This is an old fic I wrote some years ago, before Pyro actually died, so the events here don't match up with what happened in the comics. However, it's a piece I kind of enjoy.
Dominic = Avalanche
St. John/Johnny = Pyro
Dominic laid down his head on the desk. He had not been able to function properly since the death of St. John a week earlier, grieving intensely and feeling guilty over it. He blamed himself for his friend's illness, and though he'd known about the inevitability of death from the terminal disease, it still hit him like a physical blow. He could console himself that St. John had died with an attentive friend by his side, but could not shake his unease over violating the dead man's funerary requests. Pyro had asked for cremation, something that was part joke and part close personal connection with the fire that was to consume him, but it was against Dominic's religious beliefs, and he quietly side-stepped the wish in favour of a more acceptable burial. He knew it was wrong to deny St. John his request, though, and it ate at him. He simply had more trouble with the concept of cremation.
He'd had his friend buried in a little plot in the corner of a local cemetery, forcing himself out of the house a couple of times since the death in order to visit it. He'd crouched over the fresh earth, head bowed, using his powers to sense what was under the ground beneath him, and taking a small measure of comfort in knowing that the coffin was only a few feet under. And, in accordance with his cultural beliefs and as a way of honouring the memory of his friend, he'd lit several candles and left them burning on the grave. Then, it was back home to take refuge in the quiet and privacy of his only sanctuary. But it was too quiet; he'd shared it with St. John, and no longer could he hear the whispery voice talking to him or to imaginary companions, no coughing, no moaning, no radio. At one point when the dying man was still alive, Dominic had hated these noises, and they'd profoundly upset him, but now he missed them. At least while he'd heard them, there had been hope.
Dominic sighed. He didn't cry; he never did, though he wished he could. To let out his emotions in any way was something he dearly wanted, but just couldn't have because of the risk of his volatile powers. Contrary to common belief, he was not actually emotionless, merely severely and voluntarily repressed; forced to be this way because of the wild nature of his deadly powers. He didn't mind starting a bit of mayhem, but there was a very good chance that it could go out of control beyond his capability to handle it, and that was a frightening thought. It had happened before, and it would surely happen again if he was not careful. But repressing his emotions made him feel as though he were dead inside, cold and heartless, and it was not something he relished. He fervently hoped that St. John hadn't believed that his best friend didn't care about his suffering or passing. Fingering a crucifix that he'd been keeping around his neck ever since the death, he mumbled a quiet prayer in Greek, and begged his buddy's forgiveness for every harm he'd done to him. He put his head down on the desk again and quietly contemplated where life would take him now.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door, and he slowly wandered over to answer it, his mind and body not really there. When he opened the door, he was so preoccupied that it took him several moments to recognize the person standing before him.
"Hello," the woman said to him, in Greek. She seemed distinctly uncomfortable, and refused to look him in the eye. He gaped, dumb-founded.
"Helen? What are you doing here?" he demanded incredulously, also in his native Greek.
"I came to talk," she replied, gazing down at her feet. "I thought it was important. But you look terrible, Dominikos. Is something the matter?"
He did indeed look very weary, and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "It's been a difficult week. My best friend died after a long illness, and I had been looking after him."
"So I see," she said softly, finally looking at him, and then around the room behind him. It was littered with unused and empty medical supplies, as well as possessions which had belonged to St. John, for Dominic had not yet had the energy nor the heart to tidy them. The apartment remained as it had been at the time of the sick man's death. Helen seemed deeply concerned, and put a gentle hand on his arm.
"Do you mind if I come in?"
"No, no, not at all," he replied in a shaky voice, stepping aside. She slowly made her way into the living room, unsure of what she should do in the face of all the mess and the uncomfortable situation between them.
"Please sit down," Dominic implored, but there was a reserved tone in his voice that upset her. Gingerly, she pushed some papers and a package of IV tubes aside and carefully sat down on the couch, waiting for him to say something.
