The Senselessness of It All
by tina
Sort of a note:
This story is not only completely outside of Marvel�s timeline, it is
also outside of my own timeline.
There is graphic violence and warped minds in this one. Occasionally
there is bad language. If you're easily offended by that, I recommend
that you don't read it.
tina
______________________________________________________
Betsy Braddock aka Psylocke was in the observation booth. Thirty feet
below her, the naked body of a man was chained to the wall.
Sabretooth, or Victor Creed, as Professor X insisted on calling him.
During the months he had been in their cellar there had been heated
arguments about him almost every day. Wolverine had left, seemingly in
anger, but perhaps fearing the same fate. Gambit had used Sabretooth
as a punching-bag one terrible night, in rage and frustration.
Psylocke, who but for Wolverine was Sabretooth's oldest enemy, had
watched with cold curiosity as an animal watches another.
She was not proxy to the secret councils where the original X-Men met
and discussed Sabretooth's future, but as soon as she had a moment to
spare she went to the observation booth, to look at him. She never
spoke to him, nor let him know he was observed, but of course he knew
anyway. He knew her scent, her footsteps, the frequency of her
breathing and as any intelligent animal he knew when another predator
was near.
What she felt for him was not really hate or fear, it was closer to
fascination.In the booth, she could see him from all angles, magnify
the images, amplify the sounds he made. His resistance to telepathy
was formidable, but she could read his body language like no one else,
predict any movement, any reaction.
She didn't go down to him. Boomer had done that part, cajoled him into
drinking his milk, stood the insults and the threats until he sank
down into passivity and docility. She had tried to bring out the man
in him, but Psylocke suspected that she had only put the beast to
sleep. But the girl walked with a new spring in her step and an
I-told-you-so-look on her face as if she had won some kind of battle.
She definitely had an attitude. Psylocke disliked attitudes in others.
Warren was already turning elsewhere for comfort, getting drunk at
exclusive clubs and coming home late, smelling of smoke and perfume.
He couldn't see what attraction the serial killer could hold for her.
He didn't understand that as long as Sabretooth was alive, she could
never be free.
The lights went out. Small globules of floating bombs lit the thin
face of Tabitha Smith. The scrawny teen-ager gesticulated widely, her
face wrinkled up in anger, her most common expression. O teenage
years, so precious and so full of raging hormones. Psylocke reduced
Boomer to a midget on the screen and turned down the sound. She had no
wish to know about Boomers problems. That was not why she was there.
The girl must have picked the locks, she realised with a pang of
amusement. Trust Boomer to find a way to be stupid.
Psylocke knew that the Professor never would let go of Sabretooth. The
beast was the Professor's hope of redemption, after what he had done
to Magneto. After he had lost Logan. Let Val Cooper threaten to outlaw
them all. Sabretooth would never leave the Mansion. So many people
here claimed their right to him.
Suddenly all the screens flared white. The sound came through the
amplifiers a fraction of a second later. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The
observation booth swung wildly from the shock wave. Then the lights
went out. Psylocke clung to the armrests of her chair, stunned, and
decided that the situation had gotten out of hand. She reached for the
comm unit.
"Boomer?"
No answer. Psylocke could bet Tabitha was sulking down there in the
dark. Well, she had never cared for the girl and did not expect any
civility from her. Time for back-up. Scott might be able to yell some
sense into her head. She keyed in another number.
"Wouldn't do that". Sabretooth. "Light the central spotlight".
"Why?"
"'Cause if yer don't, Boomer is one dead chick".
She lit the beam. Boomer lay crumpled in the middle of the spotlight.
Sabretooth sat hunched beside her. His body was covered with wounds
that were healing themselves, swallowing the blood, even as she
watched. He seemed oblivious to the process. The big hands were
caressing Boomer's neck. He gave her a toothy smile and Psylocke knew
that he took pleasure in the smooth skin, the vulnerability of an
exposed throat.
"Did you kill her, you murderous bastard?!"
Psylocke was surprised by her own rage. She had not even liked the
girl.
"Not yet. Lock the main boards and come down here. We'll have a little
talk. Bring the portable control unit".
No way she was going to go down there and give him another hostage.
She reached for the switch that would alert all the X-Men. His voice
stopped her.
"Do that, nimbo, and she dies. Horribly". He moved his hands down to
Tabitha's stomach. "One rip and her guts are all over th' floor. The
kid's young. Has another fifty years in her, p'rhaps, if stupidity
doesn't kill her. You, I figger, have less than ten. Pulling out grey
hairs doesn't fool me".
He knew her secret, then. Otherworld genes gave the illusion of
eternal youth for forty or fifty years, but after that the decay was
accelerated. She had ducked out of her appointments with Hank ever
since she found the first grey hair.
