Disclaimer: The only things I can possibly lay claim to is the new name mentioned in the end and some of the details of her previous life. The characters, concepts and situations are not mine.
Mystique and Magneto belong to Marvel (Comics and Entertainment - maybe Disney as well. But not me.)
Notes: set after X3: the Last Stand. Just what did happen to Mystique?
She stared at her hands, pale and smooth and soft looking. They didn’t change as she watched. Pale, soft hands at the end of pale, soft arms, connected to pale, soft shoulders. Pale, smooth skin over her body, a body that was, by human standards, quite attractive. Her hair was just long enough that the tips were in her field of vision, almost straight and dark. That didn’t change either. If she used the various styling products and heated devices, she could give it curl, make it stand in different directions; she could cut it shorter or let it grow out over weeks and months of time.
A week ago, she could change any of that and so much more with just a thought.
A week ago, her hands were normally blue, and lightly scaled. Her hair would be red. Until she decided to make them something else, anything else. She could look any way she pleased – blonde, brunette, red, straight hair or curls. White, green, purple, skin or scales or even feathers. She could look ordinary and forgettable, the buxom fantasy of any man, the muscular fantasy of any woman. Anything. She could look like anybody. A week ago, she was a mutant, given fantastic shape-changing abilities by a twist of genetics.
Today, her shape was as locked as any human's. They had told her that because of that injection, she was human.
Erik had dismissed her from his mind. As if that injection had killed her, had killed Mystique. And he had no use for the shape-locked, human-looking woman left behind. She could still hear his words… ‘Pity. She was beautiful.’
Was. Not only did he not have any interest in her current form, the form that might be permanent now, but… was? Was she nothing to him beyond her ability to change her shape? Of no use and value if she couldn’t use her gift? Not even a person? And he’d walked away. Just… walked away, leaving her on the ground in shock, horrified by the change that had taken place.
Nobody knew how long it had been since she’d changed against her will. She might have lost count herself… well, definitely in numbers, but she could remember the situation. And then… to think that one little dart could do that, force her to change, and then keep her from changing again? It was horrifying. Combine that with being dismissed as if dead, no longer of any use…
Small wonder that she’d been too stunned to resist as the humans had taken her away. They’d brought her to this place, a low-security prison, given her boring, unflattering clothing in dull, never-changing beige. The clothes reminded her of medical scrubs. They’d asked her questions to fill out forms and more forms, about her name and her history – when she’d been born, where she’d lived, what skills she had.
She hadn’t told them much. She was Mystique, she’d never needed another name. She’d been born in the spring, and hadn’t told them any more. She couldn’t quite remember how many springs ago, and while she could make a guess, she knew that they’d never believe it.
It would be worse for her if they did. She had only said that she’d traveled, seen different places. She hadn’t said that she’d spent the last two hundred years as a spy and occasional assassin for a multitude of governments. Hadn’t mentioned the decades that she’d spent disguised as the concubine to a nobleman in Imperial China, or the decade in a Turkish harem after offending one particularly corrupt Cardinal. If they knew that she’d been traveling on her own for centuries, had lived for centuries in perfect health…
Eternal youth and health had been hers. If not eternal, than certainly close enough. That had been a dream of humanity that had been ancient before she was born. Even if the governments would disclaim any knowledge, how many scientists would be willing to tear her apart to learn the secret? Maybe it wasn’t anything they could replicate, but that certainly wouldn’t help her if they decided to get her secret.
Between shock and caution down to her bones, she hadn’t told them much of anything. They thought she was poorly educated, and astonishingly ignorant of so many ordinary things. They had the idea, partly of their own inspiration, that Magneto had some of his minions raise her in isolation, using her as a shape-changing pawn. That she had no history beyond Magneto’s use of her, no skills beyond her now-gone shape-changing, and perhaps she wasn’t that bright.
Fools. Ignorant, foolish humans… how could she take someone’s place without being able to use their technology, move the way they moved, understand the conversations that they needed to have? How could she have fought the way she did if all she could do was change the way her body looked?
But it could only help her if they underestimated her. If they thought she was ignorant and at best average intelligence, then they would talk in front of her, leave bits of information where she could find it. If they thought her sheltered and helpless, then they wouldn’t be watching for what she might do.
Except… for the first time, how long it took before they dismissed her as harmless might matter. She might not be able to wait for years, decades until they considered her harmless. In decades, she might be harmless… might be old.
She might get old now. Be vulnerable to the myriad weaknesses and ailments that happened to people just because they hadn’t died yet. Fall victim to complications from eating or not eating certain things. Become old, fragile… and be stuck that way.
Mystique – for she would always be Mystique and not this Misty Newman that they were trying to make her into – shuddered. “How could such a tiny amount of liquid take so much from me?”
end Locked Mystique ?