Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel's characters. I do own Sasha.
A/N: Oh wow, I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. I was really stuck with how to make it work just right, and then I started writing other things instead and, well! Sufficient to say, I finally got my priorities figured out and here is the somewhat short but still important third chapter! Enjoy!
The Memory Remains
Chapter 3
----
Life it seems, will fade away
Drifting further every day
Getting lost within myself
Nothing matters, no one else.
I have lost the will to live
Simply nothing more to give
There is nothing more for me
Need the end to set me free.
---Metallica "Fade to Black"
----
Lance and Fred stumbled along the sidewalk, trying to shake off their alcohol-induced haze long enough to find the apartment block they were seeking. Finally they came to a large brick building that looked familiar and Lance climbed the concrete steps and buzzed the intercom. Soon a groggy voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Toad?"
"Lance? What the bloody hell are you doing here so late? Are you tanked again?"
"Yeah man, but wait, this is important," Lance said. "Me 'n Freddy, we found out something you should hear. Let us up, man."
"Bloody hell, Lance, I wanna sleep," Toad protested. "Ring me in the morning."
"No way, man," Avalanche argued. "You gotta hear this now, and besides your phone's still wired. Cops can't hear this."
"No, not a chance, Lance. I don't wanna get mixed up in any more bull-"
"Oh for fuck's sake, Toad, it's about Sasha!" Lance shouted.
There was a long silence, and Blob plopped down on the steps. "I think he died," he stated.
"I'm buzzing you in," Toad's voice came finally, and the buzzer went off and Lance opened the door. The two of them entered and carefully climbed two flights of stairs and traversed the hallway to the door which stood open with Toad standing in the frame. "What about her, Lance? This better be good."
*
Lance sat on Toad's worn sofa, pounded back a mug of black coffee and shook his head, slowly sobering up. Fred hadn't bothered trying and had passed out on the floor. Toad was leaning against the stained counter taking the opposite route of Lance and drank from a bottle of beer.
"How do we know ol' Cyke is telling the truth?" he asked.
"We don't," Lance shook his head. "But, c'mon, Morty, are you just gonna ignore it? This is Sasha we're talking about. What if it's true?"
"Have you told Johnny?"
"Naw, man, I was kinda hoping you would help me tell him. I haven't even talked to him a whole lot since then. Christ, and I'm supposed to be his best friend."
"Yeah," Toad mumbled to himself and took another long swig. "I've been over a couple of times. His flat is a shambles, and he's been...well, I don't think he's been sleeping. I don't know how to help him."
"Shit," Lance groaned. He got up and walked over to the phone on the counter next to Toad, picked up the receiver and dialed Pyro's number. After a couple moments, he hung up. "No answer."
"Not surprising," Toad shook his head. "He practically never gets up off the couch except to take a piss or grab something from the fridge."
It took Lance about two seconds to make up his mind. "Let's go. I'll tell him face-to-face. I can't take this anymore - I kinda miss the weirdo." He turned to look at Blob. "What should we do with Freddy?"
"Let him crash here, mate," Toad shrugged. "We gotta get there quick. You know the X-Men will be making plans to track her down and we wanna try to keep up."
* * *
The lights were out and the apartment of the mutant known as Pyro was silent save for the quiet sounds from the softly glowing television. The slender blond man was sprawled on the old sofa, eyes half open, only paying a minimal amount of attention to the TV program. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept; lately he'd just crashed for an hour or two on the couch. He hadn't slept in the bedroom in four months - in the bed he'd shared with Sasha.
The bedroom was a mess anyway. He'd come home that night after returning from Muir Island and trashed the apartment. Later he'd cleaned up the main room and kitchen but left the bedroom as it was; he didn't plan on going in there any time soon.
He frowned in frustration, hating the way his mind kept drifting back in that direction. Why haven't I been sleeping? Because I crash on the couch. Why don't I go to bed? Because she slept there too. I can't sleep there without her.
The pain in his stomach threatened to overwhelm his emotions and he turned his focus to the television to keep his mind from certain topics. Somehow he'd let the fact that "I Love Lucy" was now on slip by him, and disgustedly changed the channel, landing on an old episode of "Friends". He watched about two seconds of Ross and Rachel mush before angrily changing the channel again. Before he could focus on what he'd changed it to, the phone rang, startling him enough to make him sit up.
"Aw, Crikey," he grumbled at the instant head rush and dropped his head into his hands. He didn't bother answering the phone - it would stop ringing eventually; it always did. He waited until the silence returned to his apartment again before forcing himself to his feet and stumbling toward the bathroom, unbuckling the belt on his jeans along the way.
With that bit of business taken care of, Pyro wandered into the vicinity of the kitchen and over to the refrigerator, and discovered upon opening it that he was nearly out of anything remotely edible. He grabbed the last can of Coke and an old wrinkled apple, then shut the door and plopped back down on the couch to see what was now on the TV.
Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves - on the movie channel. Finally, he thought, something with a little action. Unfortunately at the moment the movie was at the part where Robin sends Marian back to town across the river and there's a little sappy exchange between the two of them. Pyro lasted just long enough to hear Marian deliver the "I'll do it for you" line before turning the TV off completely. He then sat in the dark munching on his apple and stewing in his frustrations.
