DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from 'Mutant X'. They're not
my property. They belong to Tribune Entertainment.
***
*********
He was sitting silently on the soft cushion where previously the weight of his head had made a deep imprint. Her small body bathed beneath the tender surface of his gaze, the deep chocolaty color feeding on the uncovered parts of her skin. They had immediately fallen asleep that night. There were no midnight conversations or any other unnecessary actions.
He wanted to be certain that he had remembered his nightmare. He tried to bring back the images in front of him but he was unable to do that. He couldn't remember something that did not happen. Once again it was repeated. Once again a peaceful, clear night had wrapped its arms tightly around him without the polluted images emerging from the nightmare of his subconscious and giving both his mind and body repetitive interruptions. Brennan did not feel tired... once more.
His eyes fell on the tiny fibers of the carpet. Perhaps the nightmares had vanished by themselves. Someone once told him that they were only reflecting the inner fears and conflicts of a person until they could be resolved somehow. He slowly shook his head. Nothing in those twisted images or sounds had registered some sort of familiarity with him. How could he interpret them? He tried several months ago and came up with no conclusion except for the blatantly obvious one: they did not represent anything about him.
His eyes moved quickly over to the bedroom door and began drawing the lines of the object. He had sneaked in quietly to check on Shalimar with useless hopes of seeing her awake. While watching her, Brennan had pleaded with her to swim to the surface of her dreams and wake up. He needed to look into her eyes. He had not seen those beautiful, vibrant eyes in three days and Brennan missed them. He missed the explosion of life they could somehow, sometimes so cleverly express, giving their spectator a false picture of a woman that had never experienced a single trauma in her life. However, her face, still drowned in the unusual slumber had stubbornly rejected his pleas. That answer wrapped a barbwire around his heart, squeezing out the hope and replacing it with something darker. He felt sad and unwanted. And that other feeling, the one that kept predicting nothing but some gloomy future, continued to deviously smirk in the back corners of his mind. It would not release him.
The short journey came to an end before the quiet face of Emma. His eyebrows arched sadly. He was not allowed to see Shalimar's eyes but his chocolaty eyes had gained entrance to the Psionic's deep blues. Some sort of a ridiculous compromise maybe? Yes, that could be 'it'.
He stared through the deep red flesh of her lips. There was a disliking to the occurring kiss from the previous night. Disliking because of the present circumstances and because it was not a declaration of anything that could bare even the slightest resemblance of a warm, romantic, and even at times, ticklish emotion. The clouding of her image caused an increase of his fears brought on by loneliness and the unfriendly intuition. The entire mixture had swirled chaotically in his mind with such speed, letting him make no judgment of the consequences of his actions, leaving him bare and unarmed with only the single option of touching her in any way he could to reassure himself that he was not alone.
And then he touched her. The warm skin of her lips had immediately sent a heartening, almost flaming river to rush through him. When that river touched him with every single drop, the fear of loneliness was beginning to leave him without wanting. Realizing the form of his action brought a silent request from him that Emma somehow understood the reason behind that touch... that Shalimar understood.
The table next to him lured his eyes to travel flatly on its surface. He was looking at the table like this when a quiet knock on the door distracted him. Brennan looked up to find a short redhead open the door. He wanted to smile but his heart was nowhere to obey that wish, it was not willing to. She had longer hair then and it suited her. It suited her beautifully.
"Would some company be ok?" she spoke softly with empathy in her voice.
Brennan nodded in response and saw her tread quietly over the hard surface of the floor, almost like a small fairy. He was not quite sure of whether a presence of another living person was a needed one so soon but he did not wish to be completely isolated... and not from her. His throat suddenly trapped small bits of air as she sat next to him on the bed; her blue eyes could kiss his brown ones if they could from the way she was looking at him. Those eyes were covered by the protective eyelids the day before when Richard held her tightly by her delicate neck.
Richard had kidnapped two nine-year old twins with rich parents. Everyone thought he wanted money for the children's return. That was the way it appeared. But then he learned of the interesting thermal abilities they had. He knew Genomex would have an interest in requiring such specimens.
