So Close Yet So Far Away
When they attacked the school, I didn't know what to do. Of course, the fight or flight instinct took care of that. Bobby and John found me running through the hall confused. I knew at that moment that I wanted Wolverine. If I could find Logan, I'd be safe, and he'd know what to do. We were running through the waves of panicking classmates and soldiers. I don't know if it happens to other people, but I was struck by the thought of normal kids and their activities when the parents were out. A little "Risky Business" perhaps. We were in our underwear and socks, but we were running for our lives. I can't help but think we got gypped somehow.
The moment I saw Logan, I know that I should have been offended, insulted, or disgusted by the beast that took him over. However, it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. He tore through the soldiers like fire through kindling, and I felt safe standing in my nightgown behind him. Those soldiers who didn't die would probably be taking a new line of work provided their boss didn't trash them for being liabilities. Who really attacks a school full of kids?
I think Logan wanted to take on the whole world by himself, or his beast did. He may have actually won, but that didn't give the rest of us much of a chance. Pleading with Bobby while John was running for the horizon was one of the toughest things I had to do. I wanted to flee. I wanted to outdistance John, but I knew that I could only run so long. I'd been through that with Logan before. Bobby may have been my boyfriend, but Logan was my hero. I'd be dead if it wasn't for him. I wish . . . Well, if wishes were horses, then we'd all ride. Bobby gave in to my pleas and froze the house over. Jean would have fits with the watermarks on the hardwood. It was something to look forward to if we made it through this mess.
Bobby, John, Logan, and I made it to the garage. Logan must have a sixth sense for finding Scott's cars. I looked forward to this being another one of those things to laugh at later when we were safe and the professor had sorted this whole mess out. I caught myself more than once saying a prayer to a god I know might not answer, but sometimes you have to hedge your bets. The whirlwind that landed us in Boston where Bobby was outted to his parents was pretty painful. He used to whisper to me late at night that everything would be okay. His parents were some of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet. They were the kind of parents we all wanted. Unfortunately, they didn't adjust well to the news. Of course, I don't think John helped by assaulting Mr. Drake's sense of masculinity.
I was more afraid of the police than the soldiers. I can only guess it's because the soldiers were so surreal. Police on the other hand were authority figures I'd faced my entire life, including the normal times before my mutation raised its ugly head. I could feel John's rage when we stepped on to the porch, even before the flames started. When they shot Logan, it was the combustion John's fear needed. When the inferno started consuming and destroying cars, I was face down on the porch next to Bobby. Very few moments in my life have made me thankful for the personal consequences of touching others; this was one of those few times that I was glad for my mutation. As I snaked my hand to his ankle, I was immediately struck by the chant in John's blood. The rage I felt earlier was merely an echo. After that first touch, I felt his real name course through me. We shouldn't ever call him John again; we should call him Pyro always.
I saw red flames before my eyes before things turned incandescent. While I try to avoid touching people, it didn't take me long to drain Logan to unconsciousness so many months ago. With Pyro, I could feel a pull and his was more dangerous than mine was. His was a call to destroy and to fight back against every insult, fear, and harm and it was slowly overriding my need to put the flames out, to make us harmless kids laying next to Logan's body. I really hoped he hadn't checked out on us because if they stormed the porch we were going to be in a whole new world of hurt. Logan was the only healer I knew, and it could save him and maybe me again. There would be no happy endings if the cops were this threatened. At least, one of us would be sporting scars and another would be riding in a pine box. Finally, I could hear John complaining; he was struggling to feed the fires. Though his rage was snapping at my hands, he was dropping to one knee. I knew we'd make it through the next few moments. The cops would be confused and as long as we stayed perfectly still we'd be okay. I was hoping Pyro was worn out enough to be complacent. Bobby held my hand even tighter. I couldn't tell if the cold was my fear or his power. I didn't want to ask because I was afraid of the answer.
