Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men or their world, and am making no money
from this story. Corrinth owns Dr Ilehana Xavier. I own Blaze.
A/N: Reviews are gold dust, and duly appreciated.
04
It was growing dark in Westchester. Blaze was not aware of it, swept along by the tide of her memories. It was always dark where she was, in the belly of a great cargo ship. The Atlantic Ocean heaved just behind her, the whole vessel creaking and groaning as it ploughed on relentlessly through bad weather. If she had been on deck, things would not have been less bleak. There was no land in sight in any direction, barely a skeleton crew manning the colossal ship, and they were not to know that there were extra passengers aboard.
She lay on her side, hating the way the boat moved, the way her stomach churned. Nestled amongst a ragtag collection of bags and blankets, all Blaze and Gambit's worldly possessions, she was always cold. Even if there had been anything to eat, she couldn't have. The bruises on her neck were still swollen and sore, making swallowing painful. The poison in her system made her stomach ache as if it was stabbed with many daggers, or writhe as if a nest of snakes made its home there. Gambit wasn't doing much better, but not eating was something he could survive. She couldn't, and so her body temperature dropped, her breathing and heart rate slowed and she entered a state of torpor.
Torpor itself wasn't so bad. She just slept, deeply and without dreams, saving her energy for when she might need it. Waking her up again would be the hard part, bringing her body temperature back up to a healthy level and getting food inside her quickly to replenish the stores she used to wake up. Even then, it might not work, but at this moment she couldn't even begin to care.
Fucking boats. Why couldn't they just have got a plane to America anyway? Did it really matter if Jacobi tracked them through customs and had them cornered before they'd even left the airport? At least that death would be a quick one, not like this endless cold night, dragging on through days uncountable. She couldn't even remember when she'd last seen Remy. It might have been ten minutes ago that he last came to check on her, it might have been a day. Huh.
"Nearly there, Chere." He whispered to her in the dankness of her eternal night. She could not even groan in her torpor as he pulled her slight form to him, warming her hands in his much larger ones. That last night on the freighter she'd gradually come back to herself in his arms, his body heat bringing her to her senses. The food he'd pilfered from the crew, forced down her wounded throat, would be just enough to replenish her. She didn't know what she would do without him.
Away in Westchester, an older and wiser Blaze scoffed at her remembered innocence. Should she warn the girl in the memory that the only person she could count on was herself? Or should she keep her mouth shut and enjoy that moment where dreams of finding something more than friendship with the Cajun had been a hope she clung to in the darkness? Whatever that something was, they hadn't been far from stumbling upon it before Jacobi. Now, whenever now was, even in each now, it was long lost. But as of yet, only one of the two Blazes knew it. She would not spoil the moment for the younger self.
Semi-consciously Blaze tried to pull away once again from her disordered, swamping memories. She drifted over the two figures climbing down unseen from the vessel and disappearing into the docklands. She almost knew that the lights winking out on the horizon were the candles in her room burning themselves out. But it was only a lull in the storm, and as she turned back to shore, back to Westchester and consciousness, the next tsunami hit her and dragged her under. She was helpless to resist.
A sleazy motel room. The type she'd stayed in too many times, across Europe and the rest of the world. The type Remy was drawn to like a moth to a porch light. She'd always known he had no taste. Still, at least this one had a mini-bar. Blaze poured them both bourbon, handed Remy his and downed her own. It stung on her injured throat, but quashed the squirming in her stomach. He frowned at her. She knew he was worried about the amount she was drinking as she poured herself another. She didn't care.
There was something not right with him either. There was darkness in those red-on-black eyes of his, those haunting eyes she could drown herself in. Ha! A pathetic description, darkness in black eyes, but at the same time completely true. She knew his eyes, they danced, they laughed and they flirted. Occasionally they were serious, or hurt, or jealous. Usually her fault, but always she was forgiven. This was as different though as rain is to sunshine, starlight to the blackness deep under the earth. Something was tormenting him, and there was no way under the sun or stars that he would ever tell her.
Nonetheless she wasn't surprised when he came to take her in his arms. She didn't resist his kiss, or his ardent hands on her flesh. He didn't pull away as her hand ran up under his shirt, raising goose bumps on his spine. Her hot fingers must have blistered his so-soft skin, but he didn't complain. No words passed between them as clothes fell away. He was good at this. The thought had barely crossed her mind before they were on the bed. Lips caressed lips, closed eyes seeing no evil, naked bodies entwined. Breath came in gasps, passion a black magic, darker than death that could for a while help them both to forget.........
