The lock made a hollow click as it slid into place, securing the door to her apartment. She shrugged off her coat and hung it by the door before nudging off her shoes, toes pressed to the heel in place of a boot-puller, and then she shuffled her way into the kitchen. Though this apartment was slightly more spacious than the last and was in much better condition overall, it didn't feel quite so comforting. It didn't feel like home.
It was the same routine every day. Wake up, go to work, come home, drink tea, struggle to sleep, repeat. Cassandra never liked jobs that made her feel as though she were just a piece of the machine. She wanted to like what she did, to enjoy her time spent. Now, working as a barista at a chain coffee shop, she found it all too difficult to enjoy much of anything. Despite the drastic change in hair color and her unexpected residence in England, many people did recognize her—and most were not positive interactions.
Social media was swirling, always storming with more debate over the US government's treatment of mutants, Cassandra's past, and Tony Stark's perceived innocence, and it was spilling over into the real world as though she'd bumped a latte. The hardest part was fighting the stain. She could feel it attempting to soak into her skin, coloring it with negativity and anger even as she put a kettle on the stove. Something once so relaxing now felt like a tedious chore.
Cassandra left the water to heat and exited the kitchen, walking across the small living area before entering her bedroom, and flicking up the light switch. It was slightly smaller than her last room, but it did its job just the same. She changed her clothes—trading her work uniform for cotton pajama pants and a sweater—and threw the old ones into the washing machine in the bathroom. When she agreed to come to London to work with Jane Foster, this was not the outcome she expected.
Renting an apartment, getting a local job, putting down more roots that would surely be yanked from their secure soil when the next storm passed through. It was not what she wanted. However, using her own name for this new life felt like a new start that just might stick. When she pattered back out to the kitchen, the kettle was steaming, but not quite whistling just yet. So, she reached for her phone on the kitchen counter and the screen lit up with notifications. She'd genuinely tried to force herself to respond to messages and phone calls—but it seemed there was always a twinge between her ribs that kept her from hitting send.
Then, the kettle was whistling, and she moved quickly to remove it from the heat, turning off the stove top. She poured the hot liquid into a dollar store mug, covering the bag of lavender chamomile tea. Today was her last shift for the week, sunset opening the door to the weekend, to more free time than she truly needed. There'd been no shortage of thoughts occupying her mind since leaving New York, every passing day only adding another brick to the pile.
But when it was all a little too loud, she would break from routine. She came home, cleaned up, and made tea—before teleporting home. The rooftop of her old apartment building was almost always empty, and she found herself there more and more, perched on the corner with thick sleeves and a warm mug to brace against the cold, almost-morning breeze. Once her mug was full, that's exactly where she went. It felt like an instinct now. The smells, the lights, the sounds—they warmed her chest like a blanket of comfort over her shoulders, a safe place to digest her own mind.
The concrete prickled against her bare feet as she took steps toward the edge, before climbing onto the waist-high edge of the roof. Car horns and distant chatter filled her ears, bringing the mug to her lips to take a drink. Here, she could breathe. Here, she could simply be. Though, it was only a brief moment before it was interrupted, a harsh buzzing cutting through the peace in a sharp slash. Cassandra only startled in the form of a quick look down, hand diving into her pocket, fishing for her cell phone.
Once she'd pulled the device out and situated her mug in one hand, she eyed the screen. Kurt. Her eyebrows furrowed. Surely he knew it was late where she lived now. Did he somehow know she spent her nights in the same time zone? Hesitantly, her thumb touched the green button. "Hello?" she spoke into the phone.
"Hello. I'm sorry if I woke you," Kurt's accent danced through the syllables and she shivered at the familiarity. "I hoped to call when you were not busy, though I might have overshot."
Cassandra chuckled softly. "It's alright. I've been going to bed late these days anyway."
"Are you still having troubles sleeping?"