The police were still shell-shocked when Jean and Storm showed up. I understood in that moment of gratitude why Storm was once worshipped as a goddess, and I also started to have a sneaking suspicion that God might exist because Logan stood up and readjusted his neck. The sound of the adamantium metal grinding against itself was the sweetest sound I had heard this morning next to the jet engines.
On that jet, I don't think they really knew what to do with us. Logan was suddenly a member of the adult team again. Pyro, Bobby, and I were afterthoughts, but where could they put us? The Institute was wrecked and Bobby's parents weren't going to watch us. You could feel them trying to contemplate the answer as papably as one ponders the meaning of life after a six-pack. Thankfully, before they could come up with an awful solution, the government tried to bring us down. No one was really surprised and a few of us shot Pyro cold looks; he had acted like a human inferno in Boston suburbia. In the moment I locked eyes with him, I could hear the blood chant in my head all over again as though we were still in contact. It continued long past when I thought it should have stopped. Thankfully, I could tune it out like that horrible Trance music Jubilee listens to sometimes. I suppose it really didn't scare me, but the rage behind it did. He may have been tired, but he continued moving long after he should have just gone to sleep. Either he was a lot stronger than they gave him credit for, or I was learning how to touch. After the kiss in Bobby's room, I'm guessing it's not my own restraint.
Storm and Jean did what they could. I'd never seen the sky so black. No one said a word. You could hear the wind screaming like banshees over the roar of the engine. It was a cold and calculated scream, which made it terrifying than it would have been. I know Jean must have kept the final rocket from killing us though I nearly died anyway from my own distraction. I will never, never, never go unbuckled anywhere again, not the car, not the jet. It sounded and felt like the banshees had come to claim me. Invisible hands ripped at my clothing and wrapped around my ankles, and the next thing I knew I was free in a fatal fall. I think I screamed, but I couldn't hear myself over the noise. I prayed for Bobby or Logan or someone to grab me, to keep me from becoming a crimson stain. I was already cold so I hoped that at least it wouldn't hurt. My lungs froze, and my heart stopped pounding. I closed my eyes and tried to accept my fate. "Lord, forgive me for what I've done. I'm not sure if you are really there or I just want you to be there." At that moment, I felt warm arms hold me, and I thought perhaps God didn't hate me afterall. The next thing I knew I was back in the plane, and protected from the banshees hands by a warm body. I recognized the prayers even in German. I think I started repeating them while Nightcrawler comforted me on the deck feet from where Logan and Bobby were strapped in and the maw was still trying to consume me.
When the arms around me grew tighter, I knew it was more trouble. I clung to him as though he was the only thing left in the world though my eyes fell on Bobby. In that heartbeat I was sure we were going to die, and I wondered how cats felt as their lives were stripped away. Did they know when they reached number nine? Did they feel it? There's only so much one girl can take. If I had more time, I would have reached for Bobby. If we were going to die, I wanted a human connection to take me into the arms of the next angel. The metal started shrieking and the sound tore my eyes away from Bobby toward the vortex that had swallowed me whole. I watched the ragged wound heal itself as though it was a metal version of Logan. I sighed in relief until I realized that Logan had that strained look that only could mean Magneto was here.
After spending most of the day afraid for my life, spending the evening with Magneto and Mystique was too much. I almost went through Bobby to try to take him down. The outrage of his presence started to wear on both Logan and me. I guess since the rest of them had never been targeted personally by the lord of magnetism that they weren't as worried. Bobby kept whispering that the "enemy of my enemy is my friend." If we weren't trapped in such closed quarters, I would have shrieked about being turned into a mutant battery. He wanted to use me as the savior of the mutant world, and the murder of the human one. He wanted me to use me as a tool. My life didn't matter to him. He's such an unconscionable bastard, and Pyro's blood chanted louder in my head and I understood him possibly better than even Jean could have.
God among Insects
"What's your real name?"
"Pyro."