He caught her during the rescue mission and he was prepared to kill her if the others refused to allow his departure. Richard must have been nervous because the grip he had of Emma's neck was a very tight one. He would have squeezed the air and life out of the Psionic if Brennan hadn't reacted quickly. The Elemental urged Richard to stop his actions but the man did not listen. Emma was already disabled and close to collapsing lifelessly. There was no other choice available to Brennan. With a strong electrical bolt he threw Richard flying backwards, releasing Emma before she collapsed on the ground. Brennan ran to his fallen friend while Richard fell on two thick and rusty poles with sharp edges. No one knew those poles were there, not even Brennan. He wished they weren't there and he wished Richard had survived despite his despicable actions. Brennan wished all of this because Richard was his friend. Everything turned out differently.
And now she was sitting next to him, looking back at him with those big blue eyes. He saved her and for that he was relieved and grateful. But he also lost a friend and for that he felt sad. Brennan saw her right hand approach his face before taking a strain of hair close to his eyes and distancing it from them. Somehow he wished that strain of hair could feel the sympathetic touch of her fingers. It would send the wrong message if he had tried to brush her cheek. Brennan was simply pleased that she was well and alive. There had been countless times when she had been only a breath- taking second away from the sharp, merciless clutches of death and each moment had been more intense than the other. Those moments only added more bricks to the growing wall of possessiveness around her, but one which the Psionic did not try to break free from but rather cherish the effects of such a stronghold.
She did not have to ask of his current emotions. She already knew them. He wondered if she could have known them if she were not a telempath. He despised the feeling of losing her. Of course he hated the mere thought of losing any of his teammates and friends but Emma was something that was distant from a simple and understandable explanation. What would happen to a person if they lost something that felt like an extensive part of them in such a comfortable and natural way? Empty and emotionally destructing. It would dig a burning hole inside them and continue to frequently poor in depressing and thick lava of self-pity or hatred and little or no room for rapid healing.
She was that surreal extension of him, a gentle soul that could never transform itself into a lover for him without the consequential burning of careless handling. He knew he could hurt her if they would ever dare to venture into such unsure and unpredictable waters. Those scars would not only brand her and itch from time to time to bring back memories of a less than perfect part of life but they would leave eternal marks on the skin of his heart and psyche as well. Forgiveness would not be easy and quick. He could not hurt he like that, he would never even try... at least not consciously.
"I'll tell you again, Em. You gotta stop scaring the shit out of me like that every time," with a stronger attempt he had finally managed to pull out an expression that resembled a smile.
She shrugged. "It's easer said than done," Emma said and moved her hands to slowly wrap them around the tightly-muscled arm of Brennan. Her grip was gentle but her fingers could somehow feel the steady and slow rush of blood through him. Her head bent on the side until it found a secure and comfortable spot on his shoulder. His muscles did not tense. This gesture was nothing new. They had comforted each other many times in the past. It was a regular escape, although brief, from the harsh winds of depressing reality. She knew it would sound meaningless despite the opposite feeling which would be backing her sentence: "I'm sorry about Richard," Emma spoke pensively.
"He tried to kill you, don't be sorry," he replied, pushing the flatness in his voice.
"He was your friend."
"Yeah... was," he sighed and placed his left hand over her right. Her skin never managed to allow any condition to disturb the tenderness and close fragility of its surface. Brennan was glad for this. She felt so youthful to him. Her skin was young and gleeful like her heart. That feeling brushed softly against his beating heart and the heart smiled.
"I expected bigger sadness from you after this..." she said, staring impassively in front of her.
"I didn't know him as well as I thought I did," he replied.
Those were the last words as silence screamed to take over the atmosphere of the room. None of the mutants objected to it.
The silence was long, capturing an entire hour. He then looked down on her and she looked up at him. That gaze, that deep blue gaze. It began puncturing little holes through his fragile defenses. He did not even try to repair them; he felt no need for such an action. It was a soothing color to watch and he enjoyed the penetration she was accomplishing through him. It felt comfortable.
That gaze suddenly disengaged from his as her head left his shoulder but not without leaving a profound, warm trace behind, still applying the remains of her bodily heat on the first layers of his skin.
