Opening the Birdcage

Seven Years Previously

Where was 87? What was 87? Page number? What number? Where was it? Before or after 70? Well, the 7 was after the 8, so maybe that was right --

Desperately, Macie Finch flipped through the pages of her textbook, pulling at a tendril that had fallen loose from her bun and curled down over a slender shoulder. Trembling hands swept over the blocks of text, eyes scanning frantically for some kind of clue to where the page was that she needed.

"Macie - your turn. Front of class."

No. No! I'm not ready! 87, 87 - where is it? No --

"Macie - to the front."

Those slender shoulders slumped, and Macie bowed her head in defeat. "I ...I can't."

A giggle rippled through the room; she knew why. Since beginning at school, classes dealing with words or numbers (and that was nearly all of them) had proven to be more than difficult for Macie Finch. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment and wished that the year would skip forward to when her father sent her on the plane back to her grandparents in Victoria. She could spend a month there without - 87 - having to read or write or - 87 - do anything with numbers. She could play with the dogs and eat - 87 - everything that Grandmama made at dinner, even if it was all the greens.

"Yes, you can." The teacher was at her desk, offering a smile, albeit a slightly frustrated one. "Look, you haven't got your page yet. I'll do it for you."

Another wave of giggles. Macie's face flushed, and she mumbled a humiliated thanks before rising on shaking legs. Black pleats swishing around her knees, she started the long trek to the front of class. Eyes bored into her like drills from all sides, teasing whispers accompanied every step. She didn't have to hear to know what they were saying.

Macie Finch, no friends or fun. Can't read or count 'cause she's dumb.

Another step. Fear quickened her heartbeat. I ...I can't do this.

A hand pressed into her back, propelling her forward; "Come on, Macie." The room's only adult had exerted her influence again, pushing her closer to the place she least wanted to be. With the teacher's 'help', Macie stood before her classmates, shivering. She glanced down at the book, did not feel the dilation of her pupils which was clear for others to see, and shot a desperate look at her teacher.

Please. Please don't make me read.

The teacher did not hear her thoughts, and firmly said: "The whole page, please."

Resigned to her fate, Macie turned her eyes back to the book. Its words were forbidding, inprenetrable, She licked her dry lips, took a firmer hold on its spine as the sweat on her palms had begun to make it slippery, and concentrated on the first sentence. "H-he ...was ...a-awa ...awake --"

At the teacher's cough, Macie turned to see the woman lean forward and place her elbows on the desk, "Now let's try it at a frequency that humans can hear, yes?"

Frequency? What's that?

"Yes, miss." Macie cleared her throat, ran her tongue over her lips again, and tried to ignore the whispers. "He was awake -- ah, ah, ned?" She looked to the teacher, who gestured for her to keep going. "Um, by a -- umm, d-deaf - deaf --"

She felt sick. It was welling up inside her, threatening to overwhelm her. Tap class, box splits, en pointe, anything but this. Anything but the pure humiliation of thirty children, all able to read and count. Her jaw trembled. "I c-c--"

Suddenly, hot tears flooded her face, catching in her eyelashes and blurring the rows of children fidgeting in their seats before her. She clutched the book, hiding her flushed face within its pages, the toxicity of its words forcing coughs as she choked on her cry.

'Don't worry.'

A cool hand on her shoulder made Macie peer out of the book to meet the gaze of a man. Younger than her father, older than herself, with dark, tousled hair and features uncannily like her own. He offered her a mischievous smile, stroking a thumb to wipe away some salty water from her cheek.

"Macie, you okay?" It was her teacher's voice; the one in question had risen from her chair, looking slightly concerned. Macie glanced at her, and then back at the man.

'I can help.'

"Umm, yes. I'm sorry." Shaking her head, Macie took in a calming breath as her saviour stepped behind her, leaning his cheek against her shoulder. She lowered the book, settling her eyes on the text once more.

'Say what I say. He was awakened by a deafening crash that made the windows shake --'

"And he leapt from his bed with a shout. He ran to the nearest window to see what was going on, and he saw many people running around in a panic ..."

