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.
05
She woke alone. Somewhere, in another time and place, she knew she had not slept at all, merely skipped from one memory to the next. In that somewhere, it was late, the mansion sleeping. Here, it was past dawn by several hours. The bedding was a tangle, trying like some huge python to smother her to death. Blaze kicked herself free.
It was cold in the motel room, the window open admitting smells of polluted ocean water, oil and grease and fried foods. Sighing, Blaze pulled on one of Gambit's shirts, though it barely covered anything it was warmer than wearing nothing. It smelt of him, sweet and masculine, distracting her as she tried to comb some order into her hair. She wasn't worried about were he was. It was an unspoken rule between them, whoever woke first got up and left the other sleeping. Mornings after were too complicated, especially when you worked so closely with each other.
When worry did start to take her, she showered instead. When she got out and Gambit still had not returned, she drank whisky to pass the time. She thought about getting dressed. She thought about a lot of things. Time blurred and eventually it was clear that he was not coming back.
Not coming back. Not ever.
But why? Where would he go? To Jacobi? That was ridiculous; Gambit wouldn't give up that easily!
Did it matter? He was American after all; he probably had a thousand better places to be than in some crummy motel with a scrawny English mutant who was afraid of her powers.
Blaze hugged her knees to her as she sat on the bed. He probably had a thousand better places to be in than a scrawny English girl.
He'd left her to die.
The thought was like a bullet though her heart. Like a mace slamming into fragile glass. Like a spider's fangs sinking into the flesh of a still struggling fly. She wanted to deny it.
But it was true. He'd given up on her. Without him, Jacobi would find her. Remy had the contacts. Remy had the mind for these types of things. She was just his apprentice for fuck's sake! She couldn't run from Jacobi alone! He'd left her to be murdered!
Blaze's vision flickered, swooning between the motel room and her room at the Xavier School. She could not tell the difference. She did not care. Her heart broke. She screamed.
Screaming, her hands threw the covers from the motel bed. Screaming her wild hands wiped all her precious trinkets from the top of the chest of drawers in Westchester. Screaming she called on her firepower to torch the place, both places. She failed. It was never there when she needed it, she had not enough reserves to burn in this time, this place in the motel room.
Screaming she overturned the chest of drawers. Screaming she wrenched a bottle, or was it a vase, from the windowsill and flung it hard at the opposite wall. Watched it, screaming, as it fractured, broken and betrayed like she was. Gasping for breath, for more screams through tears and her broken heart she pulled pages from books, flung them around her. They caught in the wind from the open window, cascading around the room like snow. Betrayed. Left to die. Left to fucking die!
She screamed; the CD player broke too easily. Bits of it like intestines splattered across the floor. CDs were sharp when smashed, sharp and cold and inviting. Their glossy surfaces mirrored a girl she did not know, face pale, brown eyes bloodshot, screaming.
It took all her weight to heave the TV onto the floor, but that didn't break it. The plug was tugged from the socket, aerial cable whipping back through the air as if possessed. It slapped her bare legs. Furious, abandoned, her left fist crashed down through the TV screen. Blaze screamed.
The blood pulsed. It didn't hurt, was just hot and sticky, oozing between her fingers and dripping from her elbow. She clutched her torn arm to her, knowing it was ruining the shirt she wore. Gambit's shirt? No, a fitted grey blouse, not part of her memory. She had not cut herself in the motel, that TV had smashed when it hit the floor. She looked down at herself, not rec0gnising the shirt she wore or understanding why she was wearing jeans. Where was she?
Thuds at the door, someone was trying to break in! Shit, she was bleeding to death! Couldn't they just leave her to die in peace? Damn Jacobi and his minions! Well, she wouldn't let them torment her without a fight. Her uninjured arm reached for a shard of glass, a big one, nice and sharp. But the action overbalanced her, and she landed on the floor. All the while she had not stopped screaming.
The door flung open, strange faces peering at her in this strange room. She sat there and screamed. There was only one face she recognised. Traitor, friend, betrayer, lover, murderer. Gambit.