You know, looking at him, I wondered if there was much of a difference between the bad guys and the good guys. I had heard that he nearly killed Rogue, but so did Logan. No one talks about it much, but I sometimes see the strain of it on both of their faces when they think they are alone. Near death binds you to one another almost as much as death itself. If Magneto were our sworn enemy, why would Scott and the professor visit him nearly every week like clockwork? I also didn't really understand how they would let him and Mystique sit unsupervised in the back of the plane, even after he kept us from being squashed like bugs.
Sitting next to him, I was reminded of moths and flames. It wasn't the safest place and maybe that's why I was content. Staring at Bobby's mementos, I knew that I didn't fit in. I wasn't made to fit into that. Though part of me had to laugh after Bobby found he couldn't have the perfect life complete with All-American family and younger brother either. I know I laughed when his brother tried to turn us in. I looked back and wanted him to see the possibilities we possessed from the dubious safety of his windowed perch. For a second, I considered scorching the paint so he'd remember, but I mean, it was Bobby's house and there are times for discretion
When the cops came, I burned. For over a day I had been running for my life when I hadn't really done anything except be born. The paramilitary squad that came tearing into our home probably wouldn't be punished. Seeing the damage Logan was dealing, I wished I were the one in control of the pain. To that moment, I wasn't sure if everyone had even survived the onslaught. Soldiers versus children. I wanted to meet the cops on the same level. Let them look me in the eye and let them see that they were the weak ones, but I wanted to do it on the same level in the sunlight eye to eye.
The mutant problem? Don't make me laugh. There isn't a problem. It's not my fault that I can feel the life in fire and they can't. I used to wish they could feel the flames writhe around their hands, caressing them, and keeping their hearts warm. Then, I realized that I'm glad they can't. I know I'm alive when it rings my fingertips and rides my rage. It's mine, my life-long companion. I feel wounded when it's not at hand. My biggest disappointment is that I can't create it, I can only call it. This flaw keeps me from fitting in the land of world-changing mutants, and I'm certainly not human. There's no place to call my own.
I watch Bobby and Marie clinging to each other through layers of cloth in an attempt to reach teenage levels of completion. It's ridiculous and it won't change a thing. Rogue could kill him if she touches him for too long. One moment too long and he'll be as cold as the ice he sculpts and she'll be destroying heat like she destroyed him. Unlike their transitional whispers, the flames will never desert me. Listening to the hushed metal hinge of my lighter click while opening and closing sounds better to me than those teenaged whispered nothings. ::click::
After the X-Men left us to rot as though we were mere children, I watched Bobby try to comfort Rogue. It's hard to think either of them had the fortitude to make it this far. Bobby used to be one of the first to pull pranks or support me in mine, but that was before he found Rogue. I was uncertain when I left the plane if they would come running behind me or if they would placate each other with empty promises and phantom touches. I had much rather find Striker and shove his head down his throat. However, in my heart of hearts, I could hear the fire chanting. What I truly wanted to do was to run my fingers through the ash of his corpse.
The cold burned as I trudged to the dam. I know I could have dressed better and I made a note to always be better prepared. Better clothing to hand the world its ass if I needed to. I was lost when the world switched axis and my knees collapsed. I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, as my insides felt like they were losing their cohesion. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stand and I was alone.
At that moment writhing on the ice, I thought of Bobby and how he wasn't there. The late night chats of friendship forever were lost as the ice found its way down my shirt and pressed my skin, reminding me of practical jokes from the communal showers at the Institute. I promised myself to find people that would accept me for me rather than pretending to be a sheep in a world of wolves.
As suddenly as I collapsed, I found myself restored. Standing, I tore the ice from my clothes. I wanted no reminder of weakness. Near the tracks of my agony I saw a spider building her web unaware that I nearly perished. ::click:: The rush of heat was welcomed after the burning cold, I hope she remembered on her funeral pyre that I am a god among insects.
Cold Also Burns
"Where's John?" "With Magneto."
Rogue opened her mouth but closed it before saying anything. We'd been through enough that day to go through any more, I guess. Of course, that was before Jean died to save us. Like everyone else on the flight, I knew there could have been another way. Admittedly, that is mere conjecture at this point.