She turned her attention to the empty door with a musing cloud masking her eyes. Her hands did not detach from the surface of his arm, but loosened instead. He could not tell what thoughts might have lurked in her mind at that moment as there was nothing else coming from Emma except for the puzzling, quiet appearance.
"What would have happened if he had killed me..." she whispered.
Hearing her sentence, Brennan lowered his gaze to obtain a better view of her face. "You're kidding, right?"
She turned to face him without a hint of such intention.
"That's a 'no' then..."
"How much would you have missed me?"
Not hurrying to respond to her absurd question, he only stared back at her with a look that tried to scratch beneath the surface of her face and enter the realm of her thoughts for answers. She waited for him and his answer patiently.
She suddenly appeared frightened; the way of her gaze was that of a small fawn sitting helplessly in the uncertain embrace of her captor, awaiting the indiscriminating jaws of death. But she was not in danger; her life was not placed in the hellish nearness with its end. This gaze was for him and the fear of the possible lack of being missed by her friends... the absence to deteriorate into unfamiliar forgetfulness of even the mere name which she bore.
"Isn't that a stupid question to ask?"
"Yeah, but I want to know..." she replied softly.
Gently releasing his arm from her embrace, he lifted his hand and placed it on her arm. "I don't know, Em... I don't want to know, because..." he squeezed her arm when he noticed the opening between her lips with the intention to release a protest. Brennan understood her worry but he did not wish to indulge into such potentially hurtful thoughts and scenarios. "Because it won't happen... ever," the sharpness was placed thoroughly into the last word, enough for it to pierce its seriousness through Emma's skin and into her.
He saw that she wanted to argue against that but instead she only brought the side of her face to the surface of his chest, telling him with that that she had changed her mind. Swiftly capturing his back with her hands, she closed her eyes and sighed. Brennan could feel that her ear had been placed just above his heart. Glancing down at the motionless red surface of her hair, be gently breathed into that thickness and not wanting to leave Emma by herself, he soon captured her body with his own arms.
Tightening his embrace with the right amount to inject a sense of security, Brennan lowered his head and kissed her head. He then began leaning backwards until his back felt the soft, cotton surface of the duvet. Brennan could feel her listening to the quiet beating of his heart and possibly even the slow rush of blood around it. Separating his hand from her shoulder, he brought it upon her hair to stroke it gently as his eyes watched the ceiling aimlessly. He wondered if this was comfortable for her; he wondered if she did not wish to separate herself either because she had found some comfort and enjoyment in this physical closeness or because the ludicrous feeling of laziness head overtaken her. "The first, maybe," he thought. "The second it just stupid..." Once more he stroked her hair and took in a deeper breath. If she was even approaching the path to possible slumber, was this unexpected shifting of his chest disturbing her?
Carefully he started turning his body towards the right side with Emma following him effortlessly until both of them were occupying the full space of the bed. Her face was closer to his now, he could feel. The rhythmical, warm breathing that had managed to escape from her lips was hitting the skin of his neck like little ocean waves. Lowering his eyes, he then met hers. It was now that he saw how tired she appeared. Her face started moving up and down gradually along with her eyes as if she was searching for something on his face. This movement puzzled him but he did not know why she was doing that and he did not want to ask. Somehow any hope of a verbal conversation had quickly been squeezed out of them. It did not feel awkward. It felt good; it felt better.
Finally her movement stopped and she nested her face deep within the surface corridors of his neck. He closed his eyes, letting her breathing mix with the composition of the air and enter his lounges, soothing him enough to slowly lower his senses and guide him to sleep.
Brennan then opened his eyes and found the sleeping figure of the redhead in front of him. He smiled briefly. That night was a pleasant one even though it had happened four years ago. It was still as fresh as yesterday in his mind. He failed to fully comprehend as to why it was like that but he did feel there was something different about that night. They must have felt like distant strangers, willing to unload their troubles on each other but at the same time as the closest of friends afraid to speak anything else and only let their bodies replace the closeness which could otherwise be reached with soft, simple words.
He looked down at his bandaged hands. "Yeah, I should go check on these..." he thought and quickly stood up before going to the bathroom.
