I do not own X-Men anything.

I do own a red-haired baby!

What Makes a Man a Man

In the Quiet Hours


Sean found himself not quite brave enough to turn on the lights.

Not before Angela pulled the curtains tight.

And even then, he flinched reflexively when she clicked the light on over the stove.

They searched the tiny abode together, steeling themselves against whatever might jump out at them at any moment.

Trying to breathe easier when nothing did.

And forgot all that (mostly) when she pulled a treasure out of the pantry.

A half empty jar of Jif.

"Oh sweet! Peanut butter!"

A plastic-wrapped bundle of saltine crackers.

"Found the picnic knives!"

And a jug of flat RC cola.

"Yes!"

Never really one for decorum, Sean nevertheless managed to restrain himself and allow her first dibs on the food.

"Oh my god, it's so good!"

Even though he was practically salivating at the sight of her wolfing down the first bites of their sumptuous feast.

They dined in the silence of the truly hungrily free.

Except for a small incident when she let out a hearty burp.

Which she seemed to feel no shame in letting rip.

Prompting an explosion of barely closed mouth cackles from him.

Evolving rather quickly into a crumb-filled coughing fit.

Where she pounded him on the back as he bent over the counter still caught in hysterics.

It really would have been prudent for them to have keep back some of the food as rations. Since Trask's facility had not starved them but provided sustenance on a regular basis.

But giddy as they were with freedom, they left nary a crumb for the Christmas mice in the Suess tale of yore.

Finally Angela scrunched up her nose in a way Sean found completely adorable.

And spoke.

"Oh my gosh, I stink. I'm gonna see if the shower works."

It did and she reappeared a scant ten minutes later gliding as if she were returned from a week's spa vacation.

"Your turn. There's even a tube of toothpaste in there. I used my finger."

The shower smelled of soap and shampoo and moisture and Sean nearly cried at the normalcy of it all.

Instead he lathered up and rinsed, and finger-brushed his teeth, reappearing in the small living room in the overlarge clothing she had left outside the door for him.

She was not there and he called her name in a quiet panic.

"I'm here."

She was curled up in the bed in the next room, awash in her own set of too-big clothes.

Damp hair fanned out on the relatively fresh pillow.

He almost hugged her.

"Sorry. I got sleepy."

He shrugged, immensely relieved.

"Yeah, me too. I'm gonna lay down on the couch."

Her hand floated out to him from the gloom.

"No, please, Sean. Don't leave me alone. Please. It makes me nervous. Please stay."

He hesitated, feeling uncomfortable.

Every guy hopes a girl will invite him into her bed.

But what to do when the girl is a vulnerable mutant escapee from a scientific testing facility?

And what to do when you inexplicably love that girl due to desperate situations and constant threat of death twisting your sensibilities?

And what to do when she looks that pretty and lonely laying there?

He got into the bed with her.

Careful not to touch her too much.

Or let her touch him.

She seemed okay with it.

Seemed to just want his presence there.

And little by little, they fell asleep.


He awoke sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

In the semi-darkness.

To a girl wrapped up in his arms.

Running her fingers lightly over his chest, his arms, his face.

"Wha- Angela, wha-"

Her fingertips traced his lips.

"Shhh."

And following those fingertips, she kissed him.

Lightly, gently.

Searchingly.

He drew back. Uncertain. Confused. And still a little drowsy.

Well, some of him.

"Angela, what are you doing?"

She kissed him again.

"Shhh, it's okay."

She wasn't being the hot siren of every teenage boy's hormonally charged sex dreams.

She wasn't being the X-rated film vixen of the forbidden film genre.

She was being a girl. A scared, lonely, vulnerable girl.

Who had been alone too long and who had inexplicably fallen in love with a boy she couldn't see.

Only hear through a pinhole in wall.

He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to take advantage of her. He didn't want her to do anything she'd regret later.

And for all his bluff and bluster, freckle-faced, red-haired Sean Cassidy, wasn't a thriving ladies man.

But he was a man.

Well, almost.

And slowly, as she continued to kiss him and tentatively run her hands along his prickling flesh, he succumbed.

She pulled off his clothes and helped him with her own, tossing them off into the darkness.

And there, underneath a musty smelling, homemade patchwork quilt, she pulled him down to her.

And took his breath away.

He tried to be gentle. Kind. He tried to make her feel loved and safe.

He tried to make her feel good.

Like he felt.

When it was over, they were quiet and still beneath the sheets.

Wrapped up in each other and their own thoughts.

"Sean?"

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking-"

And then the room flooded with light and sound and voice and movement.

And he couldn't find her anymore.

Couldn't see her.

Couldn't feel her.

Couldn't smell her fresh, clean scent.

Confused and overwhelmed, Sean Cassidy struggled to open his eyes against the blinding light.

And again heard a voice.

Not hers.

But familiar.

One he wished he did not know.

"Hello, Mr. Cassidy. How are you feeling?"

What the hell?


Well, that went right off the rails, didn't it?

Stayed tuned soon for a bit more explanation. If you can handle it.

Thanks to brigid1318, DinahRay, GladerTributeCamper, and K.J. Bollinger for your reviews.