Pyro frowned as his jaw popped when he took a bite of the fruit. Lying on the couch all day had caused it to lock and thus made eating a rather difficult procedure. The blond Aussie realized it would be a much easier task were he able to cut up the apple into smaller bits, but that was not a possibility - not since Toad had removed all the knives and other sharp objects from his apartment. That was a few months ago, when the depression hit worse than it ever had, and Pyro had taken a razor blade and sliced his wrist open from the palm of his left hand to his mid-forearm. Luckily, Toad had been on his way over and found him bleeding to death in the bathroom sink and was able to call an ambulance.
The Aussie traced the long ugly scar down his wrist with his finger and sighed. He couldn't decide whether he was grateful for Toad's impeccable timing, or if he wished he'd succeeded that night. Either way, he hadn't had the guts to go for another suicide attempt, but Toad had taken no chances.
Pyro glanced at the clock on the counter which was flashing 12:00, and he remembered that he hadn't bothered to reset it last time there had been a power outage and so he now had no idea what time it was. That never used to matter. He could remember staying up all night with Sasha, the two of them talking for hours about whatever came to mind after passionate love-making. Everything about that woman was passionate; everything she did she always put everything she had into doing it.
His stomach tightened again and he moved his hand to his abdomen. In doing so he felt an older set of scars - the reminders of the long gashes on his belly from his encounter with Sabretooth - an encounter Sasha had saved him from. If she hadn't shown up, he would be dead now.
He surveyed the apartment for a moment then leaned back and closed his eyes. Sasha had been his foundation, his reason to keep living and the only true love he'd even known. He silently wondered if he could really survive without her. After four months he still could never go five minutes without thinking about her. He was completely unable to even attempt to get back to a somewhat normal life, and too depressed to try. The only time he ever showed his face in public was to get the few groceries with the money he borrowed from Toad when he came over. He hadn't even spoken to Lance - his best friend - since they got back from Muir Island.
His eyes snapped open as the buzzer sounded on the intercom by the door. He wondered briefly how long he'd been sitting in the dark before closing his eyes again in hopes that it was just kids downstairs playing a prank. Apparently this was not so as the buzzer went off again and a voice he hadn't heard in months rang through the darkness.
"Johnny? It's Lance."
Pyro stared at the intercom, unsure of what to do. He was too tired to think straight and thought maybe he'd imagined the name.
"Dude, I know we haven't spoken in a while and I'm sorry but c'mon man just get off the couch I really, really need to talk to you. Trust me - it's important."
Pyro blinked hard, convinced that he must have dozed off and was now dreaming.
*
Lance impatiently clenched his fists and the ground began to shake lightly. Toad cast a disbelieving look in his direction. "So you're gonna bring down the building on top of your best friend because he doesn't answer right away? Jesus, Lance, you really are an idiot, aren't you? You have no idea how hard he took it!" Toad pushed the stunned rock tumbler aside and pushed the intercom button. "Pyro. It's Toad. I swear, it's long overdue good news we're bringing."
Avalanche ran his slender fingers through his shaggy dark brown hair and frowned. He didn't like being shot down and called names by his friends - or anyone for that matter - and especially didn't like not being able to think of a comeback. Most of all he didn't like to admit that Toad was right. But the fact was clear - he was. And now he was curious as to what Toad had meant; just how hard did Pyro take it?
Only one way to find out, he decided. "Um, Toad? How did he take it?"
"Ask him yourself for a change," Toad spat.
TWO ways to find out, then, Avalanche corrected himself, and took a deep breath as the buzzer finally allowed the two access into the apartment block.
*
Avalanche leaned against the wall in Pyro's apartment with his arms crossed and his teeth clenched, listening to Toad talk to the flame-throwing mutant. The Aussie was staring blankly at Toad, completely disbelieving every word that came out of his mouth. And that was pissing Lance off more and more by the minute.
"Our time's running out - we have to find her before the X-Men do," Toad said.
"Even if it's true, we wouldn't stand a chance," Pyro replied and slouched back on the couch. "So what's the point?"
"The point, dumbass, is that Sasha's out there, by herself, with the X-Men after her," Avalanche exploded. "The point, in case what Grey said on Muir didn't get through your thick skull, is that she's got on hell of a fucked up brain with nobody to clue her in. The point is that we've all been through hell and back since she got taken out and we need her back. The point is that we owe her a lot, and if you care about her even a fraction of what she cares about you, you would help us find her even if we didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of beating the X-Jerks to it!"
As Lance chewed him out, Pyro felt his stomach tighten in disgust of his apathetic reaction to the news of Sasha's awakening. In truth, he had nearly smiled when they had first told him, but the depression that had long since convinced him that he'd lost her forever had urged him not to get his hopes up - that it couldn't be true. Now he hung his head with the shame of so readily forsaking his lover. Avalanche interpreted the reaction the wrong way.
"Fine, be like that," he spat. "I appreciate you leaving the job to me and Morty to break her heart, Johnny, I really do."
Avalanche angrily stomped to the door and Toad followed with a look of mixed disappointment and repulsion on his face.
"Guys?"
They turned around, unsure of what he would say.
"Let's bring her home."
To Be Continued...