It had been a number of years since Alcatraz and the world had changed beyond recognition. Since the apparent collapse of Magneto's brotherhood you'd think that peace reigned supreme, but it hadn't worked that way. Small pockets of resistance and those following the scheme of mutant superiority had survived, living under the order of Magneto's closest – Cain Marko, James Madrox and the Omega's – Callisto, Quill, Arclight and Psylocke. No trace of John Allerdyce had been found since the battle and he was to be presumed dead by most, mourned by few and easily forgotten by the masses. Such a shame; powerful, but so consumed by his own pain and hurt that he would never have let anyone in to guide him out of that blackness. No trust, no love and the only warmth came from his mutation.

It was no longer a shock to hear about clashes at anti-mutant rights rallies. Death tolls were much smaller than the likes of Stryker would have predicted, but they were still to high for some peoples liking. Those mutants who had taken the cure became angry when it started to wear off and they had sought answers – some joining the more violent paths, others joining the more peaceful options, such as Xaviers institute where young enough. The institute itself had expanded far beyond the original concept, opening a number of different centres across the states simply to accommodate the sheer volume of those wishing to join.

A lot of familiar faces had gone from the halls of the original institute; Kitty had gone to one of the other centres, Rogue had moved on entirely to seek her own independence, Logan still came and went as he pleased, Bobby went where ever he was needed, Peter had returned to Russia to help tame the violence that was rising there, Hank continued in his role as ambassador, and Angel...well, Warren was there when needed, but for the most part was allowed to do what ever it was he needed to. It left myself at the mansion for most of the time, watching over the new generation and only hoping that I could guide them as well as Charles had done.

There was a report or documentary of some sorts playing in the background of the Rec room, though none of the younger students were really paying attention to it. I was only meaning to pass through, but something caught my eye. Or more of, someone. Stepping into the room and turning up the volume, the familiar warmth of Logan appeared next to me as we became entranced by the image on the screen. Some of the newer, younger students were caught up in what we were doing and followed our line of sight, settling to watch what had caught our attention. The wouldn't recognise him, but the name just maybe familiar to a few of those who had better attention spans or better hearing than the others.

~0~O~0~

Dark hair, darker eyes. They sat hunched over, clad in leather and cotton. So much hatred burning away, so lost in the momentary flames that died out. For those moments of silence all that filled the air was the click clack of a zippo lighter opening and closing.

"Why did you get involved then?"

"Why not?"

"Didn't you realise it was wrong?"

"And it wasn't wrong to force the cure on us? Why was it even called a cure? There was no sickness in the first place, only superiority"

"So you believe mutants are superior?"

Silence descended again, only broken by the opening and closing of the lighter lid. They sighed, clenching their jaw for a minute, eyes darting here and there. They were trying to decide what to say. Frowning, the closed the lighter one last time, shifting their gaze to the camera and off-screen interviewer.

"We are gods among insects, Alcatraz was a miscalculation to be blamed on the old man – he focused solely on number and didn't bother to train his rabble. Should've known they'd show up"

"Who are they? The other mutants who fought against you?"

He nodded his head, twirling the metal between his fingers. The camera panned out, catching the back of the interviewer's head. The place he was in was basic, clinical...cold. It lacked emotion, like the teenager on the seat. Tugging at a band around his neck in discomfort he held the lighter in his hand, fighting the urge to start playing with the flint again.

"X-men. The very bane of my existence. Do-gooders who seek equality and peace. There will never be anything like that so long as we live in a world where there is as much class and division as there is equality and openness"

"Why do you say that?"

"Division and class lead to conflict, the familiarity that comes from the latter two breeds contempt and no good can come of contempt. It is in our nature to fight and survive. It's what we've done for millions of years, one generation cannot change that. It's survival of the fittest and the natural selection process seeks the strong"

"If these X-men are watching now, what would you say to them?"

Silence descended once again as they leant back in their seat, blowing blonde tips out of their eyes. Closing their eyes for a minute it would seem that they'd gone to sleep, but it wasn't so. They were still toying with that lighter, they couldn't be sleeping whilst playing with it, could they?

"John?"

