Et Lux In Tenebris Lucet by Artemis
It was fall, one of those gorgeous bright red-and-gold sunlit days, and Marie was at school, and he'd gone to meet her in the West Village.
That was how the day started.
Logan didn't particularly like how it had developed. There were soldiers, suddenly, and a pair of black vans, and if it hadn't been in the middle of fucking Washington Square Park with its million different scents he'd have realized it in time. As it was, he didn't notice a thing until the darts hit him in the back. Then all he had time to do was to order her to run before blackness overcame him. They'd known exactly who he was. It took enough tranquilizer to bring down a rhino to knock him out, and they knew it.
He wasn't sure how much time passed then. He was aware of needles, occasionally, and something running through his veins that burned and seemed to fuck badly with his mind before his body erased it. Whenever he was aware enough, he tried to lash out against whatever was holding him down, but he was never able to connect with anything that felt like it bled. He just wanted to keep them as busy as possible, to buy her time. At some point he became just alert enough to drag his eyelids open.
There was a hand in front of him, holding a syringe, and what was in it glowed strangely.
“More ketamine, and more of the neural inhibitor. He's coming out of it again.” And then they must have really dosed him, because he went out completely.
The first thing he realized, when he realized anything again, was that he was strapped to an examination table. That alone was enough to produce a rush of adrenaline.
The next thing he became aware of was that she was nearby, or had been.
Fucking hell. Whoever these people were, they'd gotten both of them.
“Wolverine, I'm aware you're awake. Please do me the courtesy of opening your eyes.”
His eyes snapped open, to be faced with glaring lights burning down onto him, hurting his sensitive retinas. He squinted and tried to turn his head, but there were blocks in place that wouldn't let him move. He didn't know that voice, not quite, but its rhythms and intonations seemed vaguely familiar. Almost-but Stryker was dead. And it wasn't his voice, not exactly.
Something was in his mouth, running down his throat-some sort of breathing tube, he supposed, and he couldn't speak. He could feel heavy straps over his chest, his arms and legs; his hands were bent back sharply and wedged into place with a bar across the palms of his hands. He imagined that the idea was that he wouldn't be able to pop the claws that way; he wasn't in fact sure that he could, and if he could and did the damage to his hands would be considerable. His arms were held at an angle to his body, anyway, so trying wouldn't accomplish anything. He looked down and saw the sensors attached to his body; machines that stood beside the table were recording things with soft beeps and whirrings.
He strained against the straps, but they weren't going anywhere.
A door opened somewhere behind him and he closed his eyes in anguish. He knew who was coming.
She came and stood quietly beside him; he could barely see her where she had taken up her position, and she smelled--odd.
“Rogue has proved more amenable to treatment than you have, Wolverine.” He clenched his teeth. What was this fucker doing to her? He was a walking dead man. That was all there was to it. “Rogue, please remove Wolverine's breathing apparatus. He won't be needing it for the present.”
She came around him and now he could see her, as she reached towards his face. She wore something black and close-fitting, not what she'd been wearing in the park. Her eyes were pale blue, and he recognized their blank expression all too well. Her gloved fingers took hold of the device and pulled; he coughed violently as the tube snaked through his throat. He didn't try to speak to her. He knew it wouldn't matter. He'd seen this before.
“What do you want?” He snarled it as soon as he could speak.
“That's a good question, Wolverine. What do I want…” The voice paused. “I want nothing from you, I'm afraid. Nothing that I would trust you to provide. We will use you, naturally, learn from you. But we don't need your cooperation for that.”
“Fuck you.”
“Language, language. There's a young girl present.”
His eyes went back to Marie in spite of himself. She showed no reaction to anything that was going on. “Let her go. She's just a kid.” This was intolerable. He didn't even know what the point was, beyond using her to get to him. “Just tell me what you want.”
“I want to see you suffer.” The silky disembodied voice was cool, detached. “And I would like the young lady to watch.”
