Chapter Text
Mystique was well acquainted with risk. She was a shapeshifter, after all. Her entire existence was a risk; every form she took was a part she had to play, a person she had to pretend to be. She existed as a series of risks, of trying to imitate a speech pattern just right and mimic mannerisms that weren’t her own long enough to trick people into giving her an inkling of trust. Her life hinged on her ability to decipher what risks were worthwhile, and which ones were worthless.
Accepting a meeting with an X-Man was a risk.
For once, Mystique couldn’t tell if it was one worth making.
“Good afternoon, Senator Kelly,” came a voice from the patio doorway. There was a woman standing there, rose-gold glasses sitting on her nose that matched the soft pink blouse she wore. “Your ten am is waiting in the hotel lobby.”
Mystique nodded. “Thank you, Katie. Go ahead and send him up.”
Katie nodded, and gave her a friendly smile that seemed befitting for the man that she thought she worked for. As the door closed behind her, Mystique wondered if she would have given that same smile if she knew who she actually worked for.
Then again, the real Senator Kelly would have never hired a woman that spent her free time on the clock whispering to the little succulent that she kept on her desk. Mystique hadn’t missed the way that the plant seemed to twist a different direction each morning. She wasn’t sure if Katie knew that she knew, but she wasn’t going to press. It wasn’t worth the risk just yet.
Maybe meeting with the X-Men was. Maybe it wasn’t.
She let out a small breath, tapping Kelly’s thick fingers against the glass-topped patio table as she looked out across the New York city skyline. There were a few plants circling the patio railing, and they complimented the sweeping view of the city below her. It was a good view, and a good hotel. Expensive. Fitting for a senator.
Mystique was glad that Senator Kelly had been a stupid man. If he had been smarter, maybe it would have been more challenging for her to get into his bank accounts.
The hotel’s patio area wasn’t empty. It was a nice place with a nice view, and there were several patrons milling about in the morning sun. Mystique recognized each one of them, and she picked her seat on the patio very intentionally. It was a small table that was close enough to the corner to give her a view of the entire patio. It also gave a woman in a pale green suit jacket with a far too large coffee sitting far too close to her far too expensive laptop a good view of her.
That woman was the only other person on the patio to glance up when the patio doors slid open once again. Mystique watched as she took in the new arrival, and she could see the recognition that flickered over her features at the sight of the man’s dark red sunglasses, carefully swept brown hair, and confident stride.
Not everyone would be able to recognize Scott Summers as Cyclops when he wasn’t in uniform. There was almost no difference between the two, but humans were remarkably stupid. Gale Claremont was a slight exception to that rule, and a reporter that was absolutely fascinated by the mutant phenomenon. Three of the top ten most viewed mutant-related news stories in the last four months had been her work, and all three of them were skewed in mutant favor. Mystique was fairly certain that the woman had a mutant son, though she was still working on confirming that rumor.
Humans were stupid, but Gale at least had enough of a brain to pull out her phone and begin subtly filming as Scott Summers approached. Yet another risk that Mystique had carefully twisted in her favor.
“Senator Kelly.” Summers stopped next to the table, and Mystique did feel a small, satisfactory flash of smugness at the address. There had been a risk with this; if he had made the mistake of calling her by her true name here, on film, it would have been a much bigger mess than this was all worth. It would have been a shame to have lost Gale Claremont; for a human, the woman had proved herself to have a level of usefulness. “Mind if I sit?”
“Please!” Mystique plastered a wide smile onto the face that she had stolen, and she swept out one of Kelly’s hands to indicate the chair across from her. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Summers.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice curt. “It is.”
Summers pulled the chair out, and Mystique watched as he tossed a glance over his shoulder. His eyes were hidden by the red shades that he wore, but Mystique was sure that there was a familiarly calculating look in the depths of those dangerous irises. He had likely noticed the strategy behind the seat she had chosen, and she could see the way that he tensed slightly as he noticed that he was being forced to sit with his back toward the rest of the patio. He was unsettled by that, and another kernel of satisfaction settled in Mystique’s mind.
Scott Summers was a smart man. Mystique could recognize that. He was a strategist, and a skilled one at that. He could see exactly what she was trying to accomplish, and he was doing a good job of hiding the way it unsettled him. It really was a shame that Xavier had snapped him up so fast; the man was loyal to a fault, and if Magneto had managed to get to him first he could have been a very, very powerful man.
As it was, he was currently just another risk for Mystique to play with.
