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28 December 2007 @ 11:20 am
Demeter's Daugther, Chapter 5. (Sinister/Rachel, Rated MA)  
Title: Demeter's Daughter, Chapter 5
Authors: sionnain and resolute
Fandom: 616-verse X-Men, ends up AU
Pairing: Nathaniel Essex, aka Mister Sinister, and Rachel Grey
Rating: dear heavens, NC-17
Warnings, Notes, etc: Contains graphic sex and graphic violence. Dub-con. Makes references to non-con. In addition, Resolute thinks the X-Men treat Rachel pretty poorly, and her biases show.
Summary: Rachel Grey is the only scion of the Summers-Grey line that Sinister has so far ignored. When Rachel returns from space, scarred and broken again, she is in no position to defend herself from him.

AN: The title is from the Grace Griffith song Demeter's Daughter.This is a multi-chapter fic, co-written by sionnain and resolute. Please be advised of the warnings, as this fic deals with extremely adult themes and contains explicit sex and BDSM.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

He remained as aloof as ever with her; polite, efficient, gracious when she deserved it, cruel when she did not. They attempted more regressive therapy. She tried to unbuckle his pants again, and he let her actually remove the belt, fingers pressing against the button, before he stopped her. It was tempting. She wouldn't remember it, when she came out of her dissociative state. He didn't do it, though. Instead, he slapped her hard across the face and instructed her to pull herself together.

The tests he ran on her were all saying the same sort of things. Her powers were phenomenal. Her control was weakened considerably by her continual anxiety. She cycled through levels of mental instability, and those cycles regulated themselves when she had order, routine. She needed someone in authority whom she could please. Her being with the X-Men, they should have provided the necessary stability and leadership. But Scott Summers was her father--and Rachel had guilt issues regarding her family--and he was not doing what Rachel so desperately needed him to do.

Something about her being with the X-Men--it made Rachel worse, not better. She had a mostly routine schedule there, with slight variations. He did not understand what it was that led her to become so manic. All he knew was that while Rachel suffered some fits of melancholy and occasional anxiety with him, she could easily be brought out of the state with some pain and a few choice words.

Perhaps it was only that she did not know what she needed. Nathaniel did not think she would ever be fully healthy, mentally. She would require someone--a handler, though he did not think she would appreciate the term--to keep her sane. Perhaps that was the problem. The X-Men would see that as a liability rather than simple fact.

Idiots. The girl has enough power to drown out the sun. In the wrong hands, she could be the deadliest weapon know to man. You are lucky I am only interested in science, and do not share my former master's visions of world domination.

Rachel, when she was not inclined towards being crazy, was a remarkably different person. Sharply intelligent. Gifted. He'd had her use her powers, while she was calm in her head, and had been astounded at the difference. She glowed under praise.

She was also curious and quite inquisitive. She asked him questions about his research, about the facility they were in (though he still not divulge the location). She wanted to fix herself lunch. She walked barefoot through the halls. She wanted to see the sparring room where he exercised. She punched at the bags and flew through the room and melted the chains, laughing as the bags fell.

Gradually, he watched as she changed. He watched with interest as the restlessness gave way to mania, watched as the curiosity turned into panic. Saw her go from healthy and alert and competent to something else. Tired, unfocused. Quiet. Her energy turned towards something darker and more destructive. She'd gnaw on her thumb, chew her lip, press her nails into her skin. She would look startled when he mentioned it.

He began to conduct an experiment, to see how long her cycle would last, how far she would descend into herself. He made careful notes, chronicling it all. He checked on her at night and found her awake, where before she had slept easily. She did not touch herself. It was fascinating, like watching twine wind itself tighter and tighter into a ball. Nathaniel knew that at some point he would have to do something to return her to clarity, but he wished to see how far she would descend.

He wanted to see what happened. It became known to him that he had caught her in a similar downward spiral, which is why his mental manipulations had worked so easily. The woman she had become after their initial regression therapy, the one who had peered into his eyes and touched herself with frantic need--that woman would have never let him in so easily. Nathaniel found he did not enjoy this frantic, crazed version of Rachel. He much preferred the other.

As she became more dissociative and frantic, he found his desire towards her changed considerably. He had enjoyed several fantasies of the two of them sparring, where he would eventually subdue her with his greater strength, and hurt her until she begged for him. As the days passed, he thought less of sparring and more of hurting her. It was difficult to hold back from doing what he knew would return her to a more normal state (Rachel would, he noted quite clearly, never be completely normal) in the interest of science.

Today, they were in the kitchen. She had, as of late, followed him in when he would make dinner and eat with him there. Her hair was clean--he insisted she bathe daily--but her eyes were dull. She had barely eaten. She was kicking her bare heel, hard, against the steel island in the middle of the kitchen. She was looking somewhere off into space, muttering to herself.

"Would you prefer milk or tea with dinner, Rachel?"

She looked at him, but barely. She didn't even shrug. He poured her a glass of milk. Subject does not like to make simple decisions when fully entrenched in her mania.

Rachel looked at the milk in front of her. She thought about drinking it. She must have thought about it for too long. He was saying something to her again. Rachel squinted, trying to make sense of it. Everything felt cold.

He moved, saying something. Moved towards her. Rachel jumped back, pushing her stool over in her haste. Watching him.

He sighed. "This is becoming very tiring. I am half tempted to backhand you across the room so that you will behave like an adult. You are irritating when you behave this way, and the last person who managed to irritate me spawned a centuries-long vendetta and earned me quite the reputation. Now, do be a good girl and drink your milk."

Be a good girl. Rachel blinked. She nodded mutely and stepped closer. She drank the glass of milk. Set the glass back down on the counter. She tried to stand still in front of him. Tried to wait for her next instruction. She looked down, like she was supposed to. Tried to keep her hands down. But she kept fidgeting. Twisting her hands against her collar, rubbing them over her hair. He was keeping her waiting. Never good. Rachel swallowed. She didn't know what to do.

Subject reverts to acceptable hound behavior when she is unsure how to conduct herself appropriately. It is unsure if this is a common occurrence in her everyday life, or if this is a pronounced episode because she is currently being held against her will.

"Who are you, right now? Where are you? Answer me." He refilled her milk, found a sweet in the drawer. Chocolate of some kind. He put it next to the milk.

Rachel shivered. "I'm yours. I'm here." Those were the only good answers. The only safe answers. She never knew if she had a name on a given day or not. She never knew where she was. If she said "a kitchen," maybe the right answer was "New York." If she said "New York," the answer was "on the base."