Fucking hell on fire. He stared at her as men came into the room, men in white coats and military-issue clothing, She moved to the foot of the table when she was told to, stood quietly while they attached things to his body, patches with wires that ran to a box that stood beside the table, and he kept his eyes on her.
“I know you're familiar with the drug we developed. We've made adjustments to it, actually. I was rather surprised to see the level of your resistance to the new formulary. Artificial now, of course. That may have something to do with it.” The machine was turned on, with a strange humming sound as it powered up. “We welcome the opportunity for advancement of the science. Meanwhile, testing your resistance to other forms of trauma may prove enlightening.”
Logan braced himself before the first shock hit him. They weren't holding back; the electricity ripped through him, twisting his muscles into rigor before it ended, leaving him gasping for breath. “Again, please.” Another shock, and when this one ended one of the white coats came to make sure his straps were holding. If he'd moved a little closer, Logan was fully prepared to test the theory of extending the claws through his hands, but they'd obviously been warned. The man stayed out of range.
It went on for hours. They never asked him anything, never made any demands. None of it made any fucking sense. If they didn't want him, what the hell was this about? Although if all they wanted was to torture him-well, they'd certainly found the way to go about it, having her watch.
People were going to die for this. Slowly.
He was barely conscious when they finished, when they removed the electrodes and took her away. She hadn't moved a muscle from her place, hadn't shown the faintest sign of reaction to anything she'd seen.
He hoped she just wasn't aware of it, but he had a sinking feeling that that wasn't the case.
Someone injected something into his neck as he tried to turn his head to watch her leave, and he snarled and snapped his teeth at the retreating hand. He made contact with something that gave and heard a scream as his eyes rolled back.
Good.
He could still taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth when he woke up.
“Good morning.” The voice was back. “I trust you rested well.”
“What the fuck do you want?” He could sense a little more about this place now. Scents were becoming familiar.
“I believe we covered that yesterday.”
“What's the point of this? You want something.” Whatever it was, they had to know that while they had her, they had him. “Just tell me and let's get this over with.”
“Always trying to find the simple solution, Wolverine. It doesn't work that way.”
The door opened behind him and he tightened his lips. She came in, alone, and came to stand beside him again. He didn't look at her this time. “She can't help you. I can.”
“Oh, I don't agree with that. We isolated an interesting substance from your blood, one that may explain some of your increased resistance. She'll make a useful test subject.” The voice sounded amused. “It's certainly quite clear that she is your weak point.” The voice changed subtly. “Rogue. Pick up a scalpel, if you please.” Logan watched, horrified, as she turned to a tray of instruments and lifted a blade as directed. “I could have her slit her own wrists. Or yours. Which would you prefer, Wolverine?”
He ground his teeth, but remained silent.
“Rogue, please remove the gentleman's shirt.” And her hands reached toward his white t-shirt, pulled it free of his jeans, and the scalpel sliced up through it, splitting it. She cut through the arms and pulled the ruined garment free of his body, out from under the straps that held him down. Now she stood, the scalpel held lightly in one hand, waiting for further orders. “What would you like Rogue to do now, Wolverine? We have plenty of time.”
“Don't do this. She didn't do anything to you.”
“Would you like to put little Rogue out of her misery? She knows what she's doing, Wolverine. She just isn't able to resist the effects of the drug the way you are.”
“I will do what you want if you let her go.” He said it pointedly and clearly. If she could hear that, in any way--“This isn't going to help anything.”
“But it will, Wolverine. It will make me feel better.” There was something different about that cloying tone, and he couldn't quite place it. It sounded like the microphone was feeding back or something, there was a metallic tinge to it--
It hit him like a ton of bricks, and he just hoped it didn't show in his expression. It made sense, all of a sudden, the insanity of it all.
He didn't know why the hell that bitch was working with the government now, but the next time he stabbed her, he wasn't going to stop until there was nothing left but little blue scraps.