A/N: Reviews are gold dust, and duly appreciated.
05
She woke alone. Somewhere, in another time and place, she knew she had not slept at all, merely skipped from one memory to the next. In that somewhere, it was late, the mansion sleeping. Here, it was past dawn by several hours. The bedding was a tangle, trying like some huge python to smother her to death. Blaze kicked herself free.
It was cold in the motel room, the window open admitting smells of polluted ocean water, oil and grease and fried foods. Sighing, Blaze pulled on one of Gambit's shirts, though it barely covered anything it was warmer than wearing nothing. It smelt of him, sweet and masculine, distracting her as she tried to comb some order into her hair. She wasn't worried about were he was. It was an unspoken rule between them, whoever woke first got up and left the other sleeping. Mornings after were too complicated, especially when you worked so closely with each other.
When worry did start to take her, she showered instead. When she got out and Gambit still had not returned, she drank whisky to pass the time. She thought about getting dressed. She thought about a lot of things. Time blurred and eventually it was clear that he was not coming back.
Not coming back. Not ever.
But why? Where would he go? To Jacobi? That was ridiculous; Gambit wouldn't give up that easily!
Did it matter? He was American after all; he probably had a thousand better places to be than in some crummy motel with a scrawny English mutant who was afraid of her powers.
Blaze hugged her knees to her as she sat on the bed. He probably had a thousand better places to be in than a scrawny English girl.
He'd left her to die.
The thought was like a bullet though her heart. Like a mace slamming into fragile glass. Like a spider's fangs sinking into the flesh of a still struggling fly. She wanted to deny it.
But it was true. He'd given up on her. Without him, Jacobi would find her. Remy had the contacts. Remy had the mind for these types of things. She was just his apprentice for fuck's sake! She couldn't run from Jacobi alone! He'd left her to be murdered!
Blaze's vision flickered, swooning between the motel room and her room at the Xavier School. She could not tell the difference. She did not care. Her heart broke. She screamed.
Screaming, her hands threw the covers from the motel bed. Screaming her wild hands wiped all her precious trinkets from the top of the chest of drawers in Westchester. Screaming she called on her firepower to torch the place, both places. She failed. It was never there when she needed it, she had not enough reserves to burn in this time, this place in the motel room.
Screaming she overturned the chest of drawers. Screaming she wrenched a bottle, or was it a vase, from the windowsill and flung it hard at the opposite wall. Watched it, screaming, as it fractured, broken and betrayed like she was. Gasping for breath, for more screams through tears and her broken heart she pulled pages from books, flung them around her. They caught in the wind from the open window, cascading around the room like snow. Betrayed. Left to die. Left to fucking die!
She screamed; the CD player broke too easily. Bits of it like intestines splattered across the floor. CDs were sharp when smashed, sharp and cold and inviting. Their glossy surfaces mirrored a girl she did not know, face pale, brown eyes bloodshot, screaming.
It took all her weight to heave the TV onto the floor, but that didn't break it. The plug was tugged from the socket, aerial cable whipping back through the air as if possessed. It slapped her bare legs. Furious, abandoned, her left fist crashed down through the TV screen. Blaze screamed.
The blood pulsed. It didn't hurt, was just hot and sticky, oozing between her fingers and dripping from her elbow. She clutched her torn arm to her, knowing it was ruining the shirt she wore. Gambit's shirt? No, a fitted grey blouse, not part of her memory. She had not cut herself in the motel, that TV had smashed when it hit the floor. She looked down at herself, not rec0gnising the shirt she wore or understanding why she was wearing jeans. Where was she?
Thuds at the door, someone was trying to break in! Shit, she was bleeding to death! Couldn't they just leave her to die in peace? Damn Jacobi and his minions! Well, she wouldn't let them torment her without a fight. Her uninjured arm reached for a shard of glass, a big one, nice and sharp. But the action overbalanced her, and she landed on the floor. All the while she had not stopped screaming.
The door flung open, strange faces peering at her in this strange room. She sat there and screamed. There was only one face she recognised. Traitor, friend, betrayer, lover, murderer. Gambit.