"I thought you wouldn't be coming back," he finally said after a strained silence that lasted over a minute. He kept his distance, leaning against a wall for support, and kept an unwavering eye on her.
"It takes two to maintain a relationship," she reminded him. "You know my reasons for staying away, but I thought it would be worth seeing if things are different now."
He nodded. "They are. My friend is dead, and I have no real contacts or loyalties anymore. Though I'm really not sure if that's good enough for you, or if things can ever be repaired between us."
"I don't know either, but you are my husband. I married you for a reason."
"Did you?" he asked bitterly, looking away. "That hasn't seemed apparent for a very long time."
"You are a criminal, Dominikos. I am a proud woman from a good family, and it is too much for me to accept a man who commits crimes. But you are still my husband, and I...love you. I wanted to try one last time."
"You came all the way from Iraklion to talk?" he asked incredulously, shaking his head. "This is crazy. But I suppose I now owe you at least a conversation for all your trouble."
"Have you...found another person?" Helen asked hesitantly, wondering about all the time they'd spent apart, and the dying man in his apartment. She was beginning to think all her efforts were wasted and ridiculous.
"No!" he said sharply, glaring at her. "It was very difficult, but I honoured our wedding vows. I'd like to think you did the same."
"I've been faithful," she told him coolly. "What kind of woman do you take me for?"
"I honestly don't know," he mumbled. "I barely know you anymore. It's been over five years now."
"Five years that we wasted because of pride and stubborn behaviour," she shot back. "I lost the man I love because he wouldn't give up his precious crimes and mutant activities, and I was too obstinate to work through that to stick by my husband. We both made mistakes, but we can correct those now. And we owe it to our families and our marriage to try."
"I suppose you're right," he muttered quietly, feeling defeated. It felt like the absolute worst time to attempt a reconciliation with his wife, still working through his grief as he was, but she was correct and had come so far to put in an effort. So, with a glum expression on his face, he slowly made his way over and sat down on the opposite end of the couch from her.
"So...what have you been up to all these years?" he asked half-heartedly. She smiled at him, and he was struck by how beautiful she was, something he'd forgotten over time. Her dark eyes and hair had always attracted and intrigued him, and the slightest hint of a smile made its way onto his face, despite his unhappiness.
"I'm a nurse---I went back to school, and now work at a hospital," she replied, her smile still broad and pleasant. He paled.
"You could have helped Johnny, maybe," he said despairingly, plunging back into gloom at the thought of his dead friend. "He was so sick, and I had to look after him because no one else would."
"What was wrong with him?" she asked sympathetically, her hand slipping back onto his arm again.
"He had a fatal disease that kills mutants. It was long and slow and awful."
"I'm very sorry to hear that," Helen said with genuine sorrow. "At my job, I have to deal with patients who are very sick or die, and it's never easy. But I get to go home at the end of the day. You have my condolences, Dominikos."
"Yeah, thanks," he replied, fixing her with an unhappy look. "It's been tough."
"What have you been doing?" she asked, gently trying to steer the conversation away from a topic that was clearly upsetting him. She recalled all too well how easily he slipped into funks that were difficult to get out of---after her years in the health care profession, she now recognized that he was chronically depressed, which might have contributed to their marital problems. She hoped to get him some help in the near future.
"Me? Oh, looking after Johnny, the odd job every now and then to bring in some money, and I used to work for the American government after we quit being the Brotherhood," he answered with a helpless shrug. "Nothing you would approve of."
"I'm trying to learn to," she said softly. "I want to compromise. I'm happy to forget the past if you promise to stay out of trouble."
"That's fair, I suppose," he responded moodily, turning away. "But I don't know if it's workable. I have a reputation, a record now. I'm a mutant. And I have few other skills."
"You can manage. We can manage. I can work, and I'm willing to stay in America if you will be honest and work hard."
"I don't know if I want my wife having a job," he grumbled, and she frowned at him.
"Dominikos, I'm not the same woman I once was, and I'm not going back. My job is important to me, I like helping people."
