He leans forward until their foreheads touch. His father is warm and he is steady and they are both here. They are both alive.

They share a shattered, silent moment. He holds his father’s gaze. His father who has destroyed himself. Who has done the impossible. He has saved Alex’s life.

Lying on the floor next to his father Alex has never felt more exhausted.

He has never felt more heartbroken.

He has never felt more loved.

She has done it. She has unleashed an unprecedented miracle. She has weaponised a man’s DNA.

Emma approaches the tableaux of father and son, tossing her gun down the elevator shaft. It does not announce the end of its drop until she has reached them.

Moira is at her side, unbidden and she smiles in appreciation, holding out her hand for the offered syringe. A quick stab downwards and Erik barely flinches when the tip enters his skin. His blood fills the vial quickly and she replaces it seamlessly with another. A practised efficiency that cannot be derailed by her excitement.

Moira snaps a small carry case closed around the precious data and Emma is already striding to the wall where the fire alarm is encased.

Jab. Smash. And a blade of glass is wrapped in her handkerchief. Erik is weak but she has unlocked him now. Unleashed him. She cannot take any chances.

Walking back over, she crouches down over Erik. A pointed nod at Moira has her pulling the boy away, trapping him with a knee between the shoulders. He is crying out but she only has eyes for Erik. She runs a hand through his hair, pulling back slightly to expose his throat. His own hand threads around hers, pulling weakly but unable to dislodge her.

“We have come so far Erik. The both of us.” She speaks quietly. His eyes drift to Alex, searching, before meeting her own. “What you can do is extraordinary.”

She must make him understand. Understand that he matters. Understand that he always has. But he will never come back to her side. He will be left behind. He must be. He was never a part of the next stage. She knows he will never use this gift for her. She has lied and she has used his son. Hurt his son.

She has done her job and this thread, this string she has threaded and rethreaded through sessions and plans and months and years…It has come to an end.

Emma looks down at Erik’s bloodstained face, at his had reaching out and unable to grasp anything, unable to stop the path of blade.

“You must understand Erik. These powers you have been given…I cannot let you keep them.”

Alex is screaming at her, bucking under Moira’s grip but she cannot listen. She cannot falter. She has killed two men today. Killed to do her job. This is the end of her plans. The final hurdle to her success. What is one more life?

Nothing. 

She brings the makeshift knife down in a smooth arc.

Erik sees the splintered glass aimed at his throat. He cannot feel anything. No hum, nothing to grasp, to push it away. His fingers are empty. He reaches out blindly and Alex’s hand closes on his. He can hear his son crying out but he does not look away as the blade swings down to his throat.

He does not look away so he sees the roof tile flung aside above their heads.

He sees two legs propel down and collide with Emma’s shoulders. He catches blonde hair in the corner of his vision as both bodies are thrown beyond his sight.  

The tools left in a mess.

The roof tile ajar above the work benches.

“Raven.”