“So,” Mystique said, leaning back in her chair in a purposefully relaxed manner, one that should also portray a level of respect. There was a camera rolling, and she had a part to play. “I am so happy that you asked to meet with me today. I have wanted to talk with you for a while now.”
”Yes,” Summers replied, dragging out the word a bit. Hesitating. Testing the waters. Trying to figure out her game. “You know we have… matters to discuss.”
”All good things, of course?” Mystique waved a hand slightly, a motion that she’d seen Kelly himself do in hundreds of the news clips that she’d studied. “I really do hope that the X-Men are in support of my new campaign. Truly, your opinion means a lot to me as I turn over this new leaf.”
”You’ve made a lot of great changes,” Summers said after a moment, nodding slowly. “You’re trying to bring respect to our species and… we can appreciate that.”
Mystique almost couldn’t have written it better if she had scripted it. Almost.
“It’s good to hear that I have your support,” Mystique said, flashing another bright smile through Kelly’s teeth.
The man gave a small, stilted nod. Mystique kept the smile on Kelly’s face, but only through the practiced art of being able to hide her own emotions. She wanted to frown slightly. A nod was good, but not as good as a verbal affirmation. This conversation needed to make it very clear that the X-Men approved of Kelly’s new campaign, or else it would be a complete waste of time for her to have accepted Summers’ meeting. She also didn’t want to tip him off though; Summers was a smart man, and he already seemed suspicious. She probably didn’t have long before he noticed the reporter filming them, or simply got bored with her games and cut to the chase; which, of course, would contain questions that she couldn’t risk being recorded.
Gale Claremont really did have her uses. Mystique would hate to have to get rid of a useful asset so early in her career.
Instead of trying to edge Summers into saying more, Mystique held out Kelly’s hand. “Thank you for the appreciation,” she said in Kelly’s voice. “I hope to do my part in keeping people safe.”
Summers regarded her outstretched hand, and Mystique could recognize the calculating look on his face even with the glasses that blocked half of his expression. It sent a familiar buzz through her limbs, a slight tension that came with the game of deception and cunning. This was a risk; Summers could tell she wanted something from this. If he refused to shake her hand here, it would reflect horribly on the image she was trying to build. It might not be quite worth killing Gale over, but it would certainly warrant her pulling strings to get the story spread as little as possible. It would also mean that this entire afternoon was a waste, and that the risk of accepting a meeting with an X-Man had turned out to be fruitless and troublesome.
But the “keep people safe” comment was a fishing line. She knew that was exactly the sort of lure that a man like Scott Summers couldn’t resist.
Sure enough, he grabbed the bait. “Both mutants and humans?”
If Mystique had been scripting this, he would have said ‘humans and mutants’. Putting mutants first was a bit too close to her true motives, and she could tell that Summers knew that. Oh well, she could always just use that to talk about the X-Men being self-centered the next time the press turned against them. The one little slip of her true priorities wouldn’t be noticed by the viewing public.
Mystique kept the smile on Kelly’s face. “Mutants and humans.”
So long as they were both useful.
Scott Summers finally reached out, accepted her hand, and shook it once. Mystique could still see Gale Claremont’s camera peeking up over the top of her computer screen; a perfect angle of the perfect little bit of press to help her win over those X-Man enthusiasts that had cropped up after the Liberty Island incident.
The day wouldn’t be a total waste, then.
“Why don’t we go take a walk?” Mystique asked, pulling her hand away so she could gesture towards the patio doors.
Away from prying ears remained unsaid, but she could see that Summers understood her perfectly well. She’d done her little dance, played the game and gotten an upper hand, but she knew Summers would tire of it soon. He had his own concerns that he wanted to discuss, and he would only wait so long.
Gale Claremont’s little recording was useful, but Mystique was well acquainted with risk. She knew when it was smart to dance through the game, and when it was wise to pull back. As soon as Summers started talking — really talking — the risk would outweigh the reward. She had gotten all that she wanted; now, it was time to cut Summers his due.
The man was already standing. “That seems like a good idea,” he said, his voice still slightly on edge. “We have some things to discuss.”
And that was exactly why Mystique wanted the rest of their conversation away from others. “Things to discuss” sounded so suspicious. That would cause speculations, questions, and general distrust toward her political campaign; which, of course, was exactly what she was trying to avoid.
“Yes,” Mystique said, standing in Kelly’s body as she started to move toward the patio doors. “I have some thoughts on your methods, Mr. Summers. Hopefully we can reach a peaceful solution.”
Summers didn’t respond — perfect. If bad press arose because it looked like Kelly was in support of the X-Men’s vigilante-esque methods, she could use that line to defend herself. Words could always be twisted, so long as they were said in the right way.