And this was just plain unequivocal bad. If it was her-this was a mind-fuck, pure and simple. There wasn't any negotiation to be made here, nothing he could bargain with. She wouldn't give shit about anything except revenge. She hated his guts.
And Marie was trapped in the middle of it.
“Rogue, please release the strap on the wrist nearest to you. Just the one strap.” She obeyed, and the block holding his left hand straightened out. His hand was still trapped under the bar that crossed his palm, but his wrist was no longer forced back. It didn't do much good--he still couldn't move his arm--but at least--
“Turn around, Rogue. Put his hand up against your body.” Her small hands closed over his, pressing his knuckles into her belly, and he felt a stab of pure fear. If he lost control--
“I won't,” he said thickly. “Don't be afraid, kid. I won't hurt you.”
“She wants you to, Wolverine. She told me she would rather die than do what I told her she was going to do today.” He stared at those blue eyes, willing her to show just a spark of recognition. “Not at the moment? Very well. Rogue? The scalpel, please. Open his bowels for me.”
Logan clenched his teeth as scalpel rose. Descended.
He refused to scream, refused to give any more reaction than what his autonomic systems forced from him. He wasn't going to have that on his conscience. Let her think he didn't feel pain. Anything. And he had to throw every bit of concentration he could muster into not popping those claws, because she was standing right in front of them.
He was covered with his own blood.
So was she.
His arms had been flayed down to the bone, more than once. She'd scored his face, his chest. She'd cut him deeply and shallowly, put her gloved hand into his cut belly and twisted his entrails in her fingers. Everything the voice told her to do, and without hesitation. The healing factor was holding, but barely--they were making her work slowly.
He just tried not to watch.
“I think that's enough for the day. Rogue? Why don't you kiss your little playmate goodbye until tomorrow?”
Sick goddamn bitch. Marie was leaning towards his face, and there was no good answer to this. If he turned away, and she knew it, it would rip her apart-and if the bastards hadn't been watching, he'd have kissed her hard enough to make her understand, if she remembered it at all, that he didn't blame her for this. But he knew who was watching, and damned if he was playing into that prurient little game.
So he held completely still as the small hands touched his face, slick with blood, stayed impassive as the soft lips met his, and then suddenly it occurred to him that this was skin-to-skin--
But she stood up, too quickly for the pull to begin, and left the room when she was told to do so.
He lay there, breathing shallowly. Soldiers in protective gear came, strapped his left hand back into place, hosed away the blood and gore that covered him.
He didn't sleep. He focused on memorizing every detail his senses told him about these people, this place. It wasn't big-with this kind of operation, it couldn't be. Too much risk of one fucking human being with a conscience slipping in; this crowd was inner circle only. And they weren't buried a mile underground-he could smell the outdoors on the men who came and went and sucked blood from his veins. That gave him some kind of hope.
She'd been cleaned up the next day as well, and she came in, as impassive as ever, to stand beside him. He wanted to try and reach her, try and speak to her, but he knew that would only be used against them.
“Good day, Wolverine. Shall we continue?”
“Do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Temper, temper.” A screen slid down in front of him. “First, a little instructional film.” The screen flickered into life and he saw, to his horror, that it was Marie, in another cell.
The drug had clearly worn off. She was huddled in a corner, sobbing hysterically, holding her bloody hands out in front of her.
“No. No. Please. I can't do this-I didn't. It wasn't me…” She was barely coherent. “Oh, god, please, no. No. No.”
It was ripping his heart out. As he watched, orderlies in full contamination suits entered the room, ignoring her screams, stripped her and forced her under a shower. He wouldn't look at that. All he wanted to do was somehow get free, find her, hold her. Tell her it was all right. When they had her dressed again, they put her down on a cot and strapped down her arms and legs. She had gone limp, unresisting, but after they left he could still hear her crying quietly.
“It's okay, baby,” he muttered desperately. He knew he could be heard, but it didn't matter. “Don't worry about me.”