"Yeah, I haven't had a good night's sleep since I left the states. It's probably just the time change," she lied innocently, protectively. Guarding the reasoning as though saying it aloud might actually expose the subject.
Kurt hummed. "Yes, it could be. I've been thinking of you lately. How are you? Other than sleep."
Cassandra exhaled heavily. How was she? Was there time for such a complex answer? They would most likely be on the phone when the sun rose above the buildings if she attempted a genuine reply. It brought a thought to her mind, an idea sure to get her into her own hellish kind of trouble—but it nagged at the corners of her mind. After a pause, she inhaled. "Come here."
"Where are you?"
He responded without audible hesitation, and her stomach twisted. She pulled the phone from her ear to open the camera and take a picture of the rooftop space in front of her. Then, she sent it in a text message. There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by the beginnings of a rush of air, the ending made clear as a swirl of blue smoke deposited Kurt's frame just feet to her right. With a small smile, she ended the call and slid her phone away.
"What are you doing back in the city?" Kurt questioned her, sliding his phone into his pants pocket as he took steps toward the ledge.
She sighed. "It helps me think."
He came to the waist-high edge and effortlessly lifted himself to sit atop the concrete a foot from her left knee, and he glanced over the side. "It is quite the view."
"It is," she swallowed, eyes lingering on the lines of his face. "I used to live in this building, actually."
Kurt sat upright, golden irises reflecting the light from the street as they finally met hers, and he smiled. "So, this is where you called home. It looks like a nice place. Life in the city suits you."
"What makes you say that?"
"You're stubborn and know what you want, but you're the most selfless person I know," he answered, honestly. "You come back from damage just as this city. It is a slow process—but you build better every time."
Cassandra chuckled despite the tension in her chest. "I think you're the only one that would call me 'selfless', but thank you. I think you're the most selfless person you know. It's almost six and you're on a rooftop with me because I asked."
"I would go anywhere you asked, Cassie."
He smiled again, all cheeks and teeth, but there was something so soft and genuine coating the words. I know, she thought. And I hate myself for it. It was a bitter taste on her tongue she could swallow, yet the words refused to pass her lips. Instead, she forced the corners of her lips upward in a nudge, and coated her response in gentle sarcasm. "Careful, Wagner. One of these days, you're gonna regret saying that," she replied.
"Where could you possibly ask me that I would regret it?" Kurt chuckled at the question posed.
"Well...here, at all hours of the morning, for one," Cassandra pointed out, with a brief tilt of her head in a gesture. "Sounds like a booty call, if you ask me."
"Would that be so bad?"
Her shoulders became rigid as a chill fluttered along her spine, hand frozen where it raised, fingers clutching the mug at her lips. The ceramic hovered there at the skin for a moment. How was she to respond to such a question? It was surely in jest. Wasn't it? Although his smile remained, a little less toothy, the lines of his face were softer. Golden irises watched the blue orbs across from them as they reflected the red, white, and yellow streetlights.
The sun was beginning to cast the faintest of blue hues on the city, the glow turning her skin an icy pale. However, no ambient light was necessary to drain the color from her face. It churned the contents of her stomach—or, the lack thereof—to consider her options. Jane had given up. She gave Cassandra hope that there was truly a way to Asgard outside of the Bifrost, and then she quit the project, refusing to promise even one more attempt.
It was gut-wrenching, but begged the question—was she allowed to move on? Her heart screamed a deafening no that ricocheted off the insides of her ribs. Even still, something inside her ached with longing at the thought. No, she would not move on. Not yet. Though, she could attempt those steps, exposing herself to the turbulent waters from the safety of the shore in the hopes her skin might adapt to the temperature and better prepare her for the plunge.
With a small shake of her head, she finally allowed her to take a drink from the mug in her hand, forcing down the liquid to melt the knot of anxiety in her throat. "I don't think so. We're both adults, right?" she lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
"That is true," he agreed with a nod. "We are capable of interacting responsibly."