But now, she didn’t want anything else to be said. So instead she filled the silence, chatting in Kelly’s voice about Kelly’s concerns, carefully ensuring that the camera Gale Claremont had pointed at them would pick up nothing but a concerned senator trying to handle an uncertain element. Every word was carefully crafted to make sure it sounded like something Kelly could plausibly say, while at the same time being far more intelligent than anything that had ever come out of that man’s mouth.
Really, the real Kelly should be glad that he was dead. Mystique had managed to make far more use of his life than he ever had.
The patio doors closed behind them, and Mystique kept up the chatter for a bit longer. She made sure to be talking about the peace between mutants and humans until she passed by a red-haired woman in a security uniform. Sarah Rushman looked up as Mystique passed, and she gave the woman a small nod. Rushman visibly deflated, but gave a small nod back. She waited until Mystique had gotten Summers past, and then slipped into the hallway behind them.
Mystique hated to disappoint Rushman, but it really was more useful to keep Gale alive. All that Rushman needed to do today was make sure the woman didn’t follow them and try to get more than she’d been given; she’d already been served a story on a silver platter, after all. She should be grateful and not push her luck; it had been several weeks now since Mystique had asked Rushman to utilize her skills, and she knew the woman was bound to get bored before too long.
That, however, was a risk to weigh another time. As it was, she had Scott Summers staring at her, and she could tell he was growing impatient.
“Are you done playing games, senator?”
Mystique kept Kelly’s smile on her face. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Summers?”
“I know who Gale Claremont is.” His expression didn’t change. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
Despite herself, Mystique felt a small flash of respect. Perhaps Scott Summers was a smarter man than she gave him credit for. “And who says I was trying to be subtle?”
“You could have just asked,” Summers pointed out. “I appreciate you meeting with me. We could have worked something out.”
And that was where Summer’s stupidity lay. She hadn’t even given him anything yet. He was a cautious man, but far too willing to give his enemies second chances.
Maybe if Magneto had gotten to him before Xavier had, they could have fixed that naivety. As it was, the man was too deep in idealism to reach — for now, at least. Perhaps after a few more years, once Xavier’s dream had let him down a few too many times, he would learn.
For now, Mystique simply pressed the call button for the hotel’s elevator. The silence fell around them, and Mystique let out a tiny breath. She wasn’t in the clear just yet, but she could at least stop prattling about useless words now that they weren’t under scrutiny. She still kept Kelly’s face on, and she still kept smiling, but she didn’t justify Summers’ comment with an answer.
The elevator pinged its arrival, and the two of them stepped inside. Once the doors slid shut, Mystique let a ripple run through her skin. Kelly’s facial features fell away, replaced by something far more feminine. The blue suit jacket that he had been wearing melded into her skin, replaced by a short red dress with a swooping neckline. The hair on her head grew out, shifting from Kelly’s short, sandy locks into a nearly waist-length braid. Mystique made sure that the hair was a bright, fiery red to match the dress, and she shot Summers a smile that was far different from one of Kelly’s.
Summers glowered at her. “Aren’t there security cameras in here?”
“I took care of those this morning,” Mystique said, her own voice slipping through the lips for a moment before she finished her shift. Once everything had settled, her voice pitched into something much higher. “Dontch’a worry ‘bout it, hon. Nobody’s gonna be botherin’ us, now, are they?”
She leaned toward him, and watched as he took a large step back. She could see the discomfort present in his expression, and the smile she had on this face deepened.
“What?” She gave him a look, and for a moment she let her features flicker again. The bright red hair darkened into a color that she knew Summers would recognize, and her face shifted into the features that she could recall from the last fight that she had with the X-Men as a whole. When she spoke again, it was in Jean Grey’s voice. “Would this be better?”
“No!” There was red coloring Summers’ cheeks now, his entire head tilting away as he took another generous step backward. “No, no, the other was fine.”
“Hmm.” Mystique felt the flash of satisfaction that always came with successfully unsettling her enemies. She let herself shift back, once again settling into the first form. “Nameless redhead it is, then.”
Summers’ head tilted back for a moment, and he gave her a long look. “She’s not nameless though, is she?”
Mystique shrugged, the woman’s bare shoulders moving with her. She had no idea who the redhead was; she’d seen her on the street before, years ago, and started using her as an alias. The original woman could be dead for all Mystique cared.
