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Versions of a Hero	By : elusivemuse Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > Het - Male/Female Views: 1520 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-men, nor am I making any money from this piece of fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Versions of a Hero
- 1
OK, this story is going to be a bit AU, certain people don’t die when they were supposed to, and ages are a little different, though I’m going to blame Stryker’s age suppressants. And to you die hard fans, I won’t be following the movies or the comics stringently, I’m going to play with what I like and hope you guys don’t get to fed up with me. I’m trying hard as possible to keep them all in character, however. So, read, review, and enjoy most of all!
Prologue: Darcy Auriel Whitlock…

The room was little more than a concrete bunker, cold, dank and damp. Black mould covered all the walls in unique patterns. Water dripped down over the doorway, green lichen and moss framing the liquid’s path. Sunlight glowed through the doorway, lightening only a small square of the room. The rest of the space was artificially lit by a weak globe, swinging morosely above the heads of five men, one tied up on a rickety chair.
The four left standing were an intimidating bunch, dressed in various adaptations of a military uniform. Ignoring the filth around him, the man with shaggy brown locks rested against a wall, his eyes darting around, actively watching, and belying his relaxed like form. Dressed purely in army green, he was the symbol of patriotic pride and a man who had seen more in his lifetime than any other had. A half chewed cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, burning orange occasionally as he took in a deep puff. Opposite him, close to the door stood the smallest, his compact lean form telling tales of his agility. He was an attractive man, silky black hair brushed up and to the side with dark eyebrows framing slanted eyes and a regal looking nose. Shiny sliver and black guns where holstered everywhere over his uniform, military pocketed vest and olive fatigue pants, two under his neck, two under his arms and two more pairs strapped to his waist and thighs. The male gave the impression of silence and sternness. Beside the man tied to the chair was a stocky solider, his intelligence level questionable as he paced his pale brawn around.
“I’m really good at killing. You might say that it’s my specialty. That and ballroom dancing. But guess which one I can actually make a living out of?” Kneeling in front of the terrified man on the chair was the most light-hearted of the bunch. In green military pants, a red muscle shirt and two Katana’s strapped to his back. Sweat glistened on bronzed arms and the once flawlessly combed hair curled with humidity and perspiration. Bright glittering brown eyes danced from a chiselled handsome face. Abruptly he stood and with one graceful movement, he unsheathed a blade.
“Wade!” The man on the wall stalked over to him, his back facing the prisoner. “Orders are we don’t kill him. Got it, Bub?”
“Don’t sweat it, Jimmy,” Wade smirked. “I’m just trying to set an atmosphere. It’s what one does when they’re planning to dance.”
“How long do we have to wait to kill him?” The southern drawl of the brawn spoke up.
“Until Stryker gets here with his new interrogation officer,” Jimmy replied curtly. “Impatient, Dukes?”
“Don’t like it here, its too hot.”
“That’s because you’re sweating more than a Christmas pig twirling a ballet on a spit,” came Wade’s reply.
“Enough with the dancing jokes,” said the darkly handsome one by the door. “Stryker will be back soon and we better have something of value to offer him before he orders me to get trigger happy.”
“You’re trigger happy anyway,” Wade snapped back with a grin. “Makes me wonder if that is how you perform in the sack, short and quick bursts.” The other man pulled out a gun quicker than the eye could follow.
“Enough!” Jimmy yelled. “Zero, holster your gun, Wade, shut your goddamn mouth.” The bronzed Adonis snapped to attention sarcastically before flipping him the bird. Zero shoved his gun away, his mouth down in a fierce frown. Wade threw the other man a happy smirk as he sheathed his sword.
“Don’t worry, Jimmy Boy, I won’t make you look bad in front of your man crush.” Jimmy’s fists clenched in anger before he walked back to his pervious position. The swordsman let out a sharp laugh. “What, no threats this time? I’m hurt.”
Footsteps sounded above them. Four sets. The first was a heavy pounding, almost like a predator, the next a soft slinking, like a man afraid to step on a few toes. The other two had the men in the bunker straightening sharply. One was the distinct slap of dress shoes, their steps of a confident man who had everyone obeying his commands; the second was the lightest tapping, quick like a hummingbird’s. Each of the five men in the bunker strained their ears as the people above them turned and began their descent into the room.
Through the doorway stalked a hulking mass of a man, short hair cropped to his skull, huge unruly sideburns all the way down his jaw; his uniform very similar to Dukes’ in his army pants and pocketed vest. His nails were ugly and yellow, arched into a vicious claw shape. A smaller man walked in behind him, dressed in full military fatigues. He was a weasel like man, beady eyes taking in the room as he danced around the other man, leaving a lot of room between them. Nevertheless, as they listened before, it was the last two that had the rest at the ready.
Shiny black shoes and perfectly pressed blue pants was the first sign of the man that was their commanding officer. As he walked further down, his dress uniform was revealed in all its glory. Colourful medals decorated his chest proudly. Light brown hair, peppered with silver, was combed flawlessly, offering no sign of discomfort. His eyes were dark with intelligence and piercing.
This in its self was not strange to the men. However, it was the other person next to him that had them off kilter, even the new arrivals. Holding tightly to the officer’s hand was a little girl, no older than six years. Her baby smooth brown hair was gently brushed into a half pony tail, the rest left to hang down her back. A silky pale party dress brought out her innocent blue eyes and rose-bud lips. The party dress fit her well, the length of it going past her knees and a pretty purple sash at her waist. White tights encased her legs and black shiny shoes pattered lightly down the rest of the stairs. Shyly, she pressed herself against the man’s leg as she sucked her thumb.
“Sir?” Jimmy asked sharply, disapproval coating his tone harshly.
“Men, meet Darcy Auriel Whitlock. She’s going to help us today.” Stryker said proudly as he lightly pushed her forward. All the men had the same look gracing their features: shocked anger. It was unanimously agreed that a little girl had no place in the hell they were. Wade’s expression was the most unusual. He stared at her, his fists clenching and unclenching and a tick at his jaw. It was clear he wanted to say something, but was unsure what he wanted to convey. A condescending smirk played at Stryker’s mouth and he turned and knelt to the small girl. “Darcy, you know how you met my son?” she nodded solemnly. “You remember how he played with a person’s mind by showing them things?” Once more, she inclined her head. “I need you to show this man on the chair one of your nightmares to get him to tell me something. We asked him nicely before, but he wouldn’t tell us. You want to be a hero, right?” The man tied to the chair started to scream.