Scott raged for most of the flight to DC straining against Logan. His shrieks and pleas broke every heart on the plane. They will probably haunt me for the rest of my days. It was one of the few times Rogue let me hold her in front of Logan, like he noticed anything but Scott in front of him and Jean's absence. Staring at Scott and Logan, I was struck with the thought that these two forces that could have torn each other apart were the only things that could hold them together.
The president dealt with our news far better than I think we all expected. In those tense moments, Storm made the sky as dark as our hearts. While I like to make us the good guys, I know that we could have easily destroyed everyone in that room and not quelled the emotional maelstrom we each felt after days of fighting and fleeing. We returned home to Westchester to face more emptiness and nightmares than I thought possible.
The repair work was completed quickly on the mansion. Some of it we did ourselves. There is nothing better for nightmares than exhaustion. A few of the places were made better. We'll never have to rely on Peter to force the wall again should we be attacked. The security system has been updated. I hope the squirrels and birds are aware of the changes. If not, we're going to be picking up a lot of cooked beasties until they are.
There are things that repair and redecoration can't fix. I passed John's bed every morning and every night. Rogue wouldn't look at it when she snuck into my room on the nights that the dreams got to her. I would wrap her in blankets and place myself between her and the empty bed. It was the closest she had let me get privately since our kiss in my bedroom. I have to admit while it wasn't what I wanted it to be it was a lot more comfortable than it could have been. The sheer heat from her proximity could burn me alive. I never liked the heat very much for obvious reasons. I learned on those nights pressed against the cotton that even cold can burn. For her though, I'd walk through the gates of hell itself. I think the worst part is both of us knowing that even if we went through hell, we still couldn't touch for more than a few seconds.
During those tough moments, I focus on the most beautiful thing I've seen. In my room, what used to be my real room, Rogue pursed her lips and blew cold. For that one moment, we both could see our connection. It's that image that stays with me through classes and dreams. It's the one image that keeps the heat from burning me.
When they attacked the school, I didn't know what to do. Of course, the fight or flight instinct took care of that. Bobby and John found me running through the hall confused. I knew at that moment that I wanted Wolverine. If I could find Logan, I'd be safe, and he'd know what to do. We were running through the waves of panicking classmates and soldiers. I don't know if it happens to other people, but I was struck by the thought of normal kids and their activities when the parents were out. A little "Risky Business" perhaps. We were in our underwear and socks, but we were running for our lives. I can't help but think we got gypped somehow.
The moment I saw Logan, I know that I should have been offended, insulted, or disgusted by the beast that took him over. However, it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. He tore through the soldiers like fire through kindling, and I felt safe standing in my nightgown behind him. Those soldiers who didn't die would probably be taking a new line of work provided their boss didn't trash them for being liabilities. Who really attacks a school full of kids?
I think Logan wanted to take on the whole world by himself, or his beast did. He may have actually won, but that didn't give the rest of us much of a chance. Pleading with Bobby while John was running for the horizon was one of the toughest things I had to do. I wanted to flee. I wanted to outdistance John, but I knew that I could only run so long. I'd been through that with Logan before. Bobby may have been my boyfriend, but Logan was my hero. I'd be dead if it wasn't for him. I wish . . . Well, if wishes were horses, then we'd all ride. Bobby gave in to my pleas and froze the house over. Jean would have fits with the watermarks on the hardwood. It was something to look forward to if we made it through this mess.
Bobby, John, Logan, and I made it to the garage. Logan must have a sixth sense for finding Scott's cars. I looked forward to this being another one of those things to laugh at later when we were safe and the professor had sorted this whole mess out. I caught myself more than once saying a prayer to a god I know might not answer, but sometimes you have to hedge your bets. The whirlwind that landed us in Boston where Bobby was outted to his parents was pretty painful. He used to whisper to me late at night that everything would be okay. His parents were some of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet. They were the kind of parents we all wanted. Unfortunately, they didn't adjust well to the news. Of course, I don't think John helped by assaulting Mr. Drake's sense of masculinity.