"I'm ready to go, sir," she added, twisting her collar around. That was usually safe.

For the first time in a very long while, Sinister lost his temper. He crossed to her in two steps and brutally backhanded her across the face, sending her sprawling backwards. "You are not some slave, girl. You are Rachel Grey. You are in my facility. I am--" he paused briefly, considering. "--Nathaniel. Nathaniel Essex. Stand up and try again." He pulled her up by the hair, glaring down at her. "Who are you? Where are you? Who am I?"

"Nuh- No!!" Rachel couldn't help it. She tried to get away. It never worked, they always caught her. Always. She fought, kicking at him. Twisting and trying to bite. Maybe she could get out of the lab. Hide in the halls, in with the others.

Something dark fell through her mind. No. If you hide with the others, you put them in danger. They always find her. Shi'ar, relentless. Chasing her to Earth. Hunting no matter what and the brand on her back ached as it smoked, burning into her body while everyone died.

He hit her again, his hand still in her hair. "Stop it," he hissed, angry. "You are not some weak and terrified child. You are not going on a hunt, and I assure you, Rachel, the Shi'ar shan't find you." She still looked dazed, lost. He caught her around the neck and squeezed, lifting her off her feet. "You will either respond to my questions like a competent adult, or I shall beat you until you do," he threatened her. She wouldn't look at him, and he shook her a bit. "Look at me."

*hurt no don't hurt good i'm good be good no hide hide hide let ---" Rachel was choking. It didn't matter. There was nowhere to go, no way to escape. She couldn't fight anymore. They would kill her. Worse, they would use her. Take her. Use.

Growling, he shoved her into the corner of the kitchen. The walls were reinforced steel. He ripped her shirt off and used his powers to fasten restraints, with which he pinned her against the cold metal wall. Nathaniel unbuckled his belt. She was not resisting, merely slumped in her restraints. Still. Like a prey animal who hopep that by being very quiet, perhaps playing dead, it could evade the predator.

"You are going to stop this," he said, his voice authoritative. "I am tired of this behavior of yours." With that, he brought his belt down, lashing against the stylized black lines of her Shi'ar deathmark.

Her back burned. Of course it burned; the Shi'ar had seen to that.

No. This was different. This was like talons, claws, raking her back. It hurt. Rachel twisted to avoid it. She couldn't. She was held still. Something -- something held her still.

I don't like that.

Rachel twisted again, jerking. Pulling at the restraints on her arms, her legs. She made a noise, a protest of some sort. The thing on her back, it hurt.

"Yes," Nathaniel hissed at her. "Fight me. For the love of God, woman, you are powerful beyond measure. Do not cower like some abused mongrel." She was moving, but only just. He narrowed his eyes and whipped her harder. Hard enough so that the skin of her back tore beneath the lash of the leather. Nathaniel was a strong man. He could snap her spine in half, if he really wanted.

He did not think her passenger would allow that, and it was not what he wanted. He wanted to whip her, wanted her to fight. His fantasy came back; her sparring him, possessing her full powers, violent and vicious and without this crippling fear. There were very few times Nathaniel allowed himself indulgences that did not relate to scientific inquiry. The belt fell harder, faster, on skin already whipped raw. "Fight me, Rachel."

"Goddammit," Rachel said. She pulled harder at the restraints. It didn't do any good. The whip, whatever it was, cracked against her shoulders, her sides. Sinister was hitting her. Hitting her, tied her to the wall and hitting her and she flexed her hands and dissolved the molecules of the cuffs on her body.

Rachel reformed the atoms, shaping them into a new shirt, creating it around her body as she turned. She spun around, moving low and fast, telekinetically yanking the belt from Nathaniel's hand.

Her vision was nearly white. She could smell the air burning as the energy set it alight at the corners of her eyes. Burning tears floating up and disappearing near the ceiling.

He actually smiled, body shifting into a fighting stance. That. That was what he wanted. An adversary worthy of his attention. Not some frightened, weak thing. He moved towards her, slowly. "Who are you?" he asked her, voice low, insistent. "Who am I?"

"You're a fool, Nathaniel," she said. Rachel spread her arms, the wings forming off them. Talons on her hands. "You're a fool, and I'm going to --"


The voice of the Phoenix slapped at Rachel, knocking her back. It usually didn't interfere. It usually was happy to let her destroy. The cosmic flames disappeared.

"Ow." Rachel fell to her knees. Not in submission, but in pain. "God. I'm Rachel, you're Nathaniel, and this really hurts." Rachel leaned against the door to the oven, the closest thing next to her. She breathed shallowly, trying to not move her back or sides.

"I have been called many things, Rachel, and many of them have been true. But I assure you, I am not a fool. Come along. You need medical assistance." He crossed the room to her, his body still taut and ready to fight, and the burn of desire grew steadily as he saw her there, fully aware and beaten and bloodied from his belt. Not prey, not anymore. He reached down and helped her up, gently, mindful of her ravaged skin.

He took her to her bedroom, and into the bath. He began running the tap and filling the tub, increasing the size of it with a thought. The structure shuddered and sighed, altering into a larger, deeper basin. He began stripping her, his hands as gentle as they had been cruel. Her makeshift top--which he put aside to keep for further study--was bloodied. "Ah. Yes. You will require bandages and some type of agent to stave off infection. I shall settle you in this bath and then find the necessary items." He held her by her shoulders, examining her eyes. They were clear and bright. "You are all right, now," he said, and it was not a question.

"I'm cold," Rachel said. Her teeth were chattering. "And I hurt. A lot." He let go of her and she leaned, suddenly, against the sink. That hurt, too.

She started giggling. Not that anything was funny. "I think I'm a little . . . loose," she said, and giggled again. That's how it felt. "Feels like sunbathing above the tops of the clouds. Flying." Rachel slipped further sideways. "Think I'm falling over --"

"Ah," Nathaniel said, moving quickly towards her, "Perhaps your getting in the bath would be advisable, now." He eyed her speculatively, wondering if she would drown beneath the water if he left her alone. Using his powers, he searched remotely for the bandages and the proper medicines in the lab, and telekinetically brought them to the bathroom. Nathaniel stripped his shirt off and reached out, hands firm on her upper arms, and then he deposited her in the bath water. After a moment, he heated it so that it was a little past comfortable, and settled her in it. "Soak there until you warm. You are likely in physical shock." He concentrated again and brought a glass from the kitchen, filling it with water. He sat it and some aspirin on the side of the table, then began messing with the vials which he had brought in from his lab.