Or, with no strings attached. Cassandra's mind echoed the translation. It was forbidden permission, a golden key to a chest of suppressed behaviors and desires she'd locked up almost a decade ago. They bubbled up to the surface in a jittering rush, heartbeat ticking up, sucking the air from her lugs. Though, she nodded in return as she took a deep breath, lowering the mug to her lap. The permission had been internally granted but her limbs had no will left in them to move.
What her body wanted was also what her body could not allow itself to have—not without allowing in an unprecedented amount of harsh guilt—and her mind hadn't settled on the idea that it was worth it quite yet. Kurt edged forward on the ledge, nudging her knee with his shin, leg folded as it draped across the concrete inches. "Is that what you want?"
Though his tone was innocent, there was something hopeful tucked within it her ears couldn't help but pick out. She'd brought it upon herself with an only half in-jest comment. Now, she blinked in a flutter, inhaling sharply at the way the lights cast a shimmer in the gold and how her stomach felt like it'd dropped straight into the arches of her bare feet. "Is it what you want?" she forced herself to ask, voice hushed against the oxygen refusing to remain in her chest.
"Yes," he admitted, the confession bringing a blueberry-blush to his cheekbones.
The sight caused sparks in depths they hadn't reached in much longer than she cared to admit. It erupted her muscles with prickling heat that tipped her forward, crossing the few inches remaining until her mouth reached his, cold lips meeting with a gentle force nearly entirely foreign to her now. But his hands were warm when they cupped her cheeks, inviting her in as he opened his mouth to deepen the sudden kiss with total acceptance.
It was far too easy to fall back into this place. The warm, gentle place of comfort his presence always afforded. For a night, her mind reminded her body, as it allowed it to give in conditionally. Lavender smoke engulfed the ledge of the roof and swallowed them whole, before spitting them out at the edge of her bed. The transfer was effortless and left them undisturbed in their positioning. However, as Cassandra leaned back, fingers gripping at the hem of her sweater, Kurt blinked at the change in lighting.
As his eyes swept quickly, briefly over the space, he questioned, "This is your room?"
"Small, huh?"
She gave a loose, dry grin with the sarcasm coating her words, and gently tossed her sweater aside. The movement, her voice, pulled his eyes back to her once more. His heart pounded in his ears at the sight of her bare chest and he swallowed thickly, hands moving to the hem of his own shirt. "Do you like it here? In England?" he asked, nerves vocalizing the first casual thought his mind could conjure.
"It's alright so far," she shrugged loosely as her gaze followed his movements, lingering on the blue skin revealed as the clothing was removed. "Definitely not New York."
Her brain was running too fast, too slow, her thoughts scattered to the corners of her mind, adrenaline like a hurricane wind in the small space. The very second the shirt was over his head, Cassandra moved forward, devouring his lips hungrily, greedily. She swung her leg over his thighs and settled atop his lap. Bumps prickled every inch of her skin as her chest brushed his, pressing together as his arms encircled her torso and forced her closer.
Cassandra surged upright with a sharp inhalation as the blare of an alarm cut through her unconsciousness. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, chest heaving, and she rolled onto her side as she reached to slap the top of her bedside clock. Gentle light cast shadows through the drapes of her bedroom windows. When had she fallen asleep? When had she gone to bed?
Her muscles rigid, she sat still as her mind raced, retracing her steps through foggy and uncertain memories. Coming home and drinking tea were vivid and sure, solid pillars from which to navigate like Polaris over the horizon. But nothing lingered quite as strongly as her dream. She reached for her cell phone, perched on the bedside table, and brought it closer. The screen lit up with the date.
It confirmed that it was in fact the weekend. She wasn't about to miss work, and she wasn't as off-put by the confusion as she was before. Still, she checked her call list to confirm just where her unconsciousness started. A jolt shot through her as the phone began to vibrate violently, her screen changed to show an incoming call, with a caller ID as a name she least expected to see. Darcy. Equal parts confused and intrigued, she answered the call. "Hello?"