I was more afraid of the police than the soldiers. I can only guess it's because the soldiers were so surreal. Police on the other hand were authority figures I'd faced my entire life, including the normal times before my mutation raised its ugly head. I could feel John's rage when we stepped on to the porch, even before the flames started. When they shot Logan, it was the combustion John's fear needed. When the inferno started consuming and destroying cars, I was face down on the porch next to Bobby. Very few moments in my life have made me thankful for the personal consequences of touching others; this was one of those few times that I was glad for my mutation. As I snaked my hand to his ankle, I was immediately struck by the chant in John's blood. The rage I felt earlier was merely an echo. After that first touch, I felt his real name course through me. We shouldn't ever call him John again; we should call him Pyro always.
I saw red flames before my eyes before things turned incandescent. While I try to avoid touching people, it didn't take me long to drain Logan to unconsciousness so many months ago. With Pyro, I could feel a pull and his was more dangerous than mine was. His was a call to destroy and to fight back against every insult, fear, and harm and it was slowly overriding my need to put the flames out, to make us harmless kids laying next to Logan's body. I really hoped he hadn't checked out on us because if they stormed the porch we were going to be in a whole new world of hurt. Logan was the only healer I knew, and it could save him and maybe me again. There would be no happy endings if the cops were this threatened. At least, one of us would be sporting scars and another would be riding in a pine box. Finally, I could hear John complaining; he was struggling to feed the fires. Though his rage was snapping at my hands, he was dropping to one knee. I knew we'd make it through the next few moments. The cops would be confused and as long as we stayed perfectly still we'd be okay. I was hoping Pyro was worn out enough to be complacent. Bobby held my hand even tighter. I couldn't tell if the cold was my fear or his power. I didn't want to ask because I was afraid of the answer.
The police were still shell-shocked when Jean and Storm showed up. I understood in that moment of gratitude why Storm was once worshipped as a goddess, and I also started to have a sneaking suspicion that God might exist because Logan stood up and readjusted his neck. The sound of the adamantium metal grinding against itself was the sweetest sound I had heard this morning next to the jet engines.
On that jet, I don't think they really knew what to do with us. Logan was suddenly a member of the adult team again. Pyro, Bobby, and I were afterthoughts, but where could they put us? The Institute was wrecked and Bobby's parents weren't going to watch us. You could feel them trying to contemplate the answer as papably as one ponders the meaning of life after a six-pack. Thankfully, before they could come up with an awful solution, the government tried to bring us down. No one was really surprised and a few of us shot Pyro cold looks; he had acted like a human inferno in Boston suburbia. In the moment I locked eyes with him, I could hear the blood chant in my head all over again as though we were still in contact. It continued long past when I thought it should have stopped. Thankfully, I could tune it out like that horrible Trance music Jubilee listens to sometimes. I suppose it really didn't scare me, but the rage behind it did. He may have been tired, but he continued moving long after he should have just gone to sleep. Either he was a lot stronger than they gave him credit for, or I was learning how to touch. After the kiss in Bobby's room, I'm guessing it's not my own restraint.
Storm and Jean did what they could. I'd never seen the sky so black. No one said a word. You could hear the wind screaming like banshees over the roar of the engine. It was a cold and calculated scream, which made it terrifying than it would have been. I know Jean must have kept the final rocket from killing us though I nearly died anyway from my own distraction. I will never, never, never go unbuckled anywhere again, not the car, not the jet. It sounded and felt like the banshees had come to claim me. Invisible hands ripped at my clothing and wrapped around my ankles, and the next thing I knew I was free in a fatal fall. I think I screamed, but I couldn't hear myself over the noise. I prayed for Bobby or Logan or someone to grab me, to keep me from becoming a crimson stain. I was already cold so I hoped that at least it wouldn't hurt. My lungs froze, and my heart stopped pounding. I closed my eyes and tried to accept my fate. "Lord, forgive me for what I've done. I'm not sure if you are really there or I just want you to be there." At that moment, I felt warm arms hold me, and I thought perhaps God didn't hate me afterall. The next thing I knew I was back in the plane, and protected from the banshees hands by a warm body. I recognized the prayers even in German. I think I started repeating them while Nightcrawler comforted me on the deck feet from where Logan and Bobby were strapped in and the maw was still trying to consume me.