Summers sighed, but whatever he wanted to say was cut off by the elevator’s ping. Mystique put a grin on her new face and grabbed Summers’ hand, relishing in the way that he jumped and using that to fuel a loud giggle that burst from the woman’s mouth. She tugged him forward, ignoring the way that he tried to pull away, and led him quickly across the hallway. There were security cameras at either end of the hall, but these were ones that she wanted. Yet another thing she could use against Summers if it was ever needed; footage of him being pulled into a hotel room with some random, nameless woman.
The second she got him inside, the door shut, she was finally able to drop the act. Summers was breathing heavily, obviously flustered and uncomfortable, and any cameras that had been snuck into this hotel room had been meticulously weeded out when Mystique booked this room a week ago.
Now that the risks were all taken care of, Mystique finally let go.
Shifting into her own skin felt like coming up for air. It was refreshing to let her scales breathe again, her blue skin blending in with the shadows of the hotel room. She didn’t bother to turn on the light, instead letting her own golden eyes shine in the darkness as her own hair got the opportunity to settle against her head. She didn’t bother letting clothes settle over her form; not now, when she got the rare chance to actually be herself.
She gave Summers a look; none of Kelly’s smiles, no other woman’s attempt at a flirty gaze. It was a look that was all her own, and she knew just how dangerous it could be. She could see the tension snap at Summers, and she let a tiny smirk pull at her lips.
“You wanted to talk,” she said in her own, natural voice. “Let’s talk.”
Summers regarded her cautiously. Mystique could tell he was still a bit flustered, and he cleared his throat before speaking. “Yeah. Let’s.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and expectant. Mystique let her smirk deepen slightly. She could see what he was trying to do. They both knew why he was there. He wanted to try and gain a footing in this conversation by making her bring up the topic.
Mystique wasn’t bothered by silence. She could wait as long as she needed.
Eventually, Summers caved. “You were the one that left Nightcrawler on our doorstep, weren’t you?”
And it only took them a couple months to figure it out.
Mystique hummed instead of answering. As she did, she stepped deeper into the hotel room. She turned to sit on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs and leaning back a bit, as though she was uninterested in the conversation.
Her silence forced Summers to speak again. “Nightcrawler? The blue kid?”
“That wasn’t a kid,” Mystique said, studying her nails. It had been a while since she’d really looked at her true nails. She needed to let them grow out a bit more.
“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” Summers murmured.
That piqued Mystique’s interest. There was some frustration there, some exhaustion too. Someone at that Institute had been fighting against him, which was intriguing. Jean Grey, perhaps; maybe she’d peeked into the mutant’s mind and seen just how much of a shell he was. Or perhaps Ororo Munroe; she was a powerful woman, she might have seen the danger that the mutant posed to the X-Men’s other stowaways.
Whoever it was, it seemed like a sore subject. She could use that.
“So you know who I’m talking about,” Summers pressed on. “You remember him?”
Mystique hummed, still studying her nails. “Why does it matter?”
“We know he was sent to attack you,” Summers admitted. Mystique smiled a bit; good information. She had wondered just how much they knew. “What we want to know is who sent him.”
“How do you know he wasn’t acting independently?” Mystique shot him a look.
Summers returned the look without wavering. “We both know there was nothing independent about that attack.”
So the brainwashing was obvious. That wasn’t a surprise; especially if he was one of Stryker’s mutants. She wondered if they’d made any progress in breaking him from that control.
The thought took her aback, and she let herself frown a little. What did she care if they’d managed to make any progress with Nightcrawler? That wasn’t something that affected her at all. She had no reason to care.
She pressed forward, shoving those thoughts to the side. “Maybe that’s why I dumped him on you instead of killing him there. What do you care?”
“We need to know who sent him,” Summers reiterated. “Do you know who it was?”
Mystique had known from the moment she’d seen the blank look in Nightcrawler’s eyes. Still, she leaned a bit further back on the bed, and cast her eyes toward the window. Light was streaming through the closed blinds, casting slats of white through the shadows that engulfed the room.
“And what if I don’t?”
“You’re smarter than that, Mystique.” Summers crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “We both know you’re smarter than that.”
Mystique hummed. He had her there.
“So I tell you who sent him,” she said slowly, drawing out the words. “Then what?”
She was careful to act uninterested, but her eyes were trained on Summers. She watched his every move, looking for tells of exactly what this was about. Curiosity? Justice? Revenge?
Summers met her gaze. “You saw the collar. You know what it does?”
Maybe Summers wasn’t as smart as he seemed. “Don’t tell me this is the first time the mighty X-Men are seeing shock collars?” She shot him a purposefully condescending look. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
“The shock part, I’ve seen.” Summers took a step forward. “Did you know about the inhibitor?”