Rachel arched in pain at the water on her cuts, but didn't struggle. She nodded, hissing. "Think you're right," she said tightly. "God this hurts. God. Ow." Rachel forced herself to lay back, to relax. She breathed slowly. Evenly. Concentrating on relaxing, on deep breaths and the warmth of the water in her bones.

She watched Nathaniel for a moment. "This is what you meant," she said. Not asking. "The hurting me, this is what you meant."

He was momentarily distracted by the sight of her body, arching in pain, settling down and relaxing. The way her muscles and relaxed, the way her mouth parted slightly as she breathed. His gaze strayed momentarily to her breasts. They would look lovely with lash marks, too. He wanted to see her back, but he forced himself to continue mixing the salve. "Yes," he said, though she had not really meant her words as a question. "I wanted to see what happened when you are left to your own devices. You become a terrified wreck of a thing. I could not take it for another moment." He went down on his knees next to the tub, hands on her shoulder again. His bruises had faded, from the last time. "Lean forward," he instructed, pleased that she complied.

He sucked in a breath when he saw her back. The water was tinged slightly with blood. Tamping down his lust with considerable effort, he gently began to clean her back. "Do you recall what you were doing, before you finally fought me?"

Rachel held on to the tub. Teeth clenched. He was being gentle, but it still hurt. "I don't know," Rachel said. "I'm --" She stopped and shivered, and it had nothing to do with cold. "I don't know what day it is," she said. "I remember the tests with me making little dolls out of your lab equipment? After that, it all runs together into one day, or three, or something."

"That was three days ago," he said, and he noted her shiver. He warmed the water, thinking she was probably cold, but there was an odd tension about her that suggested perhaps it was not that. "You slowly began to disassociate after that. I was careful to monitor you. I had intended to see precisely what happened when you went as far as you could into your mind, however, I was sufficiently annoyed by your cowering--"

He blinked, startled, as warm water hit him in the face. "Then again, you were not throwing things at me, so perhaps it was an improvement." He wiped the water off of his face and kept at his work. He cleaned the lashes, and then, carefully, he traced his fingers against them in an unmistakable caress.

Rachel grinned as he wiped the water off his face. "I don't really remember three whole days," she explained and he continued working. "I remember some meals. And you held me in the shower once. But it could have been a day and a half. Or a week." She expected him to say something about that.

He didn't. Instead she felt his fingers stroking her back. Rachel held her breath, then let it our very slowly. "That feels good," she said softly. "It hurts a little. You mean it to hurt a little, don't you." It was a statement. Not a question.

"Yes." He kept doing it, enjoying how she looked, naked and wet and bloodied. "Only a little. If you are finished, I will bandage this for you. And then bring you the dinner you did not eat. You will rest, and eat it in bed." He pushed in, lightly, on one of the welts. Fingers strong and sure, finding where he knew it would hurt.

Rachel bowed her head. "If you say so," she said. "But I wish you would keep touching me." His fingers rested on her back. She looked up at him. Met his eyes. Rachel smiled. "I know you're looking at me," she said. "I'm learning. And I'll eat dinner, and I want you to bandage me. But I want you to push on the cuts again, first. Please."

Nathaniel had fought Apocalypse for decades. He had manipulated the bloodlines of the most powerful mutants on the planet. He had cultivated enemies from all timelines and dimensions and universes. There were prices on his head in every known galaxy. He had schemed and murdered and ruthlessly destroyed more lives than he could be bothered to count. He had fought battles that had nearly killed him, he had been burned and shot and beheaded and vaporized, once. And the most dangerous thing he had ever come across in the last two centuries, nearly, was smiling up at him from the bath.

Dangerous not because of the being that swam beneath her eyes, though that was in truth a danger should he misstep. It was something else entirely.

Nathaniel did not speak. He put his other hand on her back. His fingers were cold, and he did not warm them. He pressed his hands against her, harder now, against the welts. Several of them started bleeding again as he did so.

"Thank you," Rachel said. She didn't look away. Didn't hide how it felt. Her eyes unfocused slightly, and she licked her lips. Breathing faster, but still deep. Controlled. After a moment Rachel sighed, smiling. "How about dinner now? I bet I haven't been eating, right?"

"No. You have not." He shook her slightly. Annoyed. "How can it be that you are so unaware of your own needs? It is most frustrating. Apocalypse did terrible things to me, and yet I do not cower as you do. Come along." He helped her stand. "Possibly it would help if you had no emotions, like I." He helped her stand, toweling her off gently, and then led her into the bedroom. He helped her lie on her stomach and then sat next to her with the salve. "This will hurt, but I imagine you shan't mind."

Rachel leaned on him, not fighting at all. She knew he was going to to do things she wanted. She wanted the food, the rest. Wanted the bandages and the medicine. Thinking of how she'd been the last few days, it made no sense. Crazy.

"What?" Rachel giggled at something he said. "You have no emotions? That makes no sense. If you didn't have emotions you wouldn't get irritated with me."

"I am not irritated." He looked down at her. "Not now, at any rate. I was before. You see, I was perfectly emotionless until Apocalypse began aggravating me." He waved a hand. "Though it is likely quite mild compared to others who have more of a range of emotions than I." He gently covered her wounds with the salve, a bit pleased when she hissed and moved a little in pain. It seemed to him as if she were pushing her hips against the mattress. Perhaps he was mistaken.

He finished with the salve and bandaged her back, then rested his hand against the back of her neck. "I am going to collect your dinner. I shall be right back. Do not move around overmuch while I am gone."

Rachel looked up at him. "Not overmuch, no," she said.

When the door closed Rachel lay still, cradling her head on her arms, smiling. She telekinietically pulled up the covers. A little chilled. Her room was quiet. Rachel listened to herself breathe. She shifted a little. Her back ached.

Hey, you.


I know.

{{you burn too hot}}

I know.

The Phoenix didn't answer again. Rachel moved a little, enjoying the tension building slowly in her body. It was from the pain. She knew that. But it works. What else works?

Nathaniel returned with her dinner. He took the tray in and set it down on the bed. "You should eat this, but sitting up may cause your back to bleed. See if you can hold yourself up on your elbows, there." He had fixed her some stew and a piece of bread, with a side of cheese. Another glass of milk. The stew was a hearty beef broth with meat, and a few vegetables he'd had in the pantry. He'd baked the bread himself.

The chocolate from earlier sat on the side of her plate, next to the milk.