"Hey, where are you?" Darcy's voice came through the speaker, and Cassandra's brows furrowed.
"In bed…? Darcy, it's six in the morning."
"Well, you might wanna get out of it. I just got a really weird reading-"
Cassandra interrupted, "And Jane is on it?"
"Not exactly."
Cassandra sighed again, this time much heavier, as she reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. It was another pattern. These days, Darcy was the only one still paying attention to the readings, doing any of the research. Jane fell into depression and refused to care about any of it anymore. There was far too much hurt. Yet still, Darcy tried to convince her to return to the project whenever the readings took a turn. Either way, they tended to lead nowhere, and both Jane and Cassandra were painfully aware.
"I told you, I'm not interested. The readings mean shit if we have no device," Cassandra spoke bitterly, sharper than she intended. A beeping sounded in her ear and she pulled the phone away. At a glance, the phone read another call was coming in. An unknown number. Most likely one of the X-Men, she knew. So, she put the phone back to her ear and exhaled. "I'm done with the cat and mouse. Call me when Jane snaps out of it, okay?"
Once she finished speaking, she pulled the phone away yet again. This time, she ended the call with Darcy, and instead answered the second. "Hello?"
"Hi- is this Claire?" the female voice that came through the speaker was youthful and full of terror as it trembled, but something about it was familiar.
Cassandra tensed. "Yes, it is. Who is this?"
"I'm so sorry- your number was on the fridge- I'm Michael's sister, across the hall," her panicked voice came through as self-made blips, products of her nerves. "The- the explosion, the building next door- the ceiling collapsed—I'm stuck."
In her old apartment building, Cassandra's neighbor, directly across the hall, was a man not much older than her. His name was in fact Michael. They'd chatted a few times when their paths inevitably crossed, and he seemed like a decent young man. He'd asked her to water his plants while he was away on a weekend trip once. It was the only explanation Cassandra's brain could find for why he would have her phone number on the refrigerator.
However, it was so long ago that the explanation didn't quite make sense even still. Why would he still have it there, as though he expected to need it? But Cassandra didn't question the girl on the phone. Instead, she surged from the bed, clamoring out from underneath the comforter before darting toward the first available pair of pants her eyes could see. "Okay, I need you to calm down and tell me exactly where you are. Are you in the building right now?"
"Yes, I- I'm in Michael's apartment," she answered. "The door is blocked, the other side is on fire- it's hard to breathe."
Cassandra haphazardly wriggled her way into some jeans and ran to the front door for her shoes. "Stay there and don't move, alright? I'm on my way," she told her, as she slid her feet into the shoes.
The girl sniffled, coughing once on the other end. "Okay."
There was no telling the condition of the apartment building. It was quite decrepit the last time she saw it, but that was so long ago. They would have rebuilt and fixed the damage by now. But with the explosion that damaged the apartment across the hall, who was to say if the hallway outside it wasn't just as in ruin? Regardless, she had no other options. Cassandra teleported into the hallway, her memory of what it should look like her only reference.
As she arrived in purple smoke and sparks, her lungs filled with a different kind of smoke, and she felt the urge to cough with just one breath. Sparks from electrical wires popped from the ceiling, landing on chunks of drywall and debris piled along the hall. There was no light but from an open apartment door further down the hall, the vibrant glow of fire faintly illuminating a portion of hallway. "I'm here, I'm outside the apartment," Cassandra spoke into the phone as she stepped toward the apartment door. "Is there enough space near you for someone to stand?"
"Um...if you crouched, maybe?"
"Okay, I need you to send me a picture of the space. It sounds weird, but you just have to do it."
Sounds of distant voices echoed into the hall. Cassandra looked either direction, but no one could be seen. Then, her phone buzzed. She was quick to pull the device from her ear and open the message received—a photo of the inside of the apartment. It was poor quality, but it would do what it needed to. She could see the flames licking and biting at the wallpaper in the living area.