"Don't ever call me that. Ever. John died a long time ago, Pyro is all that is left. And as for the X-men, I'm not sure. However, my message is for one Robert Drake. The flawless blonde haired, blue eyed, American boy scout with the perfect family, spotless record and rose-tinted world. It's very simple; fuck you. Soon as I get out of this dump I'm coming for you and I'm ready this time. Thanks for the frostbite though, maybe I'll have to burn your hands down to the bone and you can live through that agony. I still feel it, even after all these months, I can't shake the cold from them. They still hurt when I move them too quickly, they have a habit of cramping at awkward moments, they still freeze up. May well never be the same again – just one more flaw to add to my ever growing list"

He spoke with such contempt, eyes fixed on the hands he had been talking about. They did appear awkwardly placed. Fading out, the image was replaced with that of a similar looking man, but older and calmer. None of that hate burned in his eyes any more, just sadness and emotional pain. No leather, no shirts. Just loose yoga trousers. He was reclining into the same chair as all those years before, but still collared like an animal.

"So, it's been a number of years since we last talked to you – what's happened since then?"

"I've been through a number of counsellors and courses, finished school, deal with stuff in my past...things have improved for me. I'm a changed man, I'm not the same angry, messed up kid that hated everyone and everything that you last spoke to"

"Changed for the better?"

"I hope so"

He laughed, not that manic laugh that usually spelt trouble, but it was gentle, warm and genuine. It rumbled through him as he shifted in his seat, still toying with his lighter. Sighing, he tilted his head back, only to snap it forward when asked a question.

"So, are you ready to leave? What are your plans?"

"More than ready. I'm going back to New York, I've got a number of people I need to seek forgiveness from. Some of them are no longer able to give it, some of them may not want to...but for my sake I need to apologise. For my peace of mind"

"You made a threat to one Robert Drake...does that still stand?"

"No...provided he does not attack or provoke me we should manage to be civil at the very least. It may never be how it once was, but I hope I can go some way to repairing the damage I caused"

"How are your hands?"

He paused to look at them, turning them over from palm to back several times. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, trying to decide. His smile had faded, replaced by that lost sadness. With a sigh he sat back, running a hand through his now notably longer hair.

"They still ache when they get too cold, but they don't cause me as much pain any more, nor do they tend to cramp these days. I've managed to get my wrists back to what they were before the frostbite but I don't think they'll ever completely be what they once were. Irreparable damage was done but I need to get used to it"

"It was nice to speak to you again, I hope I get to interview you again soon"

"Maybe you will and the feeling is very much mutual"

~0~O~0~

"So the little firebug made it out of Alcatraz then"

Was that a question or a statement? It could be hard to define the difference with Logan. But yes, it would appear that John had got out of Alcatraz alive. He'd been looked after, but the calm exterior was so disquietening, so strange, so unlike him. He had never been that way - at least not at any time that any of them could remember. Either this was a genuine change, or he'd become very good at acting. Although, there was always the risk that he'd been drugged and brainwashed into that current state. Though the risk was small, it was ever present. It seemed that it was my turn to speak as no-one else had yet spoken.

"It would appear so. And his intentions are clear; he wishes to return"

"After so long, after all the damage, do we allow him to? Can we trust him?"

The voice was new but familiar. Stood at the door was, as John had dubbed him, the flawless blonde haired, blue eyed, American boy scout Robert Drake. More commonly referred to as either Bobby or Iceman. He was back from visiting Kitty who was out in Illinois, they would deny that anything was going on but anyone looking in would tell you differently. He seemed irritated by the appearance of his former rival on screen. Clearly there was still some left over anger in him - the ghosting frost over his hands was a dead give away. Turning my attention back to the screen, there was a different person now where John had been only moments before. She seemed just as young and angry but was unfamiliar. I wasn't really paying attention to what was being said, but instead thought about what was said.

"I say we trust him. He appears to have changed and now we need to change the way we've been thinking about him...we wronged him-"

"How. How exactly did we wrong him? Did we try to kill him? Did we betray him? Did we turn our back on him in the pursuit of a dream?"

"We didn't try hard enough to address his problems. We pushed for his control and his obedience. Yes, we betrayed him. He trusted us to help him in more way than we did. We turned our back on him because he joined Magneto. Different dreams Bobby, but still dreams. Whoever has changed him to this degree s the only person who ever did right by him other than the professor who did try to reach out...we let him fall away and gave up on him. If anyone is to blame for his change of heart it is us"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this - after all he did, you're still defending him?"

"If I don't then who will?"