"I'm coming".
And hadn't she always known that she would meet him eye to eye again.
"Gimme th' unit", he said when she stepped onto the padded cellar
floor.
She threw it to him, hoping he would miss it and give her an opening.
No luck. He caught it one-handedly, spun it between the claws and
chuckled hoarsely. The spotlight went off.
"How is Boomer?"
"Still breathing and she'll stay that way if ya play nice", he replied
from somewhere in the darkness.
"I'll play nice".
There was no choice, was there? His mind was closed to her. She
couldn't even locate him. In short, she had been a fool.
"Then shut down yer butterfly thingy".
She did.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, trying to be assertive.
"Information, m'dear nimbo. I hear that bitch Cooper is pushing old
Charlie to give me up to the Feds".
"I know nothing about that".
Not entirely true. She did know that the Professor, Scott and Jean had
been locked up for hours in the library. Cable and Domino had joined
them later.
"Liar. I came to y'all for help. I gave myself up. I tried to conquer
the beast. But ya were planning to turn me over all along. To use me.
But no government will ever use me again".
He was close to her now. She imagined she felt his hot breath on her
neck.
"Liar".
Now he was behind her and the breath was real. Hot as a furnace,
smelling of rotted meat.
"Liar!" It was a roar. His arm shot out and caught her around the
waist, squeezed her against his side. She was amazed by the sheer
strength of the grip. Every muscle in her body was paralysed. Then his
other arm pulled her head back. His other arm? Yes. He had let go of
Boomer.
The pink butterfly, blazing almost white, touched down on Tabitha
Smith's brow.
Three.
"Run, Tab!" Psylocke screamed.
Two.
"Get the others!"
One.
"Damn you nimbo!"
BOOM.
The blast was even bigger this time. Sabretooth's full weight slammed
into Psylocke and they were both thrown several feet before hitting
the floor. She felt something break in her back.
And the teenager was up and running for the door.
Sabretooth rose on all fours, swearing.
"You're finished, Victor", Psylocke gasped. She could not get up, nor
resist him in any way. She wondered dazedly if she had broken her
spine. There was no pain, just numbness.
"Ya have a knack for ruining m'plans", he growled back.
They could hear the alarms ringing now and Boomer, yelling for help at
the top of her lungs.
"You're finished", she said again. "They'll put you in jail and
execute you, you bastard".
She tried to find the strength to blast him to hell with another
psiburst, but her head was empty. She had spent it all.
He looked at her. Drool dripped from the fangs. His eyes were
feverish, excited.
"Naah", he said softly, almost gently, "ye're the one who's finished".
As his claws dug into her soft belly and opened it up in one hot,
searing cut. She screamed wildly as the pain caught up to her. Never
had she imagined such pain. She tried to clutch her stomach, but her
abdominal muscles were cramping too hard. Blood came up in her throat,
stifled her scream. Her sight narrowed, until she saw only his
grinning face.
She had done it all wrong before. She had tried to fight him on his
own terms. Only luck had saved Tabitha. It wouldn't suffice to save
herself. She reached out to him again, with no power, no psychic
knife. His mind was guarded, but less than before, now that he was
licking her blood off his claws. She thought of the X-Men and of
Warren in particular. She thought of Brian and Jamie. And then she
channeled all the love she had ever felt for anyone into Sabretooth's
mind. The butterfly shone yet another time and with a last effort that
made every bloodvessel in her head burst, Psylocke broke down his
psychic defenses. She was in.
It took her only a moment to access everything that he was. A
red-haired boy ran laughing in a field a sunny day. An Indian girl bit
her lip to keep from screaming as he was upon her. Another girl,
Asian, was forced to her knees, a gun to her head. The terrified eyes
of a Morlock child, glazing over. The display of murders and maimings
was endless. But through it all, the red-haired boy laughed, happy and
innocent. Now he faced her, head cocked to one side and she
understood. She had called him with her love.
It would be so easy to kill Sabretooth now. She had always been the
most pragmatic of the X-Men, opting for the permanent solutions. The
boy looked at her, trust and confidence in his eyes and she could not
bring herself to deliver the final blow. Only a few seconds before she
had been determined to kill him. It had seemed like the only way to
stop his killing sprees. Now, perhaps, there was another way. But he
would have to find it by himself.
She withdrew. Back to the bloodied body that lay writhing on the
floor. Back to the pain, which was fading now. Sabretooth was kneeling
next to her and she feared that her judgment had been terribly wrong
until she saw the real grief in his eyes and heard him say in a broken
voice:
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry".
And then it was no longer Victor Creed, but Douglas Ramsey who held
her hand.
