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Apr. 1st, 2012 08:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morethanhumanIn Erik’s wildest dreams, he would never have imagined waking up this way.
The safe house outside Washington DC was many things, but conspicuous was not one of them. For the past few days they had had to be cautious, lest the sight of a helmet or a swath of blue skin pique some neighbor’s curiosity. But they had, for whatever reason, gone almost completely unnoticed here; it seemed they actually were safe, as unlikely as that seemed. And Erik felt confident in asserting that if Charles had not been able to find them (assuming he would try, for Raven’s sake if not for Erik’s own) then certainly the agents of the United States government would be powerless to do so.
He had spent a week resolutely refusing to wonder if he had done the right thing, refusing to worry about those he’d left behind. They had made their choice, and Erik had made his. He could not allow himself to compromise when the future of every Homo sapiens superior was at stake. War was in their future, and no amount of burying their heads in the sand would keep Charles’s students safe when it came.
The night before, Erik had gone to sleep with the window open, a warm breeze curling through the room. It wasn’t Westchester, but it would do. It was a shock, then, to wake up to fluorescent lights and the taste of recycled air, the groggy feel of having been drugged slow to clear from his mind. The first sensation was confusion; what followed after was anger so strong it got him on his feet in a flash.
He made a quick survey of the room-- bare, utilitarian, with no concession to comfort. Institution, his mind told him. Prison. He barely registered the prone form of the man on one of the other beds, going instead to the open doorway and finding it was barricaded with a forcefield of some kind. He could see nothing of note in the hallway, not even another cell.
It was only when he held out his hand to apply his power to the wall, expecting it to cave and buckle and instead feeling nothing, that Erik began to feel the first tickle of fear at the base of his neck. “What,” he began to say, horror and disbelief building inside him-- but whatever else he might have said was cut off by a mumble from the person behind him, who had evidently begun to wake up.
The safe house outside Washington DC was many things, but conspicuous was not one of them. For the past few days they had had to be cautious, lest the sight of a helmet or a swath of blue skin pique some neighbor’s curiosity. But they had, for whatever reason, gone almost completely unnoticed here; it seemed they actually were safe, as unlikely as that seemed. And Erik felt confident in asserting that if Charles had not been able to find them (assuming he would try, for Raven’s sake if not for Erik’s own) then certainly the agents of the United States government would be powerless to do so.
He had spent a week resolutely refusing to wonder if he had done the right thing, refusing to worry about those he’d left behind. They had made their choice, and Erik had made his. He could not allow himself to compromise when the future of every Homo sapiens superior was at stake. War was in their future, and no amount of burying their heads in the sand would keep Charles’s students safe when it came.
The night before, Erik had gone to sleep with the window open, a warm breeze curling through the room. It wasn’t Westchester, but it would do. It was a shock, then, to wake up to fluorescent lights and the taste of recycled air, the groggy feel of having been drugged slow to clear from his mind. The first sensation was confusion; what followed after was anger so strong it got him on his feet in a flash.
He made a quick survey of the room-- bare, utilitarian, with no concession to comfort. Institution, his mind told him. Prison. He barely registered the prone form of the man on one of the other beds, going instead to the open doorway and finding it was barricaded with a forcefield of some kind. He could see nothing of note in the hallway, not even another cell.
It was only when he held out his hand to apply his power to the wall, expecting it to cave and buckle and instead feeling nothing, that Erik began to feel the first tickle of fear at the base of his neck. “What,” he began to say, horror and disbelief building inside him-- but whatever else he might have said was cut off by a mumble from the person behind him, who had evidently begun to wake up.