When the arms around me grew tighter, I knew it was more trouble. I clung to him as though he was the only thing left in the world though my eyes fell on Bobby. In that heartbeat I was sure we were going to die, and I wondered how cats felt as their lives were stripped away. Did they know when they reached number nine? Did they feel it? There's only so much one girl can take. If I had more time, I would have reached for Bobby. If we were going to die, I wanted a human connection to take me into the arms of the next angel. The metal started shrieking and the sound tore my eyes away from Bobby toward the vortex that had swallowed me whole. I watched the ragged wound heal itself as though it was a metal version of Logan. I sighed in relief until I realized that Logan had that strained look that only could mean Magneto was here.
After spending most of the day afraid for my life, spending the evening with Magneto and Mystique was too much. I almost went through Bobby to try to take him down. The outrage of his presence started to wear on both Logan and me. I guess since the rest of them had never been targeted personally by the lord of magnetism that they weren't as worried. Bobby kept whispering that the "enemy of my enemy is my friend." If we weren't trapped in such closed quarters, I would have shrieked about being turned into a mutant battery. He wanted to use me as the savior of the mutant world, and the murder of the human one. He wanted me to use me as a tool. My life didn't matter to him. He's such an unconscionable bastard, and Pyro's blood chanted louder in my head and I understood him possibly better than even Jean could have.
God among Insects
"What's your real name?"
"Pyro."
You know, looking at him, I wondered if there was much of a difference between the bad guys and the good guys. I had heard that he nearly killed Rogue, but so did Logan. No one talks about it much, but I sometimes see the strain of it on both of their faces when they think they are alone. Near death binds you to one another almost as much as death itself. If Magneto were our sworn enemy, why would Scott and the professor visit him nearly every week like clockwork? I also didn't really understand how they would let him and Mystique sit unsupervised in the back of the plane, even after he kept us from being squashed like bugs.
Sitting next to him, I was reminded of moths and flames. It wasn't the safest place and maybe that's why I was content. Staring at Bobby's mementos, I knew that I didn't fit in. I wasn't made to fit into that. Though part of me had to laugh after Bobby found he couldn't have the perfect life complete with All-American family and younger brother either. I know I laughed when his brother tried to turn us in. I looked back and wanted him to see the possibilities we possessed from the dubious safety of his windowed perch. For a second, I considered scorching the paint so he'd remember, but I mean, it was Bobby's house and there are times for discretion
When the cops came, I burned. For over a day I had been running for my life when I hadn't really done anything except be born. The paramilitary squad that came tearing into our home probably wouldn't be punished. Seeing the damage Logan was dealing, I wished I were the one in control of the pain. To that moment, I wasn't sure if everyone had even survived the onslaught. Soldiers versus children. I wanted to meet the cops on the same level. Let them look me in the eye and let them see that they were the weak ones, but I wanted to do it on the same level in the sunlight eye to eye.
The mutant problem? Don't make me laugh. There isn't a problem. It's not my fault that I can feel the life in fire and they can't. I used to wish they could feel the flames writhe around their hands, caressing them, and keeping their hearts warm. Then, I realized that I'm glad they can't. I know I'm alive when it rings my fingertips and rides my rage. It's mine, my life-long companion. I feel wounded when it's not at hand. My biggest disappointment is that I can't create it, I can only call it. This flaw keeps me from fitting in the land of world-changing mutants, and I'm certainly not human. There's no place to call my own.