Chapter One: Dreams and Doctors…

“Has he talked at all?” Stryker asked Wade as the man continued to scream loudly.
“Sure he has. He was all, “Help me! I want a Pony! I want my Lawyer! I want my Mummy! I want my Lawyer’s Mummy!” ” The sharp glare he received didn’t slow him down at all. “Damn, tough crowd. He mentioned some guy’s name, Del Mosey Sparks.” Absently he unsheathed a sword and twirled it a few times before placing it gently back. “You know, if she continues, he’s going to be a blubbering mess that’s no use to anyone.”
Stryker turned and tapped Darcy on the shoulder. “That’s enough now. You’re being a wonderful hero.” She nodded and closed her eyes, intense concentration causing a crease between her eyes. The man’s agonised cries slowly died down until he was limp in the chair, panting harshly. The other men stood in the shadows, the flickering globe above them dancing their features into ghoulish shadows. Whispered words of another language forced themselves out of the man’s lips, cold sweat and tears slipping into his mouth while haunted eyes stared into space. Stryker stared at him for a while mildly impressed. “What did you make him see, Darcy?”
“A nightmare,” she replied in a tinkling voice. “Of a tunnel, hands in the black reaching for him with no body to be seen and a feeling of scary fear and sweat down his back.” Zero, Wade and Jimmy blinked, ignoring their shudders down their backs. The girl was creepy in her innocence. She had no idea what Stryker was really making her do. The officer nodded, listening to the spoken words that the tortured man spewed.
“He’s just repeating the name,” he said abruptly. “He’s of no further use. Victor, take him out.”
The feral man smirked, the claw like nails growing longer and sharper as he lunged.

Darcy woke up with a cry, her heart pounding and cold sweat trickling down her back. Panting harshly, her blue eyes darted around the room, taking in familiar ebony walls and bedroom furniture. Violet sheets pooled around her hips, her white tank and grey silk pyjama pants twisted uncomfortably. The navy comforter had been kicked off the bed, a twisted heap on the ground. Thick brown hair stuck around her face and neck with perspiration. Slowly her breath turned regular and she reached over to her bedside lamp. Golden light filled the room, chasing away the shadows. Another nightmare. Groaning, she flopped back onto her pillow. There was no way she could get back to sleep after that. Her mind filled in the blood and gore splattering on the walls, the dying cries of the man tortured that her dream left out. It was the seventh time she had dreamed that particular dream.
She threw her arm over her eyes as she tried to ignore the phantom screams that echoed in her ears. Sighing, she got up, grabbing her thick framed glasses and putting them on as her feet slipped into her slippers. A hot cup of coffee sounded like heaven to her. Straightening her clothes, she walked towards the door, picking up her old terrycloth robe from her chair as she passed.

