Mutant By Any Name

Mutant By Any Name

The orange and yellow tongues lapped hungrily at the white paper, curling the edges first as it swiftly turned it all the black. Smoke wafted up and caused unfortunate gray haze to fill the air and clog the nostrils of the two people hiding in the depths on the building. The large furnace was a quiet end for the dangerous papers hiding inside, all turned to ash.

The secret task force would never be able to doom another to death with those files. With a triumphant smile, the young agent closed the door and slid the metal latch into place with a solid click. She felt, with that sound, as if she could take a breath at last after far too long.

After painstaking months picking through every dusty filing cabinet known to humanity, the evidence was finally gone, and it was really the last. Both of them took a few steps back, staring through the small window into the fire as they might have stared at a particularly stunning art piece. Tucking back a few stray strands of her dark hair; she cut it the day before they went in but having it shorter still seemed odd; fingers looping it behind her ear, Moira smiled to her cohort in crime.

In the dark room, his bright iceberg-blue eyes seemed to positively glow. Though he was not that much taller than she was, he always felt like he towered over her. The magnificent being before her towered over everyone regardless of actual height and he did not even have to try, simply exuding everything that warranted respect. Charles reached out and squeezed her hand, his shoulders lacking the slump they had for months. The ever winning and equally exuberant grin met hers ㄧ his thick beard hiding much of his face, transforming his usually soft, baby-face features into something less innocent, harder edged and more worldly; less the bright eyed genetic expert that smiled easily past the darkness shrouding a world only those with his gift could see ㄧ and he finally seemed freer.

Though his beard was trimmed ever so neatly, the sort of order the professor exuded over everything he did, she would never be used to seeing it there. He loathed it anyway, ever complaining that it itched; but it was functional considering how drastically different it made him look, which was exactly the point of it.

Agent MacTagger glanced back at the blaze beside her, still feeling the heat roll from the monster. The orange light gave her skin a glow it no longer could hold on its own after too many late nights, lab visits, and grief induced dieting. It did the same for the man beside her, making him look more full of life than he had since she and the boys carried him off the sandy beach ㄧ and it helped to hide the undertone of gray in his skin from the continued use of Hank’s serum that kept Charles functioning.

The first and biggest step was over, which brought a spark of pleasured relief to them both. This was the payoff for all their trouble.

"We've done it!" He exclaimed, that suave and smooth British accent appearing the way it only did when it was the two of them; for the time he had been faking his identity, he had been a highly convincing New York born Irishman. "We actually did it!"

Her chin dipped in a nod, still unable to wipe the grin away, "Yes we did!" Her arms could not help reaching for him to wind around his neck and she simply smothered herself in his wavy, longer-than-was-strictly-his-style hair. The returned hug made so much of the tension ease from her but she really could not help adding in a little cold truth, not the bright optimist she once had been any more than he was, "But we can't exactly rest easy yet."

"One step at a time, my dear. One cannot eat an elephant in one sitting." The good humor was not missing from his soft voice as he spoke but there was a distant resignation, "Such will always be the case but victory can be taken in every step. We have done well and we've secured many lives."

Her mind pessimistically tugged up the lives lost rather than won. As they searched records they simply reinvented the files of any mutant they encountered, altering ages, locations, and anything else they thought prudent. Many had been shown the way to the school by the two of them to safeguard their lives, especially the known ones in their respective towns, those sure to be drafted or rediscovered. Hank and the other boys had quite a growing gathering at the mansion, probably more than they knew what to do with; mostly the mutants were of fighting age or younger, but some were of age to recruit as promising teachers for a later date. With the trail erased, they were all safe at the school. Even so, it did nothing to lighten the weight from the heart of one agent and one telepath, not really.

It had been such a long time of very careful work, mountains of paper littering each of their respective tables, chairs, and beds. Waking up without the crackle of papers crumpling under an elbow would seem a strange thing now. Every waking and often dreaming moment was devoted to their cause and to erasing every scrap or note that ever existed to prove what records now stated had ever been different.

The Xavier family was rich but owned absolutely no property and kept no bank accounts so far as anyone would ever be able to prove again. One Charles Xavier died at young age while an unrelated one did indeed become a professor. The Xavier name was now elusive to find even if erasing it was impossible considering their standing in more than the US and England. While they could not touch London, this was enough to stop the threat for the time being. Though it would seem strange, the rich were known to carefully hide their money, most of all during war time, so it was also normal.

The school was home to a very old Mrs. Dillard and her multiple grandchildren: Henry Dillard, Shawn Dillard, Alexander Dillard, and Darwin Dillard. Their uncle, Charles Dillard frequented the house as well from time to time as an additional owner. Absolutely no mutants had ever stepped foot inside that old place of the highly paranoid old woman. Friends of the Dillard children may or may not have occasionally spent the night. Children would be children! Hank, never worked for the CIA, and neither had the other boys. All but Henry; who had too many health problems such as poor sight’ were too young to be drafted in the war.

