Irene slipped on her smoky glasses, unfolded from the car, and closed the door securely. Raven had made her heels hard and they clicked distinctly with each step. The sound gave Irene something to follow besides the contrast of the smooth new concrete path and the rough asphalt parking lot. A small bell chimed and rattled against glass when Raven reached the door at the end of the path and held it open for her. She couldn't see it, but she knew the door read Anderson Hunting and Firearms.
***
"No Raven, it's foolish."
"You need something to protect yourself. And I know you can use your power to aim."
"It's not reliable enough. It's too much risk to bystanders if I make a mistake." Even as she said it Irene remembered that Raven didn't really believe in bystanders; it wasn't going to be an effective argument.
Raven's reply didn't surprise her: "You said the same thing about driving, but a pistol can only kill one person at a time, not a whole carload." Her doubled voice made it sound like she was almost laughing, even when she wasn't.
Irene sat up straighter, looking hurt and reproachful. She left the room and Raven heard doors opening and closing, but didn't follow. Irene usually ended their fights before they properly got started. Raven supposed that knowing what could have been said must be enough for her.
Even without using her power Irene knew that Raven would come to her with wine and false submission instead of apologies. Then, in a few days, she would leave again and go back to her career of lying, stealing, and killing for Magneto and his "Brotherhood." Irene knew that Raven could make her a space on that team if she ever decided she wanted it, but she doubted that would happen. If she were to pack in her passer's life and move to some spartan island base or industrial park safe-house she would just clutter up the place waiting for visions. Not to mention that she already spent far too much time wondering at Magneto's inability to see how ridiculous it was for him to try and reshape the future while he let the past hang off him like a second cape. Living with him would only wear on her ability to refrain from mentioning it.
There were light footsteps in the hall and a quiet knock on the bedroom door. This was lavish play for Raven, who, if she chose, could be halfway to the bed before Irene actually heard her. "Come in."
The click and creak of the door was followed by more footsteps; these were quick and close together like a geisha's. Raven knelt on the floor beside Irene and brought her body so near that Irene could feel scales and hipbone pressed against her leg.
*** "Is it for real? Never seen a real one before…" The voice is a cracking, earnest whisper with some kind of British accent. Now she can see a table, and she sets down an open lock box with a pistol in it. "Yes, it's a real one. When Mystique comes back she'll show you more about how to use it, but for now I'll just tell you how it works." *** "Raven Darkholm, you freak bitch! I'll kill you and all the rest of you muties!" He and Irene raise their guns and fire at the same moment. She wakes before the dream shows her who falls.
She can see a hand (greenish-tan, long fingered and berry stained) and little else. The hand reaches toward her, or something she is holding, but the movement is arrested halfway; the swamp colored fingers curl back cautiously.
There is a tall young man with dark blond hair and a face full of hate and fear, pain and anger. There are tears running from his eyes, but he's trying to smile menacingly and growling instead.
Irene scowled and swore her way though a shower and breakfast the next morning. She hated the feeling of inevitability that came with having visions about herself, and she was childishly angry that her power seemed to be taking Raven's side. It wasn't until lunch that she was ready to concede.
"You're right. I'm going to need a weapon. But I want to get it legally: I'm still pretending to have a normal life here."
***
Irene walked briskly through the door and murmured a "thank you". It took a lot of concentration for her to use her power to replace her lost eyesight, but she didn't want to give the instructors at Anderson's any reason to suspect that a blind woman was in their gun safety class. They couldn't actually stop her from taking the class or buying a gun because of it (that would be discrimination), but it would stick in everyone's memory and she preferred a degree of anonymity in public.
Raven sat beside her in the little classroom with one arm draped across her shoulders. Whenever the instructor wrote something on the blackboard she would form it in Braille on her palm and press it into Irene's skin. She was wearing the body of a man half yuppie, half good old boy. He didn't need the class, of course; he was just here to make sure the instructor knew his stuff. Raven liked when she could spice her lies up with a little truth.
After all the handouts that no one was going to look at again were shuffled into folders and backpacks and pockets and purses, after the last law and safety procedure was reviewed, it was finally time to go into the firing range. The instructor hung up the paper targets and checked all their safety equipment.
Goggles: check.
Ear protection: check.
All Irene could hear was the blood roaring in her ears. She took a deep breath. You know where you are. You know you're facing the right way. It's right in front of you. Just let all the rest go for a minute; just See in front of you.
Before she could reach out with her power to pull the layout of the room from seconds in the future she felt a column of heat expanding from Raven's position a couple feet behind her. She smiled at the strange gallantry of it: Raven was probably burning a whole day's worth stored energy and creating her own private inferno just to give Irene something to orient to besides the floor under her feet.
Irene took a deep breath and opened her mind to the visions. She saw the path that would lead a bullet to the smallest red circle. She saw a path that would lead a bullet to the scared and angry blond man. She raised her pistol and let the future tell her where the bullet was supposed to go.
Author's note: Writen fro the 2007 X-Men Movieverse Ficathon on LiveJournal The pairing/scenario requested was: Mystique/Destiny Romance please but gen okay, gun control. I was originally intending to write a sexy story where Mystique and Destiny did exciting things, but the story insisted on being mostly an Irene character study.