The mansion was cold and quiet, the moon’s haunting light glowing through the windows, making shadows darker and more sinister. She could hear the wind rush through the trees outside, the haunting wailing causing her to remember a different dream, a scarier one. A draft blew through the corridor, billowing her robe out behind her. Darcy tightened the fabric around her, tying the robe around her waist. The hair on the back of her neck rose. A sudden hysterical thought crossed her mind, the idea of the feral man watching her. Her footsteps picked up speed as she danced down to swooping stares to the front foyer.
A sliver of artificial light beckoned her to safety. It was the kitchen. Her pace quickened as she burst through the door. A bark of laughter escaped her throat as she took in the room’s occupant. Sitting innocently at the breakfast bench was a blue furred man, cream and crumbs a frame around his mouth.
“You, ah, got a little something here,” she said, touching the corner of her own mouth. “Couldn’t resist the Twinkies again, Hank?” he gave her an abashed look.
“I thought I was hiding it so well,” Hank replied mournfully as he wiped his mouth.
“A half a box of Twinkies missing causes suspicion to arise. They’re meant for the students you know.”
“Well, it isn’t my fault that the person who does the food shopping doesn’t order enough of them.” Hank replied petulantly. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.” Darcy sighed and walked over and sat down next to her Blue friend. Pulling a Twinkie from the ill-hidden box, she unwrapped in sadly.
“It’s my nightmares again. The sleeping pills you prescribed me aren’t working anymore.” Nibbling at the treat, Darcy stared at the green marble bench top. “I’ve had the same nightmare for the past week. I can’t sleep, my appetite is shrinking and my concentration towards my music class is waning. My students can see I’m distracted and are running wild.”
“Those pills are the strongest I am able to prescribe. Perhaps its time to talk to the professor.” Hank replied sympathetically.
“I have talked to him. We talked last night.” she said, frustrated. “He seems to think it’s got to do with my missing memories. But if these dreams are my memories, I’m not sure I want to know about my past.”
Hank pulled her into a one-armed hug. He couldn‘t deny that there was something dark about his friend, something that played around the edges of her personality. It only showed when she was on a mission, a brutal mind frame that told her that there were no rules, anything was ok to do. Scott and Logan were the only two who kept her on the ball, but even then, he knew it was starting to get harder for them. Her past was a mystery, a terrifying one he guessed. Whatever happened to her was only now starting to rise up again.
**
Darcy walked through the rows of students, their fingers dancing across keyboards. Their eyes were focused on the computer screens in front of them and headphones were over their ears to give them privacy as they played. All she could hear was the dull thud of the keys. It was her favourite time of the day, the last lesson with the warm afternoon sun shining through the tall arched windows. A breeze blew lazily through the tall tree branches and Darcy ached to go out there with a picnic blanket and a good book with the intent for an afternoon snooze.

Darcy, come to my office when your lesson is done, please. A warm paternal voice in her head drew her out of her thoughts, Professor Xavier. A shrill bell screamed through the halls, signalling the rush of students packing up their belongings and escaping the room as fast as they could. Calling out a farewell, she then walked through the computers, saving forgotten work and turning the computers off. Gathering her own set of books and marking, Darcy braved the still bustling halls to go to her next appointment.
The push and pull of students made it hard for her to get where she needed to go. It didn’t help that everyone was going in the opposite direction as she. Absently Darcy smoothed down her shirt and pencil skirt with one hand. Closer to her destination the crowds thinned and made walking a lot more easily. Looking around the halls, she was struck by a sudden foolishness as she recalled the previous night’s fear. The mansion had astounding defences to protect the people inside. Finally, she arrived at the Professor’s door. She rapped her knuckles lightly and waiting for his bid to enter.
The hard wooden door opened noiselessly, a welcoming air floating out to meet her. Immediately she felt better, safe, and not alone. Her low black heels sunk slightly in the plush carpet, her matching black skirt stretching to accommodate her steps. Well aware that her green blouse had bunched since she last smoothed it, Darcy placed her burden on a chair in front of an imposing desk and sat in the one beside it. Opposite her sat a friendly older man, his bald head leading down to warm blue eyes and a smiling mouth.
“Thank you for coming, Darcy,” he opened kindly. “Hank came to see me today about your dreams.” She shifted awkwardly. Although knowing that Hank were sincere, she had hoped to be the one to broach the subject with her mentor.
“Yes. The pills he gave me aren’t working anymore. I guess my nightmares are kind of pushy,” she said quietly, ducking her head, letting her bangs cover her eyes. Although not meaning to, The Professor gave the impression that he could see right through a person when their eyes met.
“You already know my theory about them possibly being memories needing you to acknowledging them.” Darcy’s head rose as she squared her jaw.
“If they are memories of who I used to be, then I don’t want them. They’re evil and cold,” her voice was sharp and uncompromising. Professor Xavier sighed at her unwavering attitude.
“Fair enough, but I should warn you that the mind doesn’t do what you tell it to do. Try some meditation techniques before going to bed, clear your mind instead of dreading what you might see. Perhaps your fear of the dreams is causing them to appear.”
“Thank you, Sir.” She stood up and gathered her things once more before walking to the door. Turning to face him one last time, she gave the older man a soft smile. “Thank you for your efforts to help me. I know I’ve been a little stubborn recently. I’ll try the meditation.” He gave her a paternal smile in return and nodded at her words.
“I’ll see you at dinner then, shall I?”
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Versions of a Hero