That was five hours ago and this is now.
John now lied on his bed and thought about the helicopter scene. His memory picked up every detail and every feature of Mystique's face. How could he forget? Yes, how could he forget? There seemed to be a hidden connection between him and the shape shifter. He alone had broken through to her, when seemingly it couldn't be done. He had seen her cry, and that single tear was enough for him to see for a century.
It was almost... apocalyptic, as Pyro seemed to think of it. Such a strong, independent, and devious woman could simply not cry! Surely, it would bring the end of the world. But no. It seemed that... it wasn't as devastating as an apocalypse- at least to the rest of the world. But John thought someone might have well as stabbed him through the heart with an iron poker as much as seeing that tear agonized him.
And why was he put through so much agony? The answers did not come to him as he pondered his situation. Why did it hurt him so bad to see someone react to a particular situation? He'd seen many people cry over the years. Hell, he himself had cried numerous times- when no one was watching of course. He hated to cry in public; he'd only let loose in front of Bobby a time or two. It was only because his trust for Bobby was stronger than any bond he had ever shared with someone.
But now Mystique and John had a bond. But... what was it? How did it come along? Why was he tortured by her mere voice- the faint presence of a lingering smile? He was locked in torment with himself as he thought about her even more. It was madness. It was masochism. That is... if he gained pleasure from his agonizing thoughts. And did he? He wasn't sure. But did he dwell on the mysterious blue mutant because he could not have her? Possibly.
Evening blanketed the outside atmosphere and stars began to burn through the darkness. They each wanted to be seen and understood; no star was ignored. They made sure about that.
Pyro considered that for a moment. It was so like humanity. He had learned that human nature could not be denied; he knew that all people, regardless of what they said, wanted to be loved. It may be an underlying layer of self-pity that first cried out to them, or maybe it was simply the unapparent need to accept him or herself as sovereign. Whatever the excuse, every human being, Homo sapiens or Homo superior, wanted to be recognized and loved for who or what they were.
But it wasn't always so simple. John knew this as a fact. It wasn't easy to become accepted; it was easier to be pushed away and ostracized than to obtain the desired respect, which human bodies, minds, and souls crave. These thoughts, Pyro didn't get to continue, for his troubled mind fell fast asleep.
As the young mutant slept, time raged on in its endless circle of monotony. Some say it's redundant and some say every day is a blessing from God, but some just wish the chaos, the madness, and the longevity of ordeals they have faced and have yet to face would just disappear into a void of certain extremity. But whatever category one might fall into, only one thing is for certain: Our opinions matter not, for a fact stays as it is- factual.
Two a.m. was all that Pyro could see in the darkness as he opened his eyes and stared at the blaring red numbers on his alarm clock. He had had another dream- another dream about the people dying. A silhouetted figure rampaged through the night and had slain innocent people. Onlookers received punishment for their acts. Some had their eyes ripped out, while others suffered maiming and utter torture before their hearts gave up on life.
Shaking the intruders out of his head, John sat up and swung his feet over the bed. There was no chance that he'd be getting back to sleep; sleep did not invite him into its peaceful gates any longer. So those were his two enemies: The ocean and sleep.
'How pathetic,' John thought as he rubbed his eyes. He looked over at Bobby and watched his body as it moved up and down with each calm breath. For longer than a moment, Pyro's mind was lost to the fabric of the sheets that rose and fell rhythmically. It took him a minute to regain consciousness, but he did so and peered out of his window.
He wondered...
If he went outside, would Mystique be there waiting for him? If he simply called her in his mind, would she come? Would Toad come? Anything at this point would be all right. At the moment, John had a slight nagging in his brain; it called out to him:
Join the Brotherhood. You're curious! Curiosity doesn't kill unless you let it...
Somehow, John wanted to give into the voice and tell Mystique and Toad that he would join, but he had to know the rest of the story first.
Just then, he saw a rustling in the foliage against the brick wall, which served as the boundaries for the property. And then, curiosity snagged him. John quietly opened his window, stepped outside, and slid down the shingles. In no time, he dropped to the ground with a muffled thud and made his way toward the bushes.
"I knew I'd get your attention."
The voice made Pyro jump in his skin as he whipped around and faced the speaker.
"Damnit, Toad. Don't you ever stay in the same spot?"
John watched as the smirk on his face grew. The tiny stubs of teeth that he had showed as he spoke:
"I'm guessing that you want to know the rest of the story. I knew I could lure you out with no trouble." His smile expanded as Pyro's lips stayed straight and firm.
"Why is she alive, Toad? Tell me now."
The green mutant circled him for a moment and chuckled as he smelled the nervousness on Pyro's being. Yes, he would tell him the rest of the story. And of course, it would be the truth, but he would add tidbits in just like he had in the other story to push Pyro closer to joining the Brotherhood.
"All right, you win, mate. I'll tell ya the story; but first we need to get under cover. Follow me."
John followed the Brotherhood member until they were nicely concealed in the thick foliage. No fear was present anywhere on him as he faced Toad. He wasn't afraid- he'd convinced himself of that.
"I've noticed that you 'n Mystique have something goin' on... am I right?"
The malicious accent still adorned Toad's words as John listened. He wasn't about to answer, but he wanted to hear the story. What was a little personal sacrifice when you wanted to know what's been happening over the past three months?
"Possibly. Now tell me the story." Johns voice was acrid, but Toad shrugged it off.
John could sense that this next story would completely fulfill his curiosity, but there was always that hidden feeling of devastation and regret. If Toad revealed to him everything that he wanted to know, would he stay with the X-Men or would he be driven toward the Brotherhood in the finality of it all? It was up to him, and he hoped that he would make the right decision.
"So where were we?" Toad said with more than a little glee. He wanted to make Pyro squirm, but apparently it wasn't working as much as he had hoped.
"You know damn well where we were, you goddamn frog. Now get on with it!"
"Ouch," Toad said in a mocking voice, "Me feelin's are hurt! I don't know if I want to tell you the tale now. Maybe I should just leave...?"
John caught on quickly and rose before Toad could.
"In that case, you'll excuse me. I've gotta get back; big date tomorrow with my new girlfriend. Can't keep her waiting..."
"All right! All right! I'll tell you the bloody story. You're too clever for your own good, you know that?"
Pyro didn't answer but just sat back down.
"Okay," Toad said dejectedly, for he had been deprived of all of his fun. "This tale has more juicy information than you'll be able to hold, Pyro me friend. I'll guarantee you that. Now let's start with that night when you shot Mystique..."