*********
***
*********
He was sitting silently on the soft cushion where previously the weight of his head had made a deep imprint. Her small body bathed beneath the tender surface of his gaze, the deep chocolaty color feeding on the uncovered parts of her skin. They had immediately fallen asleep that night. There were no midnight conversations or any other unnecessary actions.
He wanted to be certain that he had remembered his nightmare. He tried to bring back the images in front of him but he was unable to do that. He couldn't remember something that did not happen. Once again it was repeated. Once again a peaceful, clear night had wrapped its arms tightly around him without the polluted images emerging from the nightmare of his subconscious and giving both his mind and body repetitive interruptions. Brennan did not feel tired... once more.
His eyes fell on the tiny fibers of the carpet. Perhaps the nightmares had vanished by themselves. Someone once told him that they were only reflecting the inner fears and conflicts of a person until they could be resolved somehow. He slowly shook his head. Nothing in those twisted images or sounds had registered some sort of familiarity with him. How could he interpret them? He tried several months ago and came up with no conclusion except for the blatantly obvious one: they did not represent anything about him.
His eyes moved quickly over to the bedroom door and began drawing the lines of the object. He had sneaked in quietly to check on Shalimar with useless hopes of seeing her awake. While watching her, Brennan had pleaded with her to swim to the surface of her dreams and wake up. He needed to look into her eyes. He had not seen those beautiful, vibrant eyes in three days and Brennan missed them. He missed the explosion of life they could somehow, sometimes so cleverly express, giving their spectator a false picture of a woman that had never experienced a single trauma in her life. However, her face, still drowned in the unusual slumber had stubbornly rejected his pleas. That answer wrapped a barbwire around his heart, squeezing out the hope and replacing it with something darker. He felt sad and unwanted. And that other feeling, the one that kept predicting nothing but some gloomy future, continued to deviously smirk in the back corners of his mind. It would not release him.
The short journey came to an end before the quiet face of Emma. His eyebrows arched sadly. He was not allowed to see Shalimar's eyes but his chocolaty eyes had gained entrance to the Psionic's deep blues. Some sort of a ridiculous compromise maybe? Yes, that could be 'it'.
He stared through the deep red flesh of her lips. There was a disliking to the occurring kiss from the previous night. Disliking because of the present circumstances and because it was not a declaration of anything that could bare even the slightest resemblance of a warm, romantic, and even at times, ticklish emotion. The clouding of her image caused an increase of his fears brought on by loneliness and the unfriendly intuition. The entire mixture had swirled chaotically in his mind with such speed, letting him make no judgment of the consequences of his actions, leaving him bare and unarmed with only the single option of touching her in any way he could to reassure himself that he was not alone.
And then he touched her. The warm skin of her lips had immediately sent a heartening, almost flaming river to rush through him. When that river touched him with every single drop, the fear of loneliness was beginning to leave him without wanting. Realizing the form of his action brought a silent request from him that Emma somehow understood the reason behind that touch... that Shalimar understood.
The table next to him lured his eyes to travel flatly on its surface. He was looking at the table like this when a quiet knock on the door distracted him. Brennan looked up to find a short redhead open the door. He wanted to smile but his heart was nowhere to obey that wish, it was not willing to. She had longer hair then and it suited her. It suited her beautifully.
"Would some company be ok?" she spoke softly with empathy in her voice.
Brennan nodded in response and saw her tread quietly over the hard surface of the floor, almost like a small fairy. He was not quite sure of whether a presence of another living person was a needed one so soon but he did not wish to be completely isolated... and not from her. His throat suddenly trapped small bits of air as she sat next to him on the bed; her blue eyes could kiss his brown ones if they could from the way she was looking at him. Those eyes were covered by the protective eyelids the day before when Richard held her tightly by her delicate neck.
Richard had kidnapped two nine-year old twins with rich parents. Everyone thought he wanted money for the children's return. That was the way it appeared. But then he learned of the interesting thermal abilities they had. He knew Genomex would have an interest in requiring such specimens.