Mystique stopped halfway through turning back to her nails. She turned back to Summers, her gaze sharp. “Inhibitor?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Summers’ mouth, and Mystique cursed herself. She let herself slip for just a moment, and that was all he needed. The upper hand was with Summers now.
“It kept him from using his powers,” Summers explained. “He has a secondary mutation. He tried to use it, and the collar stopped him.”
That must be the teleportation… which was strange, since he’d been able to use that just fine when attacking her. Interesting. “Did you leave it on him?”
“Of course not.” Idiots. “At least, not once we realized it was stopping him.”
“And you’re sure that was what it was?” Mystique pressed. She knew that Stryker had a lot of methods to keep mutants under his control, but this… this was something new.
There wasn’t a single waver in Summers’ voice. “If you know who made this thing, you need to tell us. You need to tell us now, before they start making more.”
“And so what?” Mystique asked, turning away from Summers so she could look at the window. She tried to feign nonchalance as she continued. “Seems like your concern, not mine.”
“Not yours?” Summers crossed his arms. “Mystique, this is all of our concern. Every mutant that wants the chance to walk the streets freely, that wants to be able to exist without fearing for our lives… this affects us all. If something like what Nightcrawler had is able to be developed more, it could be the key to spelling out our extinction.”
Mystique snorted pointedly. “And here I thought you were just coming to try and learn about the kid,” she drawled out. “You manage to turn everything into a savior complex, don’t you?”
“If everyone else is going to turn a blind eye, then yes.” Summers shrugged slightly, his arms still crossed over his chest. If that man could carry the weight of the world on his own shoulders, Mystique had no doubt that he would. “You help us, you won’t just be helping yourself; you’ll be helping your whole species.”
Mystique held Summers’ gaze for a long moment. Her mind flashed through the few conversations that she’d had with Stryker. She thought about the way that he held himself, the haughtiness with which he spoke, the gleam that slipped into his eyes whenever he made his mutants bend to his will.
For just a moment, she considered what it would be like to have something stop her abilities. She thought about how it would feel to be stuck in her scales all the time, no way to blend in.
She refused to shudder, but she met Summers’ gaze.
“Give me two days, and let me see what I can find.”
Summers raised an eyebrow. “You don’t already know who it was?”
Mystique made sure not to roll her eyes. Of course she knew, but Summers would be stupid if he thought she couldn’t find more for him.
If Stryker truly did have the ability to take away mutant powers, Mystique wanted him dead. She could kill him herself, but that wasn’t a risk she wanted to take. Passing information to the X-Men though, and allowing them to do the dirty work…
That was a risk she was willing to take.
“I’ll get you the blueprints,” she said after a long moment. “The names as well. Two days, and you could have all of that.”
Summers hesitated. Mystique could see the gears turning in his head, and she could tell he was weighing the risks just as much as she had been.
“Fine,” Summers finally said. He gave a stiff nod. “Two days. Then—”
“I’ll call you,” Mystique said, voice firm. She didn’t give Summers the chance to dispute that. She simply stood, gracefully stepping across the dark hotel room toward the door. She could feel Summers’ gaze boring into her back, and she threw a look over her shoulder. “Just take care of this. Don’t make me regret helping you.”
Summers didn’t step forward to stop her from leaving. He also didn’t smile. “Keep your word,” he said, a note of warning in his voice. “For everyone’s sake.”
“Everyone’s sake” wasn’t something that Mystique was bothered by.
Her own interests, however… those were something that she protected well. Her own abilities, her own skin, and her own freedom… those were worth taking risks for.
Working with the X-Men was a risk, but it was one that Mystique could justify if it would keep that technology far, far away from her.
She was halfway out the door when Summers called out her name. She nearly ignored it, but after a moment she turned back to glance at him.
Now, the man’s lips twitched into a tiny grin. “You called him a kid.”
Mystique frowned. “That’s what you want to leave with?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I wanted to say thank you.”
Mystique raised an eyebrow. “Thank you?”
“For the kid.” Scott tilted his head toward her. “Thank you for bringing him to us.”
Mystique didn’t bother justifying that with a response. The mutant that had tried to kill her was so far from a ‘kid’ that she could hardly believe she’d let the word slip from her own mouth.
She could also still hardly believe that she’d bothered to give him to the X-Men. There was no reason for it, no benefit to her, no tactical advantage from the move. It would have been easier — more merciful , even — for her to have just killed the boy herself. But that decision had set more in motion than she had expected, and now she was working with the X-Men.
They had a deal; Mystique would hold up her end, and hope the risk would benefit her in the long run.