There was a gaping hole in the side of the apartment, furniture toppled and buried by debris from the ceiling and bits of drywall as a byproduct of what made the hole. Cassandra ended the call and slid her phone into her pocket before lowering herself to her knees in the hallway. Her legs tucked beneath her, she bent down, shrinking herself to an estimated height. Then, she teleported inside.
She landed a few feet from the burning hole in the wall. Wood from support beams and furniture scattered across the floor pinched at her shins but she had no mental bandwidth to truly feel it just yet. The girl was visible now, close enough to reach. She laid half in and half out of a debris pile, come straight down from the ceiling—leaving a hole into the apartment above. Cassandra shifted to fully face her and the girl looked up at her with wide eyes.
Visibly trembling, the lines of her face creased and kinked with pain, she looked far too young to be in a situation like this. She couldn't be any older than twenty. But her shock was momentary, fleeting for the sake of her position. "I think it's my leg," she told Cassandra. "Something heavy's on it."
"I'll get you out, okay? Give me your hand," Cassandra instructed, reaching out her own hand.
The girl didn't question the directions or second-guess them. She simply grasped at Cassandra's hand, desperate for relief from the pulsating numbness, aching, and pressure radiating up her left leg. It started just below her knee and worked its way up into her hip and it burned. Once their hands clasped, Cassandra teleported once more, this time bringing them both to the hallway. The girl gasped, sitting upright as the pain worsened with the blood rushing back into the rest of her leg.
Cassandra shifted her position, moving to see the limb and the injury caused. There was a deep gash surrounded by bruising along the side of the girl's calf. Just at first glance, it didn't look broken. Simply bruised, cut, and swollen. It was a hopeful sight—it meant that it was something much more easily fixed. But blood trailed out from the wound, however slowly, which meant it was still serious. "Let's get you to a hospital," Cassandra said.
The girl was quick to wrap her fingers around Cassandra's wrist, stopping her with a vigorous shake of her head. "No, I can't- I can't go to a hospital, they'll take me, too."
Cassandra's blood ran cold. She found herself lowering her voice, despite the emptiness of the hall. "Who's going to take you?"
"I don't know. They wore uniforms like soldiers, but there were no identifiers," the girl quickly explained. "Last week, Michael told me to hide and, the next thing I knew, they took him. I don't know where they went—he's just gone. I thought maybe there'd be answers in his apartment, but the building next door went up in flames."
Rue settled into Cassandra's gut for multiple reasons. "What's your name?"
"Jasmine," the girl answered.
Cassandra gripped the hem of her sweater and gave a strong tug. The fabric ripped, tearing a strip off from the bottom. "Is there anything you can think of about your brother that would get him arrested, Jasmine?" she questioned her, as she wrapped the fabric around the injured portion of her leg.
"No- I mean, Michael's almost never broken the law. Ever. You wouldn't catch him dead speeding or shoplifting—even in an emergency," Jasmine shook her head. She exhaled a shaky breath as her eyes suddenly fell to the dirtied floor. When they rose again, they flicked quickly to Cassandra's face, searching her eyes with uncertainty. "You're that mutant from the news, right? You're the one that exposed the government?"
Cassandra nodded. "That's me."
"Michael and I...we're mutants, too."
Cassandra's hands stilled, pulling the fabric tight in a knot. It made sense now why he'd been taken—no, abducted. Gruesome, ugly sense. With all the media attention on this very subject, she wondered, how could they be so careless? If the sentinels were already in full production, why would they need more testing? It only opened yet another can of worms. Forcing it down with a hard swallow, Cassandra dug into the pocket of her jeans and unearthed her cell phone.
Jasmine pushed herself upright into a sitting position, turning to lean back against the wall of the hallway. "Who are you calling?"
"I know someone that can help you."