"I'd rather sit," Rachel said. "If it bleeds a little, that's okay. You taped the bad ones, right? I saw tape. Earlier." She pushed up to her elbows. "So far, so good. Help me up, and to sitting, please?" She didn't mind in the slightest that she was naked. That never really bothered her.

"If you wish." Nathaniel helped her up so that she could rest against the headboard. The bandages wrapped around her middle, nearly framing her breasts. He settled the tray in her lap. "This meal is perfectly proportioned to give you protein, fiber--that is whole wheat bread, there--and iron. You have lost some blood, so I included additional meat in the stew." He sat across from her. "The chocolate is for being good. You may only have it, however, after you have eaten enough of that to please my strict nutritional standards."

Rachel looked at him and laughed. Not giggled, just laughed. It hurt. A lot. But she didn't care. He was so damn funny. Prim, really. "Yes, Nathaniel," she said. Making his name a tease. She began to eat quickly. Neatly. God, I am so hungry.

"I don't like it either," she said. "When I come out of it like this. I'm hungry, and not clean, and out of shape. It sucks. But you're being really -- " She stopped. -- good for me. Rachel cleared her throat. "It's not as bad, here, as it gets. Sometimes. The others. The X-Men. My family. They don't -- "

She wasn't sure what to say.

He understood her unspoken dilemma.

"The problem, I imagine, is that your family would think you were strong enough to overcome the significant trauma from your past without the things I do to you being a necessity." He wondered why she had laughed at his instructions for dinner. He had not intended them to be amusing. He regarded her carefully to ensure that she followed them. He still wanted to fuck her. He wondered if she knew that.

"You are broken, Rachel, and they do not wish to accept it." He shrugged. "It is likely their emotions which color their beliefs in this matter. It is better for them to assume that with time you will get over your troubles, but that is not so. You should eat more of that meat, I did not put it in there for you to push around with the spoon."

Rachel took a bite of the meat and opened her mouth at him for a moment, giggling. She stopped. Still grinning as she ate. "That was childish, sorry," she said. Not really apologetic. She drank the milk and started on the glass of water. "When I tell them there's something wrong with me, they tell me I'll get over it. And when I don't get over it, they tell me to get it under control or they will strip me of my powers. However they have to." Rachel looked at her tray. Empty of food. She picked up the chocolate and unwrapped it. "I get a little bit weird, living at the mansion. When things are okay, I have to imagine Scott gives me all my orders. Because he doesn't really, except in combat. When things aren't okay, I have to imagine my old handlers are telling me what to do, or I don't get dressed."

Nathaniel nodded. "Yes, you have a need to please an authority figure. If that authority figure finds that need a bother or an imposition, it will go badly for you." He considered that. "That is almost a defining aspect of your personality, and one which I imagine causes you a good bit of guilt, considering where you learned this behavior." He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Is this why your fantasies involve an authority figure forcing you to come against your will?"

Rachel blushed. But it's not like he doesn't already know. She finished the chocolate. "Thank you for dessert," she said politely. Rachel cleared the tray telekinetically and set it near the door. "I don't really think about that," she said. "I don't -- " She stopped, making an effort to think. "You should know that think about this makes my head feel funny. Light. But, I think it's just that this is how I learned to do it. That's all."

She put her hands up and rubbed at her eyes. "That's really hard to think about, Nathaniel. I don't think we should talk about it here. Probably in the lab, with the table." Rachel smiled. "I like my room. I'd rather not wreck it."

"They allowed you to achieve orgasm?"

She fiddled with the sheet, not looking at him. "Sometimes."

Ah. Of course. Sex was intimately linked with shame, for her. "You enjoy imagining someone forcing you to come, and you enjoy following directions and instructions. When you are involved in sexual situations with another person, do you require the same force in order to enjoy it?" He regarded her thoughtfully. She had touched herself, while she had been here. Despite the time when he'd grabbed her wrist, he had done nothing to her.

Rachel looked at him for a long time. "Nathaniel, I've only been with one lover I picked. A Shi'ar warrior, when we were fighting my uncle. I made him do things to me. That he did because he was raised in prisons, too. So, I guess, yeah. If science takes a data point of 'one' as acceptable." She didn't look away. Pushed the sheet down off her body. "Every other time, I didn't pick it. Didn't ask for it. Until I did start asking. Eventually."

Nathaniel stood up. He sat next to her on the bed. And he reached out, with frightening speed, and grabbed her arms. Held them down. "You were very good, today. I wish to give you a reward that you will enjoy, in order to encourage such behavior. I will do this, and I can make it what you want. Make it force." He looked down at her face, his own impassive, remote. "You must ask me, first. And then I shall do it, what you want. A reward. I will force you, and make you come. All you have to do is ask me for it."

They sat like that for a long moment. Rachel's breath was faster. Nathaniel wasn't hurting her. It would hurt if she struggled. He wouldn't let go until she answered him. But he didn't badger her. He gave her time to think.

When he left, I was going to do it anyway. Imagine him doing things. It was good last time. He's offering. All of those were the sensible reasons. As much as what Rachel wanted made sense in the first place.

But under it ran the darker reasons. The ones that she hid. The ones that her family despised, wanted her to 'get over' and leave behind. did good made him happy good girl I'm a good girl he likes me get good things want to be good for you And darker still, the reason the Phoenix swam slowly in her mind. Hungry and burning. burn me failed them cut me killed them hurt me choke me my fault my guilt beat me killed them bleed bleed break.

There was another reason hiding down under the Phoenix's wings. But Rachel's passenger protected her from that reason. She knew it was there. Not what it was.

Rachel looked into the unblinking red eyes. She licked her lips slowly. "Can you make me?" she whispered. "You won't stop when I say no?"

"I shan't stop no matter what you say," he said, and transferred her wrists to one of his hands. "And I am stronger than you. I shall force you to take what you want." He liked watching as her breath sped up. She did not fight him, but she was not still, either. Her body moved in the slightest of ways. Shivering a little, twisting just slightly. Subtle movements. Her eyes were wide but alert. Nathaniel took notice of all these things.

His hand, the one which was not securing her wrists, rested lightly on her chest. He traced his fingers down her throat, tilting her chin up, exposing the smooth column of her neck. His touch was light, slow. He watched her eyes as he did it. He could feel her mind, her body. She was slightly anxious, wanting things. He could put his hand between her legs and do it fast and rough, but that wouldn't be as satisfying. To draw it out would add fear to the pain he was going to give her.