*

'Call me Sam.'

He was sat cross-legged in the centre of her room, forearms rested gently on each leg. Macie crossed the room and knelt opposite him, eyes wide with curiosity. He was so similar to her, yet different. He seemed calm, confident and content.

"Thank you, Sam."

'I heard you calling for help.'

"Did they not see you?"

'Only you can.'

Although she liked the idea, Macie's curiosity was piqued: "...Why?"

The corner of Sam's mouth lifted, and his eyes, mirrored to her own, lifted and met with Macie's. His hands reached towards her, ever-cool touch on her own fingers.

'Because I am yours.'

Present Day

The evening air was sweet and clear, but whomever her father had arranged to pick her up was half an hour late, and this worried Macie slightly. Her muscles were still warm from the two intense hours of tapping she had recently finished, but her arms were beginning to chill as the short sleeves of her T-shirt offered no protection. In fact, it wouldn't be long until her muscles cooled down, and even the red leg-warmers and grey knee-length shorts wouldn't provide much protection against the cold. Her expectance of the car to take her home had led to her not seeing the need for a coat.

'You could walk.' At her side, Sam crouched on the stone steps, and cast a look into the labyrinth of streets, 'I'll walk with you.'

"But it's dark, and --"

'You will be safe.' He gave her the quirky smile that she liked most about him, 'I'll be your shield.'

Macie regarded him fondly, "You've always been my shield."

'And I'm really good at it, which is why you'll not mind walking too much.'

Reassured, Macie nodded, and grabbed her tap shoes, which had been resting on her other side. She knotted the laces and put them behind her neck, so the shoes dangled either side of her neck, resting at her chest. Getting to her feet, she winced as she realised how just how cold the stone steps had made her rear end, and set off down the steps, Sam at her side.

Staying close to him, she followed his slight lead as they headed into the rapidly darkening streets, trying to dispell the prickles she felt on the back of her neck.

A shadow passed over her, the pin-prickling sensation growing as someone stepped in behind her. A rough skinned hand clamped over her mouth, his other arm wrapping around her shoulders. Hot, foul breath fell on her cheek as the man pulled her to him, leaning his face close to hers. A faint chuckle was the last thing she heard as he pulled his arm around her neck, cutting off her airway....


Macie awoke to a lovely view of a ceiling. One stained with grease and soot, the smell of burnt wood hung heavily in the air. She tried to get up, only to find herself bound to a large wooden table by heavy lengths of rope, a large serving plate resting beneath her head that was taped in place. From the corner of her eye, she could see three occupied seats. Each seat held a corpse, the skin drawn tightly over their faces, mouths pulled down in silent screams of agony. One woman, a boy who looked to be her age, and a younger child so badly decomposed it was hard to tell exactly what it had been when it was alive.

Heavy foot-steps came from her left, as a man with grayish skin and reddish eyes stepped from the darkness of the next room. He wore a torn, stained suit, carried a bouquet of dying flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. A sick grin spread across his face, as he leaned down to place a kiss on the dead womans' cheek.

"Wow, Honey!" Dallas Walker tossed the flowers onto Macies' stomach, setting the wine down beside her head as he sat at the head of the table.

" Dinner looks delicious..."

The trembling of her body was unlike anything she had ever experienced. This fear far outmatched that of reading in front of class, or reaching up to solve a maths problem on the blackboard. This was new, and she was totally unprepared for it.

A squeak escaped her lips as the flowers landed with a crinkling sound on partially exposed flesh. Chest heaving as her captor took a place behind her head, she struggled to try and see him. A jovial statement which would have been quite normal in any circumstances but these met her ears:

"Dinner looks delicious ..."

What? What? Where? ...Me? Sam, where are you?

'I'm here.'

He was knelt above her, hands either side of her shoulders, fixing their captor with a hard stare. He held his body low, almost brushing her own. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowed. She had never seen him like that - agitated and crouched like a cat waiting to strike.

But then again, they had never been kidnapped before.

What are we going to do? Sam, I don't want us to die!