It was a simple enough question - one he didn't like. Storming off, I looked over at Logan who shrugged his shoulders before going off after him. As it turned out the clip was just an advert for something that would be running for a number of months to come. I'd make a note to try and make time to watch it. If he were to turn up I'd like to know what he'd been doing for the last few years, simply so I had something to talk about with him if nothing else. Leaving the room, I wandered up to the office I'd taken over since Charles' passing. I needed time and space to think and then there was all that paper work that was waiting on me. Maybe I should be angry as well, but now given time to look back, I could see that we simply hadn't done enough to reach out to him. We may have thought at the time that we were trying...but hindsight is a wonderful thing.

~0~O~0~

It had been a number of years since the cure had worn off and around a year since gaining control of my skin. Bobby and me had split it off a while back and I was currently living on my own back in the south. I had a job, my cat, my own place. What more could I possibly want? Ok, so maybe a guy would be nice but it wasn't massively important. I'd been in a casual relationship or two, but nothing serious. They had been lacking a certain spark that I hadn't felt in a while - a spark I don't think I've ever felt, at least not in a boyfriend/girlfriend way. It'd been there with a couple of people - but they'd only ever been friends. Nope, time to stop thinking about that...time for my evening out.

So the white stripes were still around, but they had been cut much shorter, clinging in feathers around my face. The main bulk had been braided and filled out with ribbon, feathers and beads. I'd lived with a new age wanna-be hippie for a few months. They'd wanted to put dreadlocks in but I'd told them where to stick it. Fuck knows where they are now - just woke up to them being gone. Dropping the braids out of the bun was all my hair took anymore. Well, other than washing it that is. The clothes were already lain out, however the mewing reminded me that I had a cat to feed before doing anything else. Pressing the button on the stereo remote, I allowed the music on my iPod to fill the otherwise empty and silent apartment. Sometimes I hated this place - then again, I was hardly used to being on my own. There had always been someone with me up until recently. The last room mate had moved out to leave me on my own and so far no-one had moved in to replace them.

Picking the one bowl up off the floor and taking the meat from the fridge, I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose. Man, this stuff stank...I didn't get how the poor thing could bare to eat it. Then again, I wasn't a cat and didn't have to eat it, so it didn't really matter did it? Smiling, I placed the bowl back down and left the little black and white creature purring. Shaking my head I wandered back to my bedroom just to catch the beginnings of Aerosmith's Taste of India. I had to admit that this was a great song and one of my favourites to dance around and sing to Of course, that was reserved solely for when I was on my own. Only my cat would ever hear me sing and only my cat would ever get to see my dancing around the apartment in any level of undress. I suppose I was still just a little too shy to let anyone else know my guilty pleasures. I could never suject anyone else to my singing voice or awful dancing. OK, so I could dance in certain ways but for the most part I just couldn't.

~0~O~0~

Strobe lights and UV illuminated the neon and white make-up of the club dancers, the smoke floating around in the air, the flash of material and exposed flesh - it was filled with the sweating, living mass of bodies forming some monster, barely contained by the oh so exposed live band whose vocalist charged from one side of the stage to the other, pushing their luck and hardly there hold over the captive audience. The scent of leather filled the air, heavy with the thudding drive of bass lines and synthesisers, the screaming choruses and quieter melodies. This was a rush - dancing with strangers, teasing them, drinking the liquor shots off of their bodies only for them to return the favour. Poles and cages remained occupied by the bodies of underweight scantly-clad dancers, tattooed and pierced beyond what could be considered normal. Lace, leather and satin were all familiar to the touch nowadays...Logan would have a fit if he could see me at this current moment in time. Fair to say covering up was not something I did much of any more. I didn't see the point - hell, I had a damn good boody so why should I hide it away?

"Why would a beautiful young creature like you be on your own?"

"People don't like a woman who can beat them senseless"

"My friend would like your company...you'll need this"

I hadn't got a good look at the person talking to me, but they'd left a card with me and the curtains rustled - those curtains that seperated the private balconies from the masses. Now who up there would take an interest in me? See, this place had once been a factory but had been converted and there had been a number of attempts by older generations and cookie cutter chistians to get it closed down. All had gone to shit - there was too much support and the owner had half the local powers in their back pocket. Leaving my drink I followed in the general direction that I'd been pointed in to one of the top level rooms. The steps were tiring and metal rang out with each step. Maybe I was being stupid, but I could always knock the fucker out if he got too close for comfort or decided to not listen to me.