His shields were up, but he did allow her to see his intent; pleasure and pain, unceasing, disregarding what she felt about the matter. He did not lie. He would not stop. His hand tightened on her neck, briefly, before resuming his slow caress.

There was no sense in lying or fighting. Rachel let herself react. Shivering. Moving. Breathing quick. "This is going to be different," she said. "Than if I do it myself. Because. Because you're going to do things I don't know." She shuddered once, hard. Nervous. "That's going to be hard. To take."

"No, you do not know what I will do." He slapped her lightly, on the side of her face, then grabbed her neck and turned her face away. Then back. He let her go, and his hand moved down to her breasts. He slapped them, hard, on her nipples. Watching to see how she reacted. His touches were clinical, almost cold. His long fingers twisted her nipple, pulling. He'd made her do this a few nights ago, but this time, he did it himself. Harder than she had done.

"Ow!" Rachel jerked her arms, trying to break his grip. "That hurts!" It was a protest, a real one. "But you won't stop. God." Just knowing he wouldn't stop was making her writhe. He had barely touched her. Rachel's mental script stuttered ahead to the end. "No," she moaned. Her eyes locked on his face. "No. Don't do that."

"So quickly you protest," he murmured, and tightened his hand around her wrists. "I had thought it would take longer." Nathaniel realized that perhaps his rather investigatory tone was not appropriate to the situation at hand. He pinched her, on the side of her breasts. Pinched her hard enough that he could see the bruises begin to form on her fair skin. He stared at her, hand resting low on her stomach. She was staring at him. He stared back.

Quite without warning, he flipped her over so that she was on her stomach. He kept her wrists pinned above her head. "Leave these here," he instructed her firmly, and then grabbed her around the back of the neck, turning her face towards him. He wanted to see her face. Nathaniel reached down with his other hand and viciously pushed her thighs apart. He did not touch her between her legs.

Staring at her, he deliberately slapped his down, hard, on the bandages covering her back. Right where he knew the worst of the welts to be.

Rachel cried out. Not a scream, though. She kicked viciously, getting her legs together briefly before he forced them apart. Rachel faked forwards, then elbowed him sharply in the nose. She felt the tissue give under her blow. His head snapped back and he growled, shaking her roughly and digging his fingers into her back. As she watched, his nose stopped bleeding. Straightened. Healed.

Healing factor. Right. He heals.

Rachel smiled. Not at all sure why.

"We cannot have that," he said mildly, and then fashioned restraints and attached them to her arms, affixing them tight to the mattress. He slapped her back again, watching as the blood stained the bandages. He would have to change them again. Nathaniel reached underneath her and grabbed her breast. His other hand slid up her thigh, began pinching sharply. He pressed his fingers hard against her sex. She was wet. Nathaniel sucked in a sharp breath at that. Wet from him hurting her, wet from the pain.

He rubbed at her, twisted her nipple. Watched her.

"No --" Rachel grabbed the restraints. She modified them, loosening them enough that she could hold on to them while she pulled. Not getting free. Not at all. "Don't. Don't. I don't want this." She arched up, making room for his hand on her breast. "No!" she yelled, sharply, as his hand moved between her legs.

She whimpered, rocking her hips urgently. Trying to press against his fingers. "Stop. Stop, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel was a gentleman. He did not force women to have sex with him. When he wanted physical companionship, he altered his appearance, found an acceptable female, and presented himself as her ideal sexual mate. It was not coercion. This wasn't either, not strictly speaking, but it skirted perilously close to the edge. Nathaniel could feel her trying to get him to touch her more, harder. He could feel her desire for him to continue.

"No," he said, and he roughly slid two fingers inside of her. Fucking her hard with his hand. He hurt her with the other hand, on her back. His hand slid up and grabbed her neck, squeezing tight. He didn't touch her clit, just fucked her hard and choked her, thumb pressing against her pulse point.

Rachel stopped talking. She moved against his hands, fucking herself on his fingers. Her back ached under his touch and she moaned, tight and low. Animal noises, urgent with need.

He put his hand on her neck and Rachel felt her whole body react. She telekinetically freed one of her hands and pushed it down, under her trapped body, between her legs. Rachel rubbed at her clit hard. Needy.

"Please don't stop. Please. God." She was arching up, twisting into his hands. Almost there.

He grabbed her hand away and slammed it above her head. "I do not think so, Rachel." He stopped hurting her, but he left his hand light around her neck. He removed his hand between her legs and slapped her, hard, on the backs of her naked thighs, over and over again. He squeezed her neck again. "Do you think that you can instruct me, tell me what to do? Do you think that I will do as you say, Rachel?"

He leaned down, so that his mouth was next to her ear. "We shall do this as I wish. You have no say in the matter." He started fucking her again, with three fingers instead of two.

Thank you. Rachel whimpered. Pulled a little at his grip. Not much. "Please," she whispered. Gasping. "Not telling. Not. Asking. Need it, Nathaniel. Need. Please?"

He turned his hand, so that he could press his thumb hard against her clit as he continued to fuck her with his hand. He liked the way she sounded when she begged him. Nathaniel was staring hard at her as if unmoved, but he was thinking of things. Of turning her over again and straddling her, fucking her so that her back rubbed itself raw. He let a little of that bleed out, just the image of it, him taking her fast and hard, hand covering her mouth, her face turned aside. Using her with no regard for her feelings or her desires.

Rachel couldn't talk any more. He was going to make her come. It wasn't her choice. She felt the tension building. It was intense, far better than when she was by herself. She was close. But Rachel was well trained. She wanted him to tell her. Needed him to. Needed him to use her, however he wanted.

"Close," she muttered.

"Mm, are you?" Nathaniel made his voice sound bored. He slowed his hand. He had some thought of removing his hands entirely and leaving her, wanting and desperate to come. But she had been good, and he had promised that he would satisfy her. Such inventive tortures would have to wait for another time. "Is that supposed to tempt me, Rachel? Tempt me into allowing you something?" He squeezed her neck again. The way she was writhing and panting, it was incredibly stimulating. "I shall allow you to come when I am ready to watch you. Are we quite clear?"

"Yes, 'Thaniel," she whimpered. "I'm good. Good." Rachel struggled, trying to still her body. Forcing herself to wait.

He gave a slight smile at that, a smile he did not think she noticed. He began fucking her harder, faster, rubbing his thumb against her clit intently. He released her neck and rested his hand on her back, fingers digging in, hurting her. "You may come," he said, voice distant and cool. "Now. Now, Rachel. Come now."