He caught her during the rescue mission and he was prepared to kill her if the others refused to allow his departure. Richard must have been nervous because the grip he had of Emma's neck was a very tight one. He would have squeezed the air and life out of the Psionic if Brennan hadn't reacted quickly. The Elemental urged Richard to stop his actions but the man did not listen. Emma was already disabled and close to collapsing lifelessly. There was no other choice available to Brennan. With a strong electrical bolt he threw Richard flying backwards, releasing Emma before she collapsed on the ground. Brennan ran to his fallen friend while Richard fell on two thick and rusty poles with sharp edges. No one knew those poles were there, not even Brennan. He wished they weren't there and he wished Richard had survived despite his despicable actions. Brennan wished all of this because Richard was his friend. Everything turned out differently.
And now she was sitting next to him, looking back at him with those big blue eyes. He saved her and for that he was relieved and grateful. But he also lost a friend and for that he felt sad. Brennan saw her right hand approach his face before taking a strain of hair close to his eyes and distancing it from them. Somehow he wished that strain of hair could feel the sympathetic touch of her fingers. It would send the wrong message if he had tried to brush her cheek. Brennan was simply pleased that she was well and alive. There had been countless times when she had been only a breath- taking second away from the sharp, merciless clutches of death and each moment had been more intense than the other. Those moments only added more bricks to the growing wall of possessiveness around her, but one which the Psionic did not try to break free from but rather cherish the effects of such a stronghold.
She did not have to ask of his current emotions. She already knew them. He wondered if she could have known them if she were not a telempath. He despised the feeling of losing her. Of course he hated the mere thought of losing any of his teammates and friends but Emma was something that was distant from a simple and understandable explanation. What would happen to a person if they lost something that felt like an extensive part of them in such a comfortable and natural way? Empty and emotionally destructing. It would dig a burning hole inside them and continue to frequently poor in depressing and thick lava of self-pity or hatred and little or no room for rapid healing.
She was that surreal extension of him, a gentle soul that could never transform itself into a lover for him without the consequential burning of careless handling. He knew he could hurt her if they would ever dare to venture into such unsure and unpredictable waters. Those scars would not only brand her and itch from time to time to bring back memories of a less than perfect part of life but they would leave eternal marks on the skin of his heart and psyche as well. Forgiveness would not be easy and quick. He could not hurt he like that, he would never even try... at least not consciously.
"I'll tell you again, Em. You gotta stop scaring the shit out of me like that every time," with a stronger attempt he had finally managed to pull out an expression that resembled a smile.
She shrugged. "It's easer said than done," Emma said and moved her hands to slowly wrap them around the tightly-muscled arm of Brennan. Her grip was gentle but her fingers could somehow feel the steady and slow rush of blood through him. Her head bent on the side until it found a secure and comfortable spot on his shoulder. His muscles did not tense. This gesture was nothing new. They had comforted each other many times in the past. It was a regular escape, although brief, from the harsh winds of depressing reality. She knew it would sound meaningless despite the opposite feeling which would be backing her sentence: "I'm sorry about Richard," Emma spoke pensively.
"He tried to kill you, don't be sorry," he replied, pushing the flatness in his voice.
"He was your friend."
"Yeah... was," he sighed and placed his left hand over her right. Her skin never managed to allow any condition to disturb the tenderness and close fragility of its surface. Brennan was glad for this. She felt so youthful to him. Her skin was young and gleeful like her heart. That feeling brushed softly against his beating heart and the heart smiled.
"I expected bigger sadness from you after this..." she said, staring impassively in front of her.
"I didn't know him as well as I thought I did," he replied.
Those were the last words as silence screamed to take over the atmosphere of the room. None of the mutants objected to it.
The silence was long, capturing an entire hour. He then looked down on her and she looked up at him. That gaze, that deep blue gaze. It began puncturing little holes through his fragile defenses. He did not even try to repair them; he felt no need for such an action. It was a soothing color to watch and he enjoyed the penetration she was accomplishing through him. It felt comfortable.
That gaze suddenly disengaged from his as her head left his shoulder but not without leaving a profound, warm trace behind, still applying the remains of her bodily heat on the first layers of his skin.
