Author's Notes: This is loosely based on the beginning of the Ian Rankin novel 'Mortal Causes', and thusly, I borrowed a few phrases from said novel. It is a one-shot which I hope you find interesting and thought provoking - although I wouldn't blame you if you are a tad confused. Feel free to contact me with any questions you may have - but hopefully the two main characters will become obvious to you by the end of the story. This is not a songfic. Enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated.
Inspired by Ian Rankin. Without your excellent creative talent, I could never have created this fic. I am forever in your debt.
Dedicated to J. For your love of Evolution.
"Everyday I recognise what's deceased, and what's alive.....
Just find a feeling, pass it on." -: 'Pass It On', by 'The Coral'
'Pass It On'
By Flick-chan
He could scream all he liked.
They were below the school science labs, he knew that much. The low wattage bulbs reflected the raw pink slithers of light from paintings that had been hung on the walls only a few hours ago - now forgotten in the heat of the moment. Paintings of fear. Of cruel injustice in the age of Jesus. Paintings whose edges were curling over in the intoxicating smells of sulphur wafting down from above.
And he was being punished.
Blood trickled down his temple, coming to a rest on the dirty grey floor beneath his feet. He could hear the soft, sanctimonious sound of echoing footsteps along the cold stone, but refused to open his eyes. He knew that if he did, he'd see the figure of his tormentor, and recoil at the expression on her usually emotionless face.
Hanging limply by his wrists, he could only wonder why she had chosen him as her release. Why she was abusing him in such a way that it was almost impossible to imagine. He had become her living soul, an empty canvas for her rage.
And she was going to kill him; he knew that for sure.
The pain was crippling, forcing him to drag his knees up to his chest in a ball like shape. Protection. For now. Agony couldn't last forever - he was well aware of that. It could be cured, given the right incentive. And vaguely, he pondered if death really was the next step, or whether it was all a cruel joke.
She could be so cruel, sometimes. Coating his lips in the dark red blood from the slashes on her wrist. Certifying his inability to speak by whipping him forcefully with a horse crop. Tear stains covered his face, but it was nothing compared to the darkness that engulfed his heart.
The anguish increased as the footsteps stopped. His time had come, and he let his body swing loosely in the rusted metal. Feeling the blade brush across his torso, he refused to sob. There couldn't be anymore pain than he already felt.
His chest burned, and he sensed a wisp of her hair pass by his cheek as she spoke delicately into his ear. "You know why; don't you?" Heavy breathing followed.
Of course he knew. She had let her jealousy control her, override her love for all things good and pure. After so long as an outcast, she had given in to the satanic urges of her subconscious. And he couldn't blame her for that.
It was a wondrous thing, to have a gift so great as hers. To be able to take life away in a second, but to be unable to give it back. Up until now, he had admired her power of will. How she had fought the desire to yield to her full strength and take over a world which was rightly hers to rule.
But instead of living in such a universe, she had decided to exert her frustration on her inability to live a normal life on him. He knew the reasons well enough - the question was why she had chosen him to experience her wrath.
"Because of what you do...," she whispered, and ran her hands through his hair, over his body until she was satisfied with what was left. "Because of your attitude to life...you waste it…" Her fingers were gentle, the tips skimming across his flesh, and it was hard for him to breathe.
It was rather strange. He had never imagined that she would have so much rage inside of her, so much torment. And inhaling deeply, he was stunned to feel his shoulders throbbing, dull, sticky rivers of blood sliding down his pale skin onto his back.
"You never stop to think," she continued softly, and he shivered. "Never stop to consider the effect of your touches on other people." Her voice shook slightly, drifting a little further into the blackness. He could almost see her face, almost feel the passion in her speech. It was driving him insane.
He was beginning to drift in and out of consciousness. He had the urge to open his eyes several times, but couldn't. Not because of the reflection he would see through their tinted light - he had reached the stage beyond afraid. No, it was purely to satisfy himself, to remain true to his ancestry, even in death.
Quite admirable of him, really. Or cowardly. His thoughts meandered, her thumb digging deeply into the base of his neck. He was swimming, body immersed in a futile coldness that he could not explain. With her touch, his life was ebbing away.
Falling into despair, and all because of something he had yearned to have for so long. Something as innocent as affection.
"That's why you don't deserve to live," she continued delicately, removing her hand. The bitter chill remained, and his lids remained laxly closed. There was no need for him to force it anymore. He had lost all resilience. All power. He was finally broken.
Even without the sense of sight, he could feel her gaze on him. Scrutinizing him. Destroying him. And then she uttered against his chest, "because you have no idea of the gift you possess. The gift to connect with others in any way you want. A gift so potent, that even Professor Xavier refuses to fight against it." He became aware of the tear drops that were spreading across his torso, and for a single moment, felt something alien spark inside his body.
He was ashamed.
"You have the ability to show love," she sobbed into his skin. "And that's invincible - all of our mutant abilities put together couldn't destroy the passion behind that level of caring for each other." Her nails clawed into his nipples, squeezing. Now he knew why she hated him. Why he was here.
"You're almost normal!" she screamed. "And what do you chose to do - you play people for fools, allow them think the world of you, whilst you go around sleeping with their friends. You take something so virginal and pure for granted, you sin against your own beliefs."
The point of her knife pierced the surface of his body. "I don't have the choice."
He opened his eyes to the ghosts; clear images of all those innocent people his father had killed in search of his mutant dream. Expecting them to come after him, he tried to turn away into the dimness that beckoned. His body froze.
They stared at him, motionless. Eyes wide, seconds later their attention returned to the hazy and empty sky above their heads. He knelt down. All were together again - mixed, as it should have been from the start. He tried to smile.
He felt, but did not feel the final blow.
End