“How very sweet.”
“Fuck you,” he repeated. “I wasn't talking to you.”
“No, I quite realize that.” The screen rolled away. “This goes on for some time, you realize. I'll play the full tape for you after we're finished today, but for now…”
“Whatever he makes you do, it's not your fault,” he said quickly. “Remember that, kid.”
“If you have anything to say, Wolverine, please address it to me.” It was a source of satisfaction that at least he'd forced that much out of that bitch. If she didn't want him to talk, it was because Marie could hear him, and that was all he had to work with right now.
“Fine. I'm telling you--whatever you make her do, it's not her fault.”
There was a pause. Then the door opened and someone else came into the room, one of the guards, and he smelled blood again. The man came to stand beside Rogue and handed something to her.
“This will probably make things easier on all involved. I'm assuming you won't attack the young lady the way you did the officer.” Logan saw that the man's hand was bandaged.
“Damn. Didn't get the whole finger off,” he taunted, and the guard started forward.
“That's enough. Rogue, put the mouthpiece on him.” It was similar to the protective gear boxers wore, but it had straps to hold it in place. He didn't fight when she held the device to his mouth, let her slide it in and fasten the strap behind his head. He could smell her so intensely, leaning over him that way; he tried to meet her eyes, but the cool blue gaze slid over him impersonally.
“The last two days we worked with physical pain,” the voice went on, amiably now. “Today…what about pleasure?”
No.
“Rogue. Begin with his chest. Gentle touch, as we discussed.” Her hands came down over him, began to stroke his body. “Be sure to keep your skin away from his, please.”
Oh, jesus christ. This was worse, somehow. He knew damn good and well that she had an attraction to him. For them to force her into this--she was the one being violated, and there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it.
He looked up and those strange blue eyes were staring back, impassive and icy. And it made him want to throw up that even while he was gazing into those eyes that weren't hers, even though he knew this was something the real girl would never do, it still felt good, the way her gloved hands were caressing him.
“Undo his pants, please, Rogue.” The voice grew even more malicious. “Or should we use first names? We're all friends here, after all. Go ahead--Marie.” Logan felt her hands moving down to obey the command as fury twisted in his belly. “We didn't have much trouble with her, as I told you. She was very forthcoming.” Goddamnit. That was information that could do Mystique no good at all, except that she wasn't supposed to know that and she was letting him know she did. That name was between the two of them, not--
Oh, christ.
Now she had the buttons of his fly undone, and he could feel himself hardening under her touch in spite of everything he was doing to will it otherwise. He didn't want her to see this. This wasn't something she was supposed to know. He was supposed to protect her, not react like some fucking horny teenager when she was being forced into touching him.
He told himself that, but it didn't matter.
He tried to shut his mind off from what was happening, to force down his body's response, but it was Marie doing this, and he couldn't ignore her. She was too much a part of him, too entangled in every part of his mind. And her instructions had obviously been explicit. She stroked him, teased him past the point of endurance. The mocking voice continued giving her instructions, suggestions, and she did everything she was told.
He came, hard, his teeth sinking into the rubber bit between them, but it didn't stop. She just continued to caress him with gloves now stained with his seed, and he wished like hell the healing factor didn't work as well as it did, wished that instinct wasn't as powerful in him as it was, because then the idea of her being marked that way wouldn't do what it did to his heart and his mind.
And Mystique wasn't finished with her bright ideas. There were condoms, which Marie rolled onto him with an all-too expert-seeming touch, and when her mouth closed over him he thought he would die with the humiliation of it, but she coaxed out his response over and over again, until he was sweating, gasping, twisting in his bonds.
When she leaned over him now, her scent was mixed with his, and that was so primal, so primitive a trigger in his brain, that there was no fighting it off. If they hadn't been where they were, he'd have lost himself in the intensity of that touch that he'd dreamed of for so long. He could feel his control slipping, and he was grateful as hell that they hadn't had her unstrap his hands today. He honestly didn't think he'd have been able to keep from that other release, not while her hands and mouth were on him, doing all the things he'd never even let his own sick mind imagine.