Rachel moaned and moved with him, speeding the motion of her hips and arching into the pain on her back. She cried out as he fucked her. *good 'm good thank you 'm good yes now now* Rachel's shields fell apart as she came, broadcasting every thought to the only other person in the room.

Nathaniel was nearly panting as he felt her come, on her fingers and in his mind. He could see every thought in her mind, every single thing she wanted. And part of him was reading it, part of him was making notations, analyzing her. The other part of him was fighting the urge to finish this, to take her like he wanted. He didn't do that. He sat next to her, taking his hand from between her legs, his other resting low on her back. He waited to see what she would do, how she would act.

Rachel lay still, catching her breath. She smiled slowly and stretched, dissolving the restraints holding her down. "Thank you," she said. She looked up at Nathaniel. "I think I needed that."

She moved to get up and go to the bathroom. She didn't get far at all, barely up on her elbows before she whimpered. "Oh god. Ow." Rachel lay back down. "What -- god, I think maybe my back's hurt again?" A note of uncertainty crept into her voice. *I didn't think he was hitting me that hard . . . *

"It is bleeding, yes. I will re-bandage it for you, do not move." He stood and went into the bathroom, finding the extra bandages and the salve. Nathaniel took a moment to put his shields back up, making himself as remote and aloof as ever. He had found the key to keeping Rachel sane and competent, he was certain of it. Subject requires pain in moments of hysteria, which functions as a catharsis. Pleasure following pain is a reward for good behavior. He wondered idly if she received this every day, how powerful she would be. How assured and confident in her abilities.

Nathaniel returned and removed her stained bandages. "The damage is mostly surface," he said, staring at her bloodied back. He traced the welts with careful fingers, then re-applied the salve and set about bandaging her up. "When you were in the throes of that, did the Phoenix stir within you at all? I would think it would find such a thing irresistible."

It was clear to Nathaniel that Rachel had no notion of what he wanted to do to her, at the moment. He wondered if the Phoenix knew.

Rachel lay still. Calm. Drifting, again, that wonderful sun-bathing feeling. She smiled at his question. "It's awake, for all of that. Feeding. But it doesn't step in, or say much. It's usually pretty quiet when I'm in control, unless I draw it up." She giggled. "And despite what my dad would think if he heard me doing that with you, I am in control. It's the other times, the -- what do you call it? In your reports? Dissociative? It's during that stuff the Phoenix is a lot more active. Protecting me."

"So it remains mostly quiet, then, when you are...high-functioning. How fascinating." She seemed incredibly relaxed. Quiet. Still. He finished with her bandages and sat back. "You are very much in control, yes. The difference in astounding." He reached up and smoothed her hair back. "Are you in need of anything? Water? With the blood loss, you should have more protein and iron in the morning."

"Okay," Rachel said. "I'm okay. I think I'll listen to the quiet for a bit. And go to sleep." Rachel half-rolled to look at him. "Fascinating. Astounding." She looked at him, meeting his gaze. "I hope to satisfy your curiosity, Nathaniel. Sleep well."

Nathaniel took in her expression; half-challenging, half-predatory. If he didn't leave her room now, she was going to see exactly how fascinating he found her. "Rest assured, Rachel, you most assuredly satisfy my curiosity. Whether you will find that advantageous remains to be seen. Do try and sleep on your stomach, so as not to aggravate your injuries." He left her room, and headed towards his own.


She did not appear in the kitchen for breakfast the next morning. Usually, this meant she was either feeling out of sorts mentally, and he merely brought her breakfast in her room and encouraged her to eat it. With force, if necessary. Today, however, he was concerned it was her back--she had been very self-assured, very together last night, and it took longer for her to spiral downwards than an evening.

Unless she was significantly dismayed by what had happened last night, but Nathaniel did not logically think that was an issue.

He fixed her breakfast, ensuring that it was perfectly balanced and nutritious, and went to her room. He knocked once, waited, and then entered. "Rachel? Are you unwell? You are still abed, and it is nearly half past eight."

Rachel lifted her head blearily. "Sorry?" She moved and immediately winced. "I -- Did I oversleep? I didn't sleep well." She put her head back down. "The temperature in here sucks. It kept being too hot and too cold all night."

He deposited the tray and went over to her, placing his hand on her forehead. Even through the unnatural coldness of his skin, she felt very warm. "You have a fever. Perhaps a slight infection. I shall find you a fever reducer and some medicine, do not move." He went into the lab and gathered up supplies, then went back into her bedroom. Her bandages were still dry and clean, which meant he did not need to redress them.

"Here." He took the milk and the two aspirin and helped her drink them, then gave her some antibiotics. "That should help, I would imagine. Your fever appears to be low enough not to be worrisome. You should have sent word to me." His voice was faintly chastising. "Are you well enough to consume breakfast?" He sounded very much like a physician; concerned, slightly distant, vaguely preoccupied. He was mentally re-arranging the plans he had made for the day, something that would involve her talking and answering questions over physical activity.

Rachel sat up with his help. "Yeah." She nodded. "I just feel really tired. A little dizzy every now and then. The food will help." She started eating and looked hopefully up at him. "Is there coffee? Maybe?" She giggled. "I solemnly promise I will alert you in the future when I can't sleep, if I am able, so can I have a nice cup of coffee as a reward?" Rachel wasn't a perfect mimic, but she'd been listening to him for two weeks. She very nearly got his tone right on the last sentence.

He arched a brow at her attempt to imitate his accent. "You Yanks and your love of coffee. Tea is much better for you. However, there is coffee, and I suppose you may have some. I shall have to fix it. Eat that, and I shall return with it momentarily." He left and went to the kitchen, thinking. The girl was teasing him, which meant she was not overset by what he had done to her the night before. He made a note to put that in her file.

He returned with a mug of coffee for her, and tea for himself. He handed her hot beverage and sat across from her, drinking his tea while she ate. "Since you are unwell, perhaps today I may interview you and we shall save other tests for when you are well, physically."

Rachel nodded. "Sounds fine to me. Thank you for the coffee. And breakfast was good. I feel some better? Though, you know, that could be the aspirin." She sipped her coffee. "Mmm. This is really good."

She sat for a moment. Comfortable, really. Nathaniel sat across from her with his tea. He wasn't looking at her, she noticed. Probably thinking of something else. Rachel finished her coffee and pushed the covers back. "I'll shower and dress? If I can? Or should I just wash up in the sink this morning?"