Her grip on his much stronger, thicker hand tightened. It was all quite perfect and they had been very thorough, extracting documents from every possible place. They simply erased the vast Xavier trail but created new history for everything else. No easy task but after long months using her real badge ;also an assumed one of Rachelle Kinrose; and his fake badge that was real as far as any record for a particular fictitious agent Patrick Francis could be, they finally could take a breath. They were safe, or as close as anyone in an uncertain world. The last of the considerable paper trail was burned and replaced with innocent other documents of absolutely no interest to anyone.

God, they hoped it stayed that way! They already lost too much, they just could not let it happen again.

Moira started at the hiss of the water heater to her right, eyes darting about just in case. Her nerves were well worn of late and she was ever alert, fingers always ready at her hip holster. There was a time she was fearless, not frightened by every sound, but that was before she smuggled her closest friend into what amounted to a death trap.

While he was a telepath, everyone knew there were ways to circumvent his skills and if that happened, well, she cared not consider it long. Not after her one encounter with the laboratory of some twisted mind the government deemed essential. Fear was a constant shadow after that and guilt was its twin.

“Easy, love.” His lips pressed reassuringly against her hair and she felt the surge of comfort he sent her. God, she loved him, loved him more than anyone in her life and she did not care if he overheard that thought. Short of smudging her memory the way everyone believed he had, he could not fix her though.

“It’s fine.” She muttered.

Regret was a companion forever close at her side and she knew it would remain as such for the rest of her life. Had she done more and trusted less before, perhaps the three teachers at the school would never have died. Good men, all three, though Adam had been particularly gentle, much like Charles was before he met Erik. War was cruel regardless of who anyone was but it was instant death for known mutants, all instantly posted at the front. Sending mutants to their death was deemed no great loss and as good as killing two birds with one stone. It was no different than murder to send them alone in little groups to do as much damage to the enemy as possible before they died. It really-

"Take victory where you can find it, Moira." Charles cut into her sad and angry thoughts, pulling from his arms to look her over. "Sanity is only kept by taking steps and facing forward rather than back."

She smiled in spite of herself, never sure whether to smoother the man with his own hair or kiss him. He was still so very Charles, no matter how much grief was heaped onto his head. He was so much stronger than any man she had ever met in her life, the "better man" he always suggested lived inside people. So very much better! Better than humans ever would be. A metal manipulator had been right about that where it related to this man. Humans, she could not deny, were a speck of darkness compared to the bright light of anyone like Professor X. She loved his light even as she grew to loathe the darkness of humanity.

Her trail still existed, but she was a human and her connection to mutants had been utterly forgotten thanks to an unnamed ㄧ though not the young and perfectly human professor of genetics ㄧ and powerful telepath. Or that was what her entire workforce believed. They did not call him a genius for nothing. Equally, they believed she hated mutants thanks to having her life stolen by one and she vastly encouraged them in their thinking no matter how it disgusted her.

"I know... I know." She said quietly, "It just never seems enough."

His fingers flexed on her shoulder, rumpling her standard gray coat, "One day, when we look back, it will."

She knew he did not really believe that himself, she could see it in the hollow ache in the smile he gave her. Those smiles or fleeting looks in his eyes reminded her what the world had done to him, those moments when his shield slipped, she always knew that the innocent and joyously exuberant man she found in a bar would never be the way he once was. He said it anyway, to comfort her.

“Yes, one day.” She could speak things she did not believe as well and be convincing with a hopeful hint of a smile, so long as he did not read her mind.

There would never be an ending to what they had to do but she could endure anything with this man at her side. Perhaps it was petty to lean on him when so much already rested on those shoulders but she could not help feeling energized by him. Being with the man was like getting a shot of confidence in the arm. It was easy to follow him and trust in everything he said because she knew he was the best man in all the world. Perhaps he was not the strongest but he was the kindest and she loved him for it. Unlike some men with power, Charles used it differently. With his abilities he could rule cities but he chose not to. That, to her, proved everything she could ever need in order to follow anyone. Her faith in what she once believed was lost. Personally having witnessed the evil of both mutant and humans she could speak to the value of a good heart behind power.

She would do absolutely anything he asked because she knew, she trusted him. Trust was not easily won in her world but she trusted in Professor X irrevocably.

Those children were hers as much as they were his. Protecting them was a thing she would do without hesitation regardless of cost to her person or her oaths. Life and allegiances changed with the shifts of powers and the sway of those pulling the strings of justice. She could never follow blindly after those giving orders because she had seen what blindness did. Blindly following orders nearly began a war, split friendships, split family, and always hurt the most innocent involved; such as Charles and small bullets.

His hand was at the small of her back then, leading her toward the door, "But I sense people coming, so reveling might best be done outside, I think."

Her smile dropped in its entirety, "They found us? Do they know?"

The beating of her heart was already twice as high as a moment again, a tightness in her stomach and chest already present along with the first signs of a tremble in her fingers.