There was a door left open and the notably different music seeped through the opening. Was that Beethoven? In a night club? Why wasn't the live band reaching here? Shaking my head I entered the room, pausing to take in the scene. Glass coated the balcony, deadening the sound of the band, candles were the main source of light, despite the odd flash of strobe and club lighting coming over the balcony edge. The usual worn leather was replaced by satin seating, silk and netting fluttered in a draft - I wasn't sure where it was coming from - there was a shadow moving from a corner to look over at the scene below. The music faded as they sighed, tilting their head back slightly. Their far too pale hands gripped the metal rail, their head flopping forward once again. Dirty, dark blonde strands fell from the loose grasp of a hair tie. Shifting their weight from one leg to another they turned their head slightly.

"I didn't think you'd come"

I knew that voice. So long...it had been far too long since I'd last heard them. The song - Cry little sister - seemed so fitting. He'd always been more of a mischevious brother to me, forever getting into trouble over one thing or another. I'd missed him when he'd left - it was like part of me had gone with him and without him I would never be complete. After I heard about what happened at Alcatraz I thought he'd died, but maybe not.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"What I did was...unforgiveable, I see that now. I'm sorry"

"You got nothing to apologise for. The mansion...it failed you, like it failed me, like it failed Logan, Jean, Scott...anyone who ever walked away or died. I don't blame you. I never could"

He made that little noise that I could never remember the name for - some where between a laugh and a sigh. Turning around, he leant against the railing of the balcony and stared at his shoes for a moment. Wait, there were no shoes - he was staring at his feet. Walking over the various rugs to the seating, he poured two drinks, offering out the crystal to me and indicating that I should sit with him. I wasn't sure, but regardless I joined him. It was like a pull that I couldn't resist. The drink turned out to be wine - didn't have him down as such a classy individual. Nor did I think he could be so good looking. Leather was perfectly fitted to him, his shirt looked to be tailoered to his shape as well. He'd been a penniless kid just a few years ago and now he dressed and drank like someone on a 6 figue salary. What had he been doing with himself? As far as I was aware he hadn't even finished school. Or maybe he had and managed to get a decent job. I'd never doubted that he was perfectly intelligent and capable of whatever he put his mind to. Just his temper that got in his way.

"So, Rogue-"

"Marie...call me marie. I've not been Rogue in a while"

"Well then, Marie. Any plans for Christmas? See, things have been a little lonely for me and from watching you tonight it doesn't look like you have much company to speak of"

"Nothing really. Logan might come down, but it all depends. What are you doing with yourself these days?"

"Well, if he doesn't you could always join me...even if he does you should come any way. And as for me...I'm a novelist, journalist, song writer, art collector. Anything that takes my fancy. What about you?"

"What is that an invitation to? I work in an office. Not all that interesting"

"Nothing - I was hoping that we could catch up. I was a stupid fuck for walking away without an explanation. I heard about Scott and the others...I guess I should be sorry, but I don't really fell much over it except for the professor. He may have been misguided, but he tried harder than anyone else to reach me...he just didn't know how"

"You were never that close to any of them, I don't expect you to be sorry about the loss. After all, you're just that cold and unfeeling aren't you?"

Leaving the glass on a table I walked off, leaving him on his own. I was sure he called out my name, there were foot steps behind me suggesting that he was following me. Suddenly all I wanted was to be home and not be in the fake fur and lycra that I was. I felt too exposed - I hated how he still got to me, even after all this time. It was frustrating. John Allerdyce, the arrogant, wild, angry child that had become a cocky, cold, irritating man...admittedly he was rather more suave now and I didn't doubt for moment that he was one of those womanisers who just had to look at a girl to get them to drop their panties and lay down for him. I hated him so much...and yet I pitied him. I wanted to know more about his last few years, I wanted to know why he was so hateful and twisted up. How could you not want to reach out to someone so lost? How was it that the memory of him looking at other peoples family portraits with such envy, only equaled by his longing still remained so strong after all these years? What had happened to him in his home to make him hurt so much?

Why did I just want to turn around and go back to him?

Rogue's club outfit: http : // ravegear . com . au / coming-soon / images / rave-outfits . png

John's club outfit: http : // ae . img . v4 . skyrock . net / ae1 / deiphobe / pics / 1596791530 . jpg

I own nothing, those right belong to all respective companies; charcters, clothing, songs. None of them are mine.

Please review - I know there is already a fair amount of good Ryro out there, but I wanted to try writing my own. Can you please let me know what you think. This remains unbetaed so all mistakes are a result of me not paying enough attention whilst proof reading.