"The aspirin is designed to reduce fever, though I am certain having something in your stomach will aid in your feeling better." He thought about her question. "Perhaps just in the sink this morning, and then this evening you may bathe and I shall decide if your bandages need changing, or if you are sufficiently healed. You do not seem to have a healing factor, but I have noticed that you heal a bit faster than those without one--possibly it is the Phoenix. If you wish, I shall meet you in the laboratory--unless you prefer to conduct today's session in an alternate location?"

His gaze touched lightly on her breasts. There were bruises from his fingers. Nathaniel sipped his tea, appearing outwardly calm. It would be beneficial for her to dress.

Rachel stood slowly. Cautiously, then stretching a little when the pain wasn't too bad. "I think the lab will be fine," she said. "I feel very . . . quiet? I guess? That's what the Phoenix calls it. It says I'm quiet, in my head." She looked down. There were bruises everywhere on her body. She glanced up at him. "I think my family would kill you without any hesitation if they could see this room right now."

"They would have killed me before," Nathaniel said, standing up when she did. "Though I am certain this would not help. I am under no illusions of who I am, or what I have done." He liked watching her, he realized. Liked the pull of her muscles, the way her body looked strong and capable (marked by his hands) and dangerous. He gave her the slightest of smiles. "Shall I send you home with a letter begging for clemency?"

Rachel grinned as she walked past him to the bathroom. On the way she telekinetically opened her dresser drawers and, without looking, picked out the clothes she wanted. She carried them with her into the bathroom, the water already running before she got there. "I don't think that would work," she said wryly. "But it's a solid plan B."

"I am very good with alternate plans," Nathaniel said, and then went to leave, carrying the dishes with him. He was almost displeased at his fondness at looking at Rachel's naked body, but he rationalized that it had been a long time since he had seen a woman in any state of undress. Certainly not when she knew precisely who and what he was. Not since Faye--

The coffee mug shattered in his hand in the hallway. Nathaniel scowled, displeased. He picked up the pieces telekinetically, and went to wash the blood off his hands before meeting Rachel in the lab.

* * *

Nathaniel sat in his chair, across from Rachel. He gazed at her steadily. "I wish, today, for you to tell me about your life now. About the X-Men, and your father, and your relationship with the team. How do they treat you, how do they work your powers into their mission planning? That sort of thing. Just begin, and I shall interrupt with questions as you do so. I have brought more coffee, it is there, next to you." He didn't mention that it was in a new mug, as he did not think she would notice.

Rachel nodded. She relaxed, laying her head back. He'd strapped her to the table -- a sensible precaution when doing this sort of thing. Though she felt fairly good.

"Okay. Well, I live in the mansion. And right now I'm confined to the grounds. After the last trip to space. When Alex told Scott about me killing the Shi'ar, Scott grounded me. So I don't go on missions, right now." Rachel telekinetically brought her coffee to her and adjusted the exam table a bit so she could drink. Nathaniel generally didn't object to those things. As long as she was cooperative and controlled, he didn't mind. "Emma actually cut off my powers for three days for something, but she never told me what."

Nathaniel's brow furrowed slightly. "I beg your pardon--they have stilted your powers and grounded you for what, precisely? Defending yourself against an entire race which wishes to see you dead? Are they unaware of that mark upon your back, of its significance?"

Rachel smiled. A little tense, now. "Well. X-Men don't kill. That's Scott's rule. And, like, he can't stop some things. Like Logan. Or, like, in a space battle, if a ship blows up or something. But he got upset that I was killing when I could have incapacitated them." She sighed. "No one talks about the mark on my back. They don't talk about the Shi'ar. Like, Phoenix killed that planet, and they killed my family, and it's okay. I mean, Scott said it wasn't okay -- and he's mad, I can tell that -- but he's still."

She closed her eyes for a second. Took a slow breath. "Scott has trouble talking to me, is all."

"I am afraid I do not understand," Nathaniel said, the slightest edge to his voice. "You are being hunted. Your family has been systematically destroyed by the Shi'ar, and you are punished for defending yourself? You are punished for your actions, which you are doing to guarantee your own survival, by none other than your own father?" He tapped his pen on the clipboard. "Incapacitate them? The man is a strategist, surely he has to see the ridiculousness of that." Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. "You are held accountable for ensuring your own survival? That is completely irrational. Furthermore, did you not say that your father will wish to kill me for touching you?"

"I don't know," Rachel said. "I don't understand it, either. But he's pretty adamant. I'm not supposed to do it. It makes me a monster." She opened her eyes. "I think a lot of the time, when he looks at me, he doesn't see me, or even Jean. He sees Phoenix. And it's like a contest he can't win -- like, keeping me controlled means Jean never died, or something."

"Survival does not make you a monster. One would think he would care more for your continued existence than some race of bloodthirsty alien barbarians." Nathaniel was still scowling. "Does he not realize that it creates an intense feeling of guilt in you, that not only are you a walking target for the Shi'ar, but you are also taken to task if you dare defend yourself? Rachel, that is absurd." He gave a harsh laugh. "I am a monster. You are nothing of the kind. Your father should be knocked about the head if he thinks this is in any way beneficial to you."

"I -- " Rachel caught herself breathing shallowly, and made and effort to control it. "I think the X-Men believe that I am a monster," she said slowly. "It may not be my fault -- I don't think any of them think it's my fault. But. All of them have had awful things happen to them, and they've all gotten over it? Or, even if they haven't, they still hold to Xavier's ideals, to Scott's plan. I think they think I -- "

Rachel realized she was nearly panting. "Nathaniel," she said evenly, looking at him. "I'd like to sit up, and drink my coffee, and take a short break. Then I can tell you more about this. It's just a little hard, and I'd like a rest, please."

He stood up, ignoring her, and began pacing. "I do not understand this ideal, then, which promotes treating a broken young woman like a monster for--what was it you did, this grand crime of yours? Daring to survive? Do they blame you for it, for killing the mutants when you had no control over what was happening to you? In a reality which no longer exists?" His hands were clasped behind his back. He stared at the cold metal walls, the gleaming stainless steel. He was agitated at the man's illogical treatment of Rachel.

Nathaniel turned back to her. "They are at fault for a great deal of what makes you so unbalanced," he said bluntly. "I cannot imagine you are not somewhat angered by the unfair way in which you are treated by your family. These people for whom you would lay down your life, willingly, as you have told me. They cannot be arsed to even allow you the dignity to protect yourself? That is bloody infuriating, Rachel, don't you think?"