A/N: Reviews are gold dust, and duly appreciated.
04
It was growing dark in Westchester. Blaze was not aware of it, swept along by the tide of her memories. It was always dark where she was, in the belly of a great cargo ship. The Atlantic Ocean heaved just behind her, the whole vessel creaking and groaning as it ploughed on relentlessly through bad weather. If she had been on deck, things would not have been less bleak. There was no land in sight in any direction, barely a skeleton crew manning the colossal ship, and they were not to know that there were extra passengers aboard.
She lay on her side, hating the way the boat moved, the way her stomach churned. Nestled amongst a ragtag collection of bags and blankets, all Blaze and Gambit's worldly possessions, she was always cold. Even if there had been anything to eat, she couldn't have. The bruises on her neck were still swollen and sore, making swallowing painful. The poison in her system made her stomach ache as if it was stabbed with many daggers, or writhe as if a nest of snakes made its home there. Gambit wasn't doing much better, but not eating was something he could survive. She couldn't, and so her body temperature dropped, her breathing and heart rate slowed and she entered a state of torpor.
Torpor itself wasn't so bad. She just slept, deeply and without dreams, saving her energy for when she might need it. Waking her up again would be the hard part, bringing her body temperature back up to a healthy level and getting food inside her quickly to replenish the stores she used to wake up. Even then, it might not work, but at this moment she couldn't even begin to care.
Fucking boats. Why couldn't they just have got a plane to America anyway? Did it really matter if Jacobi tracked them through customs and had them cornered before they'd even left the airport? At least that death would be a quick one, not like this endless cold night, dragging on through days uncountable. She couldn't even remember when she'd last seen Remy. It might have been ten minutes ago that he last came to check on her, it might have been a day. Huh.
"Nearly there, Chere." He whispered to her in the dankness of her eternal night. She could not even groan in her torpor as he pulled her slight form to him, warming her hands in his much larger ones. That last night on the freighter she'd gradually come back to herself in his arms, his body heat bringing her to her senses. The food he'd pilfered from the crew, forced down her wounded throat, would be just enough to replenish her. She didn't know what she would do without him.
Away in Westchester, an older and wiser Blaze scoffed at her remembered innocence. Should she warn the girl in the memory that the only person she could count on was herself? Or should she keep her mouth shut and enjoy that moment where dreams of finding something more than friendship with the Cajun had been a hope she clung to in the darkness? Whatever that something was, they hadn't been far from stumbling upon it before Jacobi. Now, whenever now was, even in each now, it was long lost. But as of yet, only one of the two Blazes knew it. She would not spoil the moment for the younger self.
Semi-consciously Blaze tried to pull away once again from her disordered, swamping memories. She drifted over the two figures climbing down unseen from the vessel and disappearing into the docklands. She almost knew that the lights winking out on the horizon were the candles in her room burning themselves out. But it was only a lull in the storm, and as she turned back to shore, back to Westchester and consciousness, the next tsunami hit her and dragged her under. She was helpless to resist.
A sleazy motel room. The type she'd stayed in too many times, across Europe and the rest of the world. The type Remy was drawn to like a moth to a porch light. She'd always known he had no taste. Still, at least this one had a mini-bar. Blaze poured them both bourbon, handed Remy his and downed her own. It stung on her injured throat, but quashed the squirming in her stomach. He frowned at her. She knew he was worried about the amount she was drinking as she poured herself another. She didn't care.
There was something not right with him either. There was darkness in those red-on-black eyes of his, those haunting eyes she could drown herself in. Ha! A pathetic description, darkness in black eyes, but at the same time completely true. She knew his eyes, they danced, they laughed and they flirted. Occasionally they were serious, or hurt, or jealous. Usually her fault, but always she was forgiven. This was as different though as rain is to sunshine, starlight to the blackness deep under the earth. Something was tormenting him, and there was no way under the sun or stars that he would ever tell her.
Nonetheless she wasn't surprised when he came to take her in his arms. She didn't resist his kiss, or his ardent hands on her flesh. He didn't pull away as her hand ran up under his shirt, raising goose bumps on his spine. Her hot fingers must have blistered his so-soft skin, but he didn't complain. No words passed between them as clothes fell away. He was good at this. The thought had barely crossed her mind before they were on the bed. Lips caressed lips, closed eyes seeing no evil, naked bodies entwined. Breath came in gasps, passion a black magic, darker than death that could for a while help them both to forget.........