"What about children?" he asked gruffly, and she cast him a dour look.
"You haven't even agreed to stay with me and out of trouble, so it's a bit early to be talking about children," she pointed out dryly, and he looked surprised.
"You have changed," Dominic muttered to himself, not entirely sure he liked that. He was accustomed to a bit of female deference in his personal life, having grown up that way and knowing that Helen had been raised in a similar manner.
"All right, I promise to stay out of trouble," he said, exasperated. "Assuming we even last more than a week."
"Thank you," she whispered, leaning over to briefly peck him on the cheek, but drew back again quickly. Both realized at the moment of contact that neither was ready for intimacy yet. "You'll make me and our families very happy, Dominic. I know that your family is willing to welcome you back if you become honest."
"So..." he said uncomfortably after a quiet minute or so had passed, neither sure of what to say or do. "I guess we ought to get reacquainted."
"Can we go for dinner?" she asked shyly, looking forward to an evening with him but also worried about what might happen. He just looked unhappy.
"Please...I can't go out yet. Not now, not so soon after Johnny's death."
"I understand," she said, disappointed. "Another time, then. I'm anticipating you showing me around the city and pointing out where all the good Greek restaurants are."
A slight smile spread across his face, and he chuckled quietly. "There aren't any, of course. This is the United States."
She smiled too, glad to see him even slightly happy, and touched his hand. "Then how about I make you a good Kretan meal to remind you of home."
This time, he smiled broadly and genuinely. "I'd like that."
She went into the kitchen, shaking her head at the disorganized mess, and figured she had a lot of work ahead of her. It clearly belonged to a man. Still, it was not long before she'd located some cooking utensils and sized up what ingredients were available, deciding what to make on the basis of what was there. She opted to make kalitsounia, a cheese pie from their native island, and expertly began to prepare it while Dominic lounged in the living room and reflected on the events of the past half hour. He could not believe his wife had suddenly reappeared back into his life after so many years apart, and he felt guilty for not continuing to mourn St. John. He picked up a stray piece of IV tubing that lay next to him, and crushed it in his hands. Life was too complicated.
While the pie baked, Helen busied herself tidying the living room, while Dominic watched.
"Aren't you going to help?" she asked a bit crossly, gathering up the used medical waste for disposal. He grunted. "I don't see why. Things are all right as they are."
"This is garbage, and potentially hazardous, if your friend's illness was contagious. Help me."
"You're better at it than me."
"Dominikos!"
Grumbling to himself in mixed English and Greek, he got up and began to separate the trash from things to keep, while she threw out the refuse in a large garbage bag. When she was satisfied that there was no more hazardous waste around, she gathered up the unused medical supplies and put them in a bag of their own.
"There," she told him when she was done, handing the supply bag to him. "These are still useful, and you can do with them what you want."
"I don't want them," he replied, turning away from them as though the very sight was painful. "They're yours."
She gave him a funny look, then put the bag next to her suitcases. "The food should be ready soon," she said as she went into the kitchen to check on it. "Sit down and I'll have everything ready in a few minutes."
Gloomy again, and thinking miserably about how only a week ago he'd been taking care of someone, he silently obeyed. It seemed like it would be a long day.
****
"This is great!" Dominic exclaimed as he ate the pie. "I haven't had any food this good since I left home!"
His wife beamed, and cut him another piece. "Glad you like it. Clearly we'll have to rely on me for decent food around here. How did you manage all these years?"
"I got used to eating American food," he shrugged. "And Johnny taught me to appreciate barbecues. It's all pretty good, but it's not Kretan."
"I'm half-tempted to open a restaurant to introduce these poor Americans to real food," she joked, taking another bite off her own plate. He laughed, and quickly finished up his second helping, reaching for a third.
"But this...this is good, like home," he said wistfully, thinking of Kriti. He was an American now, and accustomed to living in the United States, but a part of him would always long for the island on which he was born and raised. "And it's so nice to be speaking Greek. None of my friends speak it, so it's always English all day long. With you here, it's like being at home."