She twisted around again to try and get a better view of their captor, despite the tapes pulling at her curls, "Please ...please, I don't -- what did I -- please ..." She trailed off as tears welled up and dropped down either side of her face, marring her pale cheeks with their red trails. She strained under the confinement of the rope, whimpering as it proved futile. Fingernails stratched at the dark wood beneath her, more tears stung her eyes, and panic flooded her mind.

Who is he? Why am I here? I want to move - I can't move please please why is this happening Sam what do we do why - why - why is he ...?

Her thoughts were dispelled by a rough fingertip on her chin which trailed up over her quivering lips and towards her forehead. Her body froze, her breathing slow and shallow, flowers prickling her skin. A low giggle curled through the air, shooting chills down her spine.

"Pretty girl. You're so soft. Flawless."

'She is mine.' The anger in Sam's voice was something she had never heard before, and it unnerved her. She followed his gaze up to their captor, whose lips had formed a wicked smirk.

His thumb brushed over her cheek, "I'm going to do this slowly."

Sam scowled, 'Don't touch what is mine.'

The other man purred. "That way, I'll enjoy it more."

The shadows were long as Tom Harriman mooched home from work, no real purpose in his gait. It had been a long day in the lab, followed by a long night out on the streets, and he was drained. Though crammed with pedestrians, even at this evening hour, the freedom from any kind of responsibility that the walk home gave him was hard to articulate: somehow, he felt at peace just being another one of the thousands of pedestrians pacing their way through the crowded streets of New York City, rather than leaping around above them in the depths of night, dressed like an escaped extra from Crouching Tiger.

The crowds thinned as he moved away from the bustling center of the city. His legs were complaining a little already, but the exercise wouldn't do any harm, and a half-hour or so of walking was infinately preferable to even a few minutes crammed within the sweaty, stuffy confines of public transport.

He took a left, ducking into a sidestreet that led away from the main roads. Normally people would be wary of such shadowy places, particularly with the light fading fast from the autumn air, but when you spent the night leaping from building to building, you tend to throw caution to the wind on that sort of topic. You were also often inclined to move towards the suspicious-looking suited figure, manhandling an oddly person-shaped bundle into the trunk of a nondescript car.

Silently, Harriman cursed himself for not carrying his disguise with him at all times. Anonymity was his only defense: he'd already experienced - back in the military - the sort of prejudice that awaited him if people ever found out about his mutant abilities. He had told himself in the past that fighting crime at night was enough, but he knew full-well that the day could be as dangerous in certain parts of the city. Right now, the skin-tight spandex that people like Magnet Boy ran around in didn't seem nearly so stupid: he knew from experience how difficult it was to conceal his chosen uniform beneath his regular clothes.

Lumbered with being merely a concerned member of the community, he took a few determined paces closer to the waiting car. "Hey," he called, quickening his pace a little as he drew closer. As the conscious of the two people ahead of him threw a casual wave and ducked through the drivers-side door, Tom broke into a run, but the car soon outpaced him as it pulled away, disappearing around a corner in short order.

Unleashing a growl, Tom threw himself after, powers brushing against the wall to try and squeeze every last drop of momentum after his pace. The car turned again; he'd loose sight of it at this pace. Eyes searching around for options, he flung himself towards the half-lowered ladder of a fire escape and halled himself up, climbing as fast as he could towards the roof. A sidewind shoved at him as he made it to the summit, but he was rewarded with a clear view of the car, driving straight a few buildings over.

Digging in to his pocket, he plucked out his cell phone, and began speedily punching in 911. However, before he could manage to get any words out, another gust of wind threw him off-balance; as he stumbled, the phone tumbled into the alley below. Still cursing, Tom threw himself forward, and with a powers-assisted leap flew over the gap between the two buildings, landing in a shoulder roll, and tumbling back to his feet. His legs complained at recieving such rough treatment a few hours early, but Tom ignored it. If he didn't keep his pace, this chase would be over soon, and not in a good way.