She turned her attention to the empty door with a musing cloud masking her eyes. Her hands did not detach from the surface of his arm, but loosened instead. He could not tell what thoughts might have lurked in her mind at that moment as there was nothing else coming from Emma except for the puzzling, quiet appearance.
"What would have happened if he had killed me..." she whispered.
Hearing her sentence, Brennan lowered his gaze to obtain a better view of her face. "You're kidding, right?"
She turned to face him without a hint of such intention.
"That's a 'no' then..."
"How much would you have missed me?"
Not hurrying to respond to her absurd question, he only stared back at her with a look that tried to scratch beneath the surface of her face and enter the realm of her thoughts for answers. She waited for him and his answer patiently.
She suddenly appeared frightened; the way of her gaze was that of a small fawn sitting helplessly in the uncertain embrace of her captor, awaiting the indiscriminating jaws of death. But she was not in danger; her life was not placed in the hellish nearness with its end. This gaze was for him and the fear of the possible lack of being missed by her friends... the absence to deteriorate into unfamiliar forgetfulness of even the mere name which she bore.
"Isn't that a stupid question to ask?"
"Yeah, but I want to know..." she replied softly.
Gently releasing his arm from her embrace, he lifted his hand and placed it on her arm. "I don't know, Em... I don't want to know, because..." he squeezed her arm when he noticed the opening between her lips with the intention to release a protest. Brennan understood her worry but he did not wish to indulge into such potentially hurtful thoughts and scenarios. "Because it won't happen... ever," the sharpness was placed thoroughly into the last word, enough for it to pierce its seriousness through Emma's skin and into her.
He saw that she wanted to argue against that but instead she only brought the side of her face to the surface of his chest, telling him with that that she had changed her mind. Swiftly capturing his back with her hands, she closed her eyes and sighed. Brennan could feel that her ear had been placed just above his heart. Glancing down at the motionless red surface of her hair, be gently breathed into that thickness and not wanting to leave Emma by herself, he soon captured her body with his own arms.
Tightening his embrace with the right amount to inject a sense of security, Brennan lowered his head and kissed her head. He then began leaning backwards until his back felt the soft, cotton surface of the duvet. Brennan could feel her listening to the quiet beating of his heart and possibly even the slow rush of blood around it. Separating his hand from her shoulder, he brought it upon her hair to stroke it gently as his eyes watched the ceiling aimlessly. He wondered if this was comfortable for her; he wondered if she did not wish to separate herself either because she had found some comfort and enjoyment in this physical closeness or because the ludicrous feeling of laziness head overtaken her. "The first, maybe," he thought. "The second it just stupid..." Once more he stroked her hair and took in a deeper breath. If she was even approaching the path to possible slumber, was this unexpected shifting of his chest disturbing her?
Carefully he started turning his body towards the right side with Emma following him effortlessly until both of them were occupying the full space of the bed. Her face was closer to his now, he could feel. The rhythmical, warm breathing that had managed to escape from her lips was hitting the skin of his neck like little ocean waves. Lowering his eyes, he then met hers. It was now that he saw how tired she appeared. Her face started moving up and down gradually along with her eyes as if she was searching for something on his face. This movement puzzled him but he did not know why she was doing that and he did not want to ask. Somehow any hope of a verbal conversation had quickly been squeezed out of them. It did not feel awkward. It felt good; it felt better.
Finally her movement stopped and she nested her face deep within the surface corridors of his neck. He closed his eyes, letting her breathing mix with the composition of the air and enter his lounges, soothing him enough to slowly lower his senses and guide him to sleep.
Brennan then opened his eyes and found the sleeping figure of the redhead in front of him. He smiled briefly. That night was a pleasant one even though it had happened four years ago. It was still as fresh as yesterday in his mind. He failed to fully comprehend as to why it was like that but he did feel there was something different about that night. They must have felt like distant strangers, willing to unload their troubles on each other but at the same time as the closest of friends afraid to speak anything else and only let their bodies replace the closeness which could otherwise be reached with soft, simple words.
He looked down at his bandaged hands. "Yeah, I should go check on these..." he thought and quickly stood up before going to the bathroom.
*********