Rachel dissolved the restraints holding her and sat. She picked up her coffee with hands shaking only a little bit. "I'm not angry at them," she said. She sighed. "I think they do blame me, a little. For all of it. And even -- ending the future timeline. We don't talk about it. Well, Nathan does. He's proud of me. Of us, and what we did. But I don't remember it well. Scott, he -- "

She stopped short and looked up at Nathaniel. "Did you say 'arsed'? You totally did."

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. "Yes. I am British, it is a common enough expression in my native tongue. Do stop trying to change the subject." He tapped his foot, eyes still narrowed. "Why on earth would a father be angry at his daughter for ending a timeline in which she was enslaved and forced to kill her own kind?" Nathaniel shook his head as if trying to clear it. "That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. I have been alive a long time and spent a significant portion of that time in bondage to a megalomaniacal madman. That is saying something, you realize."

"God, you are really pissed off." Rachel watched him, almost smiling. He was still coming up on seven feet tall. Still chalk-white. But he was glaring. And some of his hair had come out of the ponytail a little. It flopped by his ear as he tapped his foot. He looks like a person, more. She shrugged. "Scott just sees me failing, and it's all about how he failed Jean and he'll lose me, I guess. We just don't talk about it. Except that he gets tense and angry at me whenever I use my powers these days. When I left they had just decided to lock away the Phoenix and strip me of my powers as permanently as possible. So I'd never kill again."

"So, what are you saying to me is that your family is prepared to neuter you and then allow you function as a sitting duck for the forces that would see you dead." He crossed the room to her and put his hands on her shoulders. He actually shook her. "It is driving me mad that you do not see why that is so very--stupid." He breathed out, trying to control the uncustomary flare of temper. "How is that any different than a collar? Has your father then become your new handler?"

Rachel slapped his hands away and stood, advancing on him. "What happened to 'I have no emotions, ooh, how come everyone's not reasonable like me'!" She jabbed him in the chest with two fingers. "They're my family you jackass, not my handlers, and they just want to keep me safe! I'm not some sort of damn bait! They're trying to help!"

She paused, breathing hard but not scared. Angry. "Don't you ever say that. Don't you ever say they are making me a hound. It's nothing like that." The image of Hank coming towards with a collar in his hands suddenly filled her memory. Emma psychically restraining her. Her uncle, Hank, attempting to cut off her power. The image was so strong Rachel staggered. She caught herself on Nathaniel, holding onto his arms. "Whoa. Okay. I gotta sit."

"I become angry, I have told you that, especially when I see someone who will willingly allow themselves to be de-powered to protect some infuriatingly pacifistic idea of morality. Your father is an idiot and should praise your powers, not attempt to stifle them." Nathaniel caught her last image. He watched her memory play itself out. He had been intending to walk her back to the table, to assist her in sitting.

Instead, he yanked her hard against his body, hands rough on her arms. "You are one of the most powerful mutants I have ever seen, and you allow your family to mistreat you because you think they are doing it out of love." He nearly spit the word at her. "They are doing the very same thing to you that they did in the camps, and you are too foolish to see it. One day, you will wake up with a Shi'ar ship on your lawn and you shall lack the powers to defend yourself and everyone you profess to care about. And you will allow this to happen, because you seek Scott Summers' approval more than you care about your own life, your own safety." He was breathing hard, aware of her body in a way that was also making him angry--at himself, rather than her. "When you go back, they will finish what they have started. Is that what you want, Rachel? Is it?"

Rachel found herself leaning on him. He held her tight. She looked up at him, eyes flaring white for a moment. Rachel exerted her telepathy and easily found her way into his mind. Not deeply. But the surface was there. Open, far more than he probably realized.

"I don't want that," she said quietly. "But how can I be angry at them, Nathaniel? I can't stand losing them again. When I go back I'll -- I'll figure something out. I don't want to let them do that. But I don't want to fight them, either." She put her hand on his chest, gently, and pushed back a little. "I know you think less of me for that. But it's my choice."

You should lose them. They are worthless, and hardly deserving of you or your abilities. Nathaniel realized what he was doing. His logic--hampered a bit by his unaccustomed anger and something else, upon which he didn't wish to dwell at the moment--told him that her ability to make any choice, even one which he thought was asinine, was something. "You may do as you wish, Rachel. I am just astounded that a woman of your immense capabilities would willingly allow her family to constrain her in such a fashion." He stepped away from her, needing to put distance between them. He raked a hand through his hair, the gesture speaking to his continual aggravation. "Perhaps that is enough for today."

Rachel nodded, frowning. "That seems okay. You seem a little upset." She picked up her coffee mug. "And I am a little, too." Rachel stepped back, trying a small smile. "Should I get my own lunch?"

"No, that shan't be necessary," he said stiffly, and gazed at her consideringly. "I shall meet you in the kitchen at half past one. I have a few things I shall attend to prior to that. You may amuse yourself." He paused. "Do try not to break anything." Nathaniel paused on his way out of the door. "I find your situation highly annoying, I shan't lie about that. You are wasting all of your considerable potential mired in guilt and your sense of obligations to people who are behaving in a most asinine fashion. Wasted potential does apparently cause me to be upset." He did not look back at her, merely walked out of the lab.

Nathaniel went to his piano. He started playing, fingers moving over the keys. He played Liszt, which required some emotion. It annoyed him that he had any, but it was an acceptable way to exorcise it.

Chapter 6: Part 1
bewizeficwize on December 28th, 2007 09:43 pm (UTC)
This was an incredible chapter. I *really* like the contrast here - Rachel is controlled and Essex is the one on the verge of acting irrationally. It's funny to me that he doesn't realize yet that he cares what decision Rachel makes.

Hee - he sees the mote in her eye, but not the log in his own at the moment.

Great chapter! Thank you so much for it!

mymatedavemymatedave on December 29th, 2007 12:03 am (UTC)
Brilliant stuff. I *love* Sinister's rant about the X-Men essentially doing the same thing to Rachel that her handlers did to her as a hound, and her not being as to see past the idea of them as her family.

The hot sex was nice too, especially him hesitating because for he's an evil scientist who's killed and tortured thousands, he'd find the idea of forcing someone distasteful.
caema: [FMA] Well that worked out just SUPER.caema on January 1st, 2008 11:07 am (UTC)
This is amazing. Just. Wow. In awe of you guys.

And I totally agree with the X-People's treatment of Rachel. 'Tis some serious bull going on there. >>;