* * *

The chase was over soon, but the outcome was slightly better than Tom feared. They'd left the city behind them, but Tom had successfully managed to separate a bike messenger from his scooter, and had set off in pursuit. For a moment, he'd felt guilty about the theft, but he'd pushed those thoughts to the side for a now. He had more important things to deal with, such as what the kidnapper was doing lugging his unconscious captive into the burnt-out shell of a building that Tom was now crouched outside.

Tom hesitated, tugging up the hood on the sweater he wore, and pulling the scarf tucked away inside it up to cover his face. It was hardly the height of ninja fashion, but it would do for now. He rose, ready to stalk his way across the yard and into the burnt building, when a sound from behind him made him spin, dropping automatically into a fighting stance. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a sigh mixed with frustration and relief.

"Magnet Boy," he muttered, eyes settling on the fellow vigilante. His brows tugged into a frown. "Are you stalking me?"

His finger-tips pried the girls eyes open, giving her a wink as he caught and held her gaze.

"No...actually, I think I'll do this up quick. Left-over always taste terrible the next day."

Dallas held Macies' gaze, their eyes locked and she was unable to look away. She wanted to close them, her body feeling weaker as he continued to stare down at her...

"Yes. Yes I am." The Amazing Smartmouthed Wonder was sure he knew the man in civvie spandex, but wasn't sure from where. Ah, yes. "C'mon, Snake-Eyes, let's do this fast. He's got a look that kills."

Yeah, Flux recognized the psycho holding Macie. He'd been at the Haven a few nights after Felix had discovered his powers, and the boy knew the danger Macie was in. He launched himself towards the scene of the crime and slapped his hands over Dallas's eyes.

"Guess who!" He pulled Dallas's head back, trying to wrench his neck so he'd let go of the girl. "And before you go for the obvious answer, it is not George Washington."

As their locked gazes were torn apart, Macie sucked in a deep breath and released it in the next second in a scream. Despite the fatigue that crept through her, her heart raced and her chest heaved. She had been sent speeding towards death once before, but it had not felt this way. Tears spilled from her eyes at a rate she didn't know was possible.

She screamed again, both aloud and in her head, Sam! Sam, please help me!

Now knelt at her side, eyes ablaze, he growled furiously, 'He held what is mine!' His fists tightened, eyes narrowed at their captor and the other man who had burst into the room seconds previously.

Sam please I'm scared I'm so scared I want to go home please --

A moment later, he seemed to realise her fear; his face softened and he reached down to her, offering a reassuring smile despite the chaos ensuing close by.

'Close your eyes, my little bird.' Sam's voice was low, and she obeyed for a moment, but couldn't bear not being able to see. As she opened her eyes again, she found his nose a hair's breadth from her own, eyes returned to their calming state. 'I am your shield, and you will not be hurt.'

Macie tried searching those eyes for an answer, Sam, why is this happening?

'What matters is that it is happening.'

Please, make it stop! Please, please --

'Close your eyes, little blue finch.' He accompanied his words with a gentle hand on her forehead, fingers sliding down to cover her eyes. She took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself, shut them, and her mind fell into blackness.

*

Sam surfaced, and power spread through his body to his fingertips. With his eyes closed, he listened to the fighting behind his head, flexed his fingers, and felt the heavy restraints that bound him to the table.

Not for much longer. He was awake.

Stepping in behind the spandex wonder, Untouchable reeled a little at the sickly-sweet scent of the decomposing bodies strategically placed around the room. He'd experienced the sensation before, but he'd always had time to prepare himself for it. This time, it hit him like a wave.

To hit credit, Magnet Boy seemed to know what he was doing. That gave him a sizable advantage: he had no idea why Flux was trying so hard to keep the creep's eyes covered, but he guessed the 'Look that kills' comment hadn't been an idle remark about his sense of fashion.

Mind racing, he weighed up his options. No matter what the grey-faced psycho was capable of, they were here to save the girl, and freeing her had to be their priority. To do that, he needed 'Snake-Eyes' - as Flux had called him - as far away as possible; there was only one thing that he could do to make that happen. Untouchable's eyes closed as he breathed deep, focussing his mind as best he could. "Sorry, Magnet Boy," he muttered, eyes snapping open, "But I need space to work."