I watch Bobby and Marie clinging to each other through layers of cloth in an attempt to reach teenage levels of completion. It's ridiculous and it won't change a thing. Rogue could kill him if she touches him for too long. One moment too long and he'll be as cold as the ice he sculpts and she'll be destroying heat like she destroyed him. Unlike their transitional whispers, the flames will never desert me. Listening to the hushed metal hinge of my lighter click while opening and closing sounds better to me than those teenaged whispered nothings. ::click::
After the X-Men left us to rot as though we were mere children, I watched Bobby try to comfort Rogue. It's hard to think either of them had the fortitude to make it this far. Bobby used to be one of the first to pull pranks or support me in mine, but that was before he found Rogue. I was uncertain when I left the plane if they would come running behind me or if they would placate each other with empty promises and phantom touches. I had much rather find Striker and shove his head down his throat. However, in my heart of hearts, I could hear the fire chanting. What I truly wanted to do was to run my fingers through the ash of his corpse.
The cold burned as I trudged to the dam. I know I could have dressed better and I made a note to always be better prepared. Better clothing to hand the world its ass if I needed to. I was lost when the world switched axis and my knees collapsed. I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, as my insides felt like they were losing their cohesion. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stand and I was alone.
At that moment writhing on the ice, I thought of Bobby and how he wasn't there. The late night chats of friendship forever were lost as the ice found its way down my shirt and pressed my skin, reminding me of practical jokes from the communal showers at the Institute. I promised myself to find people that would accept me for me rather than pretending to be a sheep in a world of wolves.
As suddenly as I collapsed, I found myself restored. Standing, I tore the ice from my clothes. I wanted no reminder of weakness. Near the tracks of my agony I saw a spider building her web unaware that I nearly perished. ::click:: The rush of heat was welcomed after the burning cold, I hope she remembered on her funeral pyre that I am a god among insects.
Cold Also Burns
"Where's John?" "With Magneto."
Rogue opened her mouth but closed it before saying anything. We'd been through enough that day to go through any more, I guess. Of course, that was before Jean died to save us. Like everyone else on the flight, I knew there could have been another way. Admittedly, that is mere conjecture at this point.
Scott raged for most of the flight to DC straining against Logan. His shrieks and pleas broke every heart on the plane. They will probably haunt me for the rest of my days. It was one of the few times Rogue let me hold her in front of Logan, like he noticed anything but Scott in front of him and Jean's absence. Staring at Scott and Logan, I was struck with the thought that these two forces that could have torn each other apart were the only things that could hold them together.
The president dealt with our news far better than I think we all expected. In those tense moments, Storm made the sky as dark as our hearts. While I like to make us the good guys, I know that we could have easily destroyed everyone in that room and not quelled the emotional maelstrom we each felt after days of fighting and fleeing. We returned home to Westchester to face more emptiness and nightmares than I thought possible.
The repair work was completed quickly on the mansion. Some of it we did ourselves. There is nothing better for nightmares than exhaustion. A few of the places were made better. We'll never have to rely on Peter to force the wall again should we be attacked. The security system has been updated. I hope the squirrels and birds are aware of the changes. If not, we're going to be picking up a lot of cooked beasties until they are.
There are things that repair and redecoration can't fix. I passed John's bed every morning and every night. Rogue wouldn't look at it when she snuck into my room on the nights that the dreams got to her. I would wrap her in blankets and place myself between her and the empty bed. It was the closest she had let me get privately since our kiss in my bedroom. I have to admit while it wasn't what I wanted it to be it was a lot more comfortable than it could have been. The sheer heat from her proximity could burn me alive. I never liked the heat very much for obvious reasons. I learned on those nights pressed against the cotton that even cold can burn. For her though, I'd walk through the gates of hell itself. I think the worst part is both of us knowing that even if we went through hell, we still couldn't touch for more than a few seconds.
During those tough moments, I focus on the most beautiful thing I've seen. In my room, what used to be my real room, Rogue pursed her lips and blew cold. For that one moment, we both could see our connection. It's that image that stays with me through classes and dreams. It's the one image that keeps the heat from burning me.