Ultimate fic

**Slartibartfast** · June 22nd, 2001, 09:30 PM

This was sparked by the preview of Ultimate 7 that Darkholme graciously posted. It will only make sense if you've seen those pages. I wasn't going to post it, until Hidden and Elwing said I knew I wanted to. Ja, it doesn't take much to set me off on a fic binge. The line about "the girl that sings to him" got my plot bunnies skipping in circles and I had to beat them into submission. Beware, assumptions are made about Ultimate Kurt and the Weapon X program.

I stood at the front of my cell, straining my senses as far as I could to try to see what was going on. I knew something was up when I heard the klaxon sound. The empty cell beside me had to be the reason why.

Maybe he did get away. I hoped so. He had been so kind and gentle, not suited to what he was made into. I remember the first weeks he was here he just lay on his bunk and cried all night, but silently. He did have his pride.

I had been sick of hearing him. My ears, though dulled by the inhibitors around our cages, were still sharp enough to hear the desperate prayers he whispered into the darkness.

I don't even remember what I sang, perhaps a half-remembered hymn from long-ago Sunday school classes. At first, it was just to shut him up and it worked. I couldn't even hear him breathe. Later, it just became habit. Eventually I did it to keep him, and myself maybe, alive and sane.

None of us deserve this. They make us into monsters and then act shocked when we kill them. A month or two ago, maybe three, who can keep track, they came for him. For many nights I had no one to sing to. I was surprised when I missed it.

They returned an animal to his cell. He had killed two guards before they sedated him enough to lock him up. They had wanted another killing machine, well, they got it. At the cost of the life and mind of a gentle German boy. God, how I hate them.

It took days for him to calm down enough to even remember his name. I talked to him. I didn't know if he heard the first night, but I sang to the sad form huddled on the floor. The third night he had jerked, his head swinging around to look at me in the dark. All I could see was a glow from his wide eyes and mouth. That was new. Then I heard him crying.

Before, he had tried to entertain me with stories of his life. I think to pay me for my company. I suppose, deep down, I had enjoyed them. I dredged them from the deep corners of my mind where they had hidden. I tried my best to give him his life back one story, one memory, at a time.

I like to think he was remembering, not just listening. I think, when they came to get him again this morning, he did remember. He didn't want to go back, to lose everything all over again. I think, if he gets the chance, he will kill them all. Part of me still knows that is wrong, but it's a small part. My programming is slowly winning. I hope he does.

The sudden silence when the alarm ceased was deafening and I felt my heart drop. He was caught, or dead. I hoped for the latter, and that it had been quick. Rest in peace, my friend.

A few minutes later I knew he had no such luck. I could hear the guards coming, cursing down the corridors. Quickly, I backed up to my bunk, sitting down when the backs of my knees hit the edge.

He was thrown over the shoulder of one of the burlier guards. I saw blood, but not against his skin. Kurt's skin was hard to see at a distance. I only saw the blood that soaked through the soldier's uniform.

The cell door opened, and the man hurled him inside with no more regard than he would give a sack of garbage. His body skidded when it hit the floor, smearing dark blood against the light gray concrete. He didn't move.

The guard paused just long enough to leer at me, his lip curled as he mouthed the word. Mutie. Then he was gone. We'll kill you all someday, bastard.

I edged to the side of my cell, careful to check that no one was coming back for him, or me. Curling my fingers around the bars, I looked at him.

Blood leaked from a bullet wound in his shoulder. A small puddle grew under his ear also. No glow came from his closed eyes or gaping mouth now. With his color, it was hard to see his bruises, but they were there and there was plenty. The guards had obviously had a little fun with him before bringing him back.

He breathed shallowly, his young face turned toward the ceiling. He was too young. Too young to die. Too young to kill. I hoped he didn't wake up.

I cried for him, because he couldn't, and sank to the floor. Reaching though the bars, I laid my hand on his soaked, freezing cold pant leg. It must be winter. Very quietly, I began to sing. What else could I do?

~*~

But wake he did. Quickly too. One instant he was on the floor, I heard a ragged, gasping breath from his throat and I thought he was dying. The next moment he was in a defensive crouch on the other side of his cell. He hadn't teleported.

I backed away from the bars. It was best to not provoke him until I knew how he was; until he knew who he was. An inferno blazed in his eyes. His mouth opened and closed with every breath, releasing a stream of stinking smoke, the heatless flame surging in and out. He hated them for that breath of fire. Almost more than for everything else.

"Kurt?" His expression changed minutely. He was in there at least. I approached the bars cautiously. "What happened?"

He didn't answer me. His breath slowed and he straightened, turning his attention to the cage door. It only took him two steps to reach it and he ran his hands over the bars, pressing his face against them.

When he turned back to me his internal furnace had died. "I almost made it," he said. His voice was always surprisingly soft and deep.

We both looked up at the clatter from the corridor. Four guards were coming, I could here their footfalls on the cold floor. They entered the room, two taking up positions outside each of our doors. I exchanged a glance with him before one of his guards stunned him with the nasty electrical guns they used to keep us in line.

His door slid open with a scraping hiss. He tried to fight but the gun had scrambled his nervous system. The effect wouldn't last long on him though, so the two guards rushed him. They shoved him into the bars, I heard his skull clang against the adamantium. They held him there, arms twisted behind his back, their knees pushing his into the metal. One even had his long tail trapped. I saw his shoulder wound tear and blood started to pulse down his chest.

Then the gun hit me. I went down with my eyes locked to his. My nerves were fire and I couldn't force my muscles to obey. I could dimly hear his voice screaming at the men and the clanging as he lunged against the bars again and again. One pulled me to my feet and pinned my arms behind my back.

"Mutie bitch," it was the same man who had leered at me earlier. His fist poised an inch from my nose, he looked at Kurt. "This is what she gets for you. We own you, freak!"

He pulled his punch and backhanded me across the face. The cheekbone exploded with pain, then the other as he switched sides. I blanked out not long after that, but long enough to feel the second time they shot me with the stun gun. Kurt's voice rang in my ears as I fell into an abyss.

~*~

I woke to pain. My face felt the size of a watermelon, my stomach cramped as soon as I tried to move. I was aware of a soft, monotonous sound behind me and I opened my eyes. The floor was cold, and I tried to push off of it without my head falling off. It didn't go well. Instead, I rolled over to face the sound. Kurt sat cross-legged on the floor of his cell, his hands resting on the bars. He was singing a lullaby softly, his eyes glowing in the dark.

I was close to the bars. Close enough to reach out to him and I did. I don't know why. Still singing in a low voice, he reached through the bars and took my hand. It was the first time we had touched. He held on for a moment before ending his song. Then he squeezed my hand.

"I will kill them all."

I nodded, tears leaking from my swollen eyes. What else could he do?

Nasty, eh? Well, this is the toned down version. It was darker and longer. I made the girl and Kurt much nuttier at first. Building on the Wolvie model, I figured Weapon X subjects were probably just barely hanging on to sanity. I dreamed part of this the other night and just couldn't let it go. So there, I shared.
tongue

Eeew, I just ad to fix a few glaring grammatical nasties in there. I know I missed a slew, but I feel better.

[This message has been edited by Slartibartfast (edited June 24, 2001).]