Thrusting out with his mind, approximating the mental gesture with his arms, Untouchable lashed out with his powers. The two people were heavier than he expected, but the psychic blow still landed, like a great invisible Football player tackling them across the room.

Crouching down beside the table where Snake-Eyes had secured his victim, he dropped into a low crouch, examining her bindings. "It's okay, lassie," he offered as reassuringly as he could, eyes settling on the thick and annoyingly well-tied knots that bound her. He dug deep into his pocket, shoulders slumping as he pulled free the only sharp object he could find: a half-blunt pen knife dangling from his keys. He let out a silent growl of frustration, stabbing the short blade into the rope. "Let's get you out of here."

With a anguished cry, Dallas reared back as Flux jerked his head sending both men onto the ground, via the chair behind them. Wood splintered and cracked as the pair went crashing through it, leaving them both in a dazed heap...

Mr Scarf-face had just begun to whittle his way through the rope when a hand slammed onto the table. Followed by another, as Dallas hefted his to his feet. He scowled down at the scots man.

"Excuse me, sir, I believe that's MY dinner. BACK OFF!"

The table shifted as Dallas hefted his end up, sending Untouchable sliding to the floor. The table teetered on two legs as Dallas gave a grunt and tossed it towards the other man as best he could.

Felix was a little slower getting up. He'd taken the brunt of the fall, hitting the chair first and then suffering Dallas falling on him. He grunted as he got to his feet and stepped forward, yanking Dallas back by his collar, intent on letting the Captain free the hostage.

"You don't want to eat that one. She's gonna be all tough and stringy, and you don't have any sauces to help it."

His mind had been tediously focused on weakening the strands in the rope, so the table suddenly and violently altering its direction to something other than sturdily upwards took Sam by moderate surprise. He felt the hard shove delivered to the table from behind, fought to keep his head still and all of his attention surged towards preventing its weight crushing him and, he realised in the next second, the man who had a knife jammed into one of the tough bonds.

So. He was liberating us.

The table halted in its arc, leaving the surface that Sam was tied to at an awkward angle to the ground. Inches away from the man with a half-covered face, Sam noticed that his hand was close to knife, as if reconsidering cutting the rope but shocked by the fact that the table had lost all momentum. Sweat already beginning to gather on his forehead from the strain of holding up his own weight and that of the solid wood, Sam caught his gaze and matched it with a level stare.

"Please, continue."

In the corner of the room a man stood in silence. No one would even know he was there if they did not bother to really look. The man was dressed in a long black coat, black pants, and sunglasses. He had been there nearly the whole time as he had gotten there through the girls dreams. Morpheus just watched and waited for the perfect time to act, if it was necessary.

Please continue?

Tom frowned, somewhat confused by the shift in personality of the little girl. Before, she'd seemed panicked, but now she was utterly calm. Maybe it was the prospect of freedom that had steadied her nerves, or maybe just the relief of not having Snake-Eyes looming over her anymore. Whatever the reason, Untouchable wasn't complaining: having a level head on her shoulders would certainly help their escape efforts.

It was only then that Tom realised the table hadn't in fact come to rest on something as he'd assumed, but was in fact suspended by some invisible force at an angle that looked precarious at best. Given the strain on the girl's face, he guessed she was the reason that being crushed had been averted; from the expression on her face however, she wouldn't be able to hold on for long.

A quick jab with the knife into the ropes proved fruitless; it'd take days to saw through the thick strands with only his pocket knife. The little girl defiantely couldn't hold the table suspended like that forever. Shifting his pose, he pushed out with his powers, straining against gravity to tilt the table back to balance on two of its legs. It stayed, a little wobbly perhaps, but stable for now none the less.

With a grunt of frustration, he flicked the pocket knife closed, and shoved it deep in his pockets. His eyes scanned over the ropes; the way they were tied, cutting her free was the only option, but he didn't stand much chance of that with the equipment at hand. Wincing a little, he settled his gaze on the little girl's face. "Hi, I'm Tom," he introduced, slightly embarassed. "You're not carrying a sharp knife by any chance, are you?"