"No, nothing so dramatic, but it is better not to be seen."

He did not have to tell her twice before she latched a death grip onto his hand and dragged him at a trot down the hallways and raced him up the steps. She would let no one catch them, not ever! He would be found out over her dead body! If they got hold of him it would be with nothing left but bloody stumps from her and she would indeed fight them to the bitter end.

Moira tugged him along, taking extra care to keep the slight heel of her shoe from making too much noise as they escaped the section, weaving up back steps with cold cement steps and utterly no comfort to be had. The stairs were as much a trap as they were an escape but the enclosed space was of better use than the much frequented elevator.

Her hand stayed clasped with his, not wanting to risk his suddenly becoming unsteady; steps were harder for him when he was tired. The gun was still at her hip but she had removed the strap holding it down so it would be a faster draw if she needed it.

Once they were finally stepping outside, she let go of the breath she had been holding. Her very next act was to let go of his hand, still wary of anyone spotting them at that time of night.

She knew what she would say they had been doing, tossing her reputation to the dogs, but it would be an easy lie to sell. No one would blame her for the misconduct considering half the secretarial pool would slip into any vacant room with him on a moment of notice if he simply asked. He was good looking even with that beard on his normally smooth, boyish face. The ladies swooned for his charm, his well shaped shoulders, his swaying hips, and always his angelically evil smile.

“We should go.” He prompted, odd accent back in place, “My place or yours?”

They used so many little phrases that meant to many different thing, and she knew what that one meant. There were people around, people that were close enough to hear them.

She smiled, sultry and coy and fake, “Yours.”

Ch-Patrick purred at her, shifting suggestively closer, “Then let’s not waste time.”

They had been over things like this, what they should say and do. It was obviously too late to pretend they were coincidentally working late at the same time and would be going home separately. Other than the truth, there was only one other thing people would believe.

In the past he might have just pulled a trick from his hat and made whatever group it was forget, but since he lost his legs, since his body had to navigate the serum, he was weaker. If it was a large group he had more trouble getting hold of all of them the way he never would have before. That much alone told her there were quite a few people near them. They might be in trouble.

Patrick took her hand with that sensual and very signature flirtation of the professor she met in a bar, his slinky hips and torso swaying suggestively as he walked. He was so very good at this but it was all she could do to mirror it back, leaning in playfully against his arm. The trouble was that her legs were shaking and it was almost all she could do to walk.

All she wanted to do was pull out her gun and tell him to just run. They had the majority of what they came for! The boys were safe, the school was safe, and Charles was anonymous, so Charles also needed to be safe.

If Charles’ thickening act of seduction was indication; the increased touching, leaning, smiling, and caressing; whatever group was following, did not believe them. How long would they be followed?

“Let’s get to the subway!” Moira whispered, her lips hardly moving at all, “We can lose them in the tunnels.”

“They are anticipating that but we can try.” He whispered back and she was not sure if he spoke aloud or into her mind but it was starting not to matter.

“A taxi then. Even if the driver is one of them, you can take control of him.”

She was starting to see movement out of the corners of her eyes if she turned her head just so. They were in the streets, on the roof, and who knew where more. The two of them hurried into the main streets, both starting the breathe faster as they increased speed. They desperately needed a well populated space. While the streets were not as crowded as would have been ideal, or even moderately ideal, it was still a relief when they burst into the mulling people out for whatever reasons after work. Moira did not care who they were but she was glad to see them, breathing just a little better when she felt the brush of humanity one did not have to be a telepath to feel.

As luck would have it, they hoped, there were a few blazing yellow vehicles lazing by. Moira let her hand slip from his, almost jumping into the street to catch the attention of the first one, and she had never been so close to tears of joy as she was when it stopped for her.

Charles eased up beside her as she jerked the door open, a little glad she did not have enhanced strength for her force would have jerked it right off those metal hinges.

“Let’s-” Moira stopped instantly at soul freezing sound she knew too well followed by the startled grunt she heard from Charles and she whirled, locking eyes with him. Those sky bright eyes were wide, terrified and resigned all at once. They shot him, God, they shot him! She knew that metallic zing, knew it well and felt so sick even before his hand slid up to his neck. Adrenaline shot through her and she had him in her arms before she knew she moved, pulling him. They fell inside together and he tried to help her, curling his legs inside as she crawled over him faster than she thought she could, slamming to door as if that could save him from any more.

“Drive!” She had never sounded so menacing in her life, “Now!”

The little plumber looking man did not question her, he simply obeyed. His swiftness to follow her commands might have had a lot to do with his wide eyes fixed on the gun she hardly remembered pulling out.

Charles was sprawled over the length of the seat while she actively perched over him, sitting on his hip and hovering like a wild eyed tiger. Her free hand moved for his neck even if she knew it was too late. Before she could find what she was looking for he held the small dart up between them, looking at her with glazed and dilated eyes.