"You can always speak it with me," she told him lovingly, casting him a significant glance with her dark eyes, which sent shivers through him. He had not had sex in five years, and she was beginning to arouse stirrings in him that he'd kept deliberately repressed during his time of celibacy. But now was not the time, however much he wanted to carry her to bed. She was his wife, but she was almost a stranger, and he did not feel comfortable taking her into his arms until he was certain she felt the same lust. So he looked away and went back to eating his meal, attempting to put the insistent feelings out of his mind.
"What are you thinking about?" Helen asked him curiously, and he shook his head.
"Nothing important. Please, tell me about everything that's happening at home."
As she began to talk about her life, her family, and what little she knew about his family's doings, he sat quietly and listened, just admiring everything about her. He had missed her, and not just for sexual reasons. She was a bit more talkative and assertive than she'd been when last he saw her, but he now found himself actually liking that more than the somewhat submissive woman he'd remembered and fantasized about. She had aged several years, but so had he, and he still found her attractive. She was kind, thoughtful, and very interested in making things work with him. There were many things to admire in her and be proud of to have her as a wife. To his surprise, he found himself falling in love with her again; he'd spent years telling himself bitterly that their marriage was a mistake and he'd been foolish to take such a woman who would abandon her husband, but he supposed she'd had a point after all, and suddenly none of it mattered. He really did want to make things work with her, and as she spoke, he reached out and took her small hand in his large one. She smiled at him, and kept on talking, and he was content to just sit there and listen, holding her hand.
"It was nice to spend time with you," she said after dinner, gazing at him fondly. They'd cleared the table together, and had retired back to the living room, still hand in hand.
"Yes," he nodded.
She stopped by the wall and looked at the photographs hanging there; a photo of a thin blond man who didn't look very healthy, which she supposed was Johnny, a group picture of some people in costume, including Dominic...and a photo of her own wedding day. It was a picture of the bride and groom, looking happy together, and brought a lump to her throat.
"You've had that picture up all this time?" she asked in a choked voice, and he nodded.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to remember it, and you. It was a happy day for me, Helen."
"Oh, Dominikos!" she whispered, tears clouding her eyes as she hugged her husband. "You do care!"
"I do," he agreed, putting his own arms around her. She felt warm and safe, embraced as she was by such a strong body, and clung to him for as long as she could. For his part, Dominic was just happy to hold her and know that she wanted to be with him. He looked down at her once she'd regained her composure, and gazed at her with loving and longing eyes.
"Helen...will you join me in the bedroom?"
Her expression was almost coy. "Yes, I'd love to."
He grinned delightedly, grateful that his self-imposed drought was about to be over, and eager at the prospect of being with his lady-love again. In one quick move, he scooped her into his arms and held her easily, laughing as she pretended to protest. This, he knew as he carried her to bed, was going to be good.
****
Dominic smiled slightly as he knelt down next to his friend's grave, patting the earth gently with one hand. "You won't believe what's happened, Johnny," he said softly, in English. "I've reconciled with Helen, and discovered that I still love her very much. She's going to move in with me, and we're going to give our relationship another go as man and wife. And even though we haven't made specific plans to have kids, I've made love to her enough times that she may already be with child. Isn't that great?" He paused for a few moments as other cemetery visitors passed by him, and resumed talking after they'd moved away. "It makes me...happy. I still miss you, man, and I'd do anything to bring you back, but you're gone forever and it's time to get on with my life. Don't think I've forgotten you, though, because I will be back to tend your grave. But if the dead can hear the prayers of the living, I don't want you to get any ideas about me forgetting you just `cause I'm not praying for you all the time now...I got responsibilities that have to be taken care of, so I guess my period of mourning is over. I'll talk to you again the next time I come back, buddy. Rest in peace."
With that, he lit the candles on the grave, and slowly got to his feet. Smiling, he wandered back to the car, where Helen was waiting.
Fin