It didn't seem to affect her at all. She simply kept up the relentless assault until she was ordered to stop, and then she just stood there, expressionless, until she was told to leave.
He obviously hadn't been able to mask his reactions this time. His chest was still heaving with exertion when the screen rolled down in front of him again and the promised replay began. The impassivity she'd displayed in the room was a stark contrast to what he saw on that screen. He tried not to watch, but there wasn't anything he could do about the sound of her sobs echoing in the room.
At some point it switched to live action, and that was worse. She wasn't crying this time. She was in the same cell, walking back and forth along one wall, making no noise at all. She kept one hand on the wall as though she was afraid she'd fall if she didn't hold herself up.
She looked like a broken doll, all loose limbs and near-inanimation.
He watched as they brought her food, but she didn't eat. Eventually she sat down in a corner, rocking herself back and forth, still silent. She didn't fight when they came to strap her down again, either.
On the screen, he saw her raise her head and look at the camera. He could see her eyes were brown again. She swallowed.
“Just kill me,” she called out suddenly. “Please. Logan--”
The feed cut out and was replaced with the previous night's tape. Logan focused on staring straight ahead.
There were three more days of it. By the end of the next day he was stripped; clothing just got in their way, and his blood-soaked jeans were easily cut away. Sometimes they came to draw blood or run their own tests before they sent her in, but he saw her every day. At least it meant he knew she was still alive, though they didn't let him speak to her again.
When he could speak--they didn't want him dying, and they made her remove the mouthpiece to give him water--he always demanded to know what they wanted from him. Let Mystique think she was hiding in that control room behind the fucking microphone; damned if he was going to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her game. Sometimes it was one of the others giving the orders; it didn't seem to matter. Marie did whatever they said, and when they showed him the tapes from her cell she no longer seemed to be reacting at all. She would be sitting or lying still, unmoving, eating when a guard instructed her to, nearly catatonic otherwise.
He wanted to believe she just didn't want them to see her cry, but he couldn't.
They tried other drugs on him, things he could feel trying to get inside his brain. None of it worked for them for more than a minute or two, which gave him a savage satisfaction. He was no scientist, but Mother Nature plus however many years of an overcharged and consistently stressed enhanced immune system was kicking their engineered concoctions to the curb, and he taunted them with their failure.
Then they'd bring Marie back, and he cursed their success. They varied what they made her do to him, in fact they were pretty fucking imaginative about it, and it wasn't until the seventh session that anything changed.
She was leaning over him, preparing to give him water. And he saw that her glove didn't reach all the way down her wrist; it was caught up, hadn't been smoothed down into place over her arm. It wasn't much, but it was a bare chance. He raised his head and seized that bare skin in his mouth, sinking his teeth into her hard so she couldn't pull away. She dropped the cup she held and the water spilled down his chest.
“Rogue! Step back!” The voice on the loudspeaker sounded alarmed for the first time, and he knew there wasn't much time. But he felt the pull starting, felt his gift being sucked into her, and her eyes changed, grew wide and terrified even as their color darkened to familiar brown--he let go before he could black out completely.
“Marie!” She jerked her arm away from him and stumbled back, clutching it to her chest as the wound healed up. “Marie. Fast. Please. Get the straps. Now, baby. Please--” Thank god, she was reaching towards his arm. They'd be here--any second--
She got the wrist strap free, the second one, just under his elbow. He heard them at the door and with a roar he shoved her away, released the claws. He slashed down, heedless of the danger to his own body, tearing through the leather that held him. He was up and charging the guards before they could even get through the door, dispatching all three of them in a spray of blood. Alarm bells started to ring.
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Story Notes:
It's harder to recover from what you never saw coming.
Author's Chapter Notes:
And it begins...