Dig For Fire
There is this old woman, she lives down the road. You can often find her kneeling inside of her hole. And I often ask her -Are you looking for the motherlode? Huh? No. No my child, this is not my desire, and then she said: I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire. ~Dig For Fire- Pixies
New Orleans, Louisiana. 1995.
It had seemed like such a brilliant idea at first. He was unhappy, and so why should he stay? Why should he put up with all the chores and the work and the sweat, blood, and tears? These people weren't related to him by blood, they didn't really love him. He was young, but extremely clever. One knew when one was loved, and one knew when one was being used. The difference between the two could be overlooked or ignored by some, but not him.
He's being used for his 'gifts' and he can't do it anymore.
He waits until nightfall. The cicadas' shrill cry descends upon the warm dark. The city of New Orleans begins to stir, lights glow brightly and laughter and cries and shouts and screams all mix together and fill his ears and make him ache.
That's where he belongs, in the thick of it all. He'd been foolish to think family life is any good for him. He'd been born on the streets, and lived on them for an entire decade. They are in his blood, it is what he knows, and no amount of teachings or beatings or money can make him forget that. Of course he's going to miss having vast amounts of money. Going to miss the endless buffets of food, the expensive clothing, the comfort that goes hand-in-hand with wealth.
And he will miss Henri. Henri, who's treated him like a little brother, who really and truly loves him. Who makes him laugh even in his most gloomy times, who takes him out and brings him along for a new adventure every day. He'll miss Mercy, too. She's beautiful and kind, the sort of woman Henri deserves.
And Tante, dear Tante. How he'll miss her, yearn for her. She's given him so much, she's taught him how to care for another human being. How will she feel when she finds out he's run away? How will Henri feel, or Mercy? Will they miss him, will they search for him?
It had seemed like such a brilliant idea at first. But now he isn't so sure. Can he really do this? Lonely nights in the cold wind and sleepless nights in littered alleyways?
There's only a moment's hesitation.
Yes, he can. He's survived on his own for most of his life, and he can do it now. He can steal for money, he can hide out in some of the old haunts he'd once gone with Tante. He can do this, he has to do this! Living on the streets poor and hungry is better than living in a mansion, used and unloved—and when he's in his own big house one day, running his own household and rolling in dough: Jean-Luc will see; he'll see that Remy isn't as useless as the older man likes to portray and that he became successful all on his own!
He wonders how long it will take Jean-Luc to find a replacement.
Sudden anger makes the boy's eyes glow and as he climbs out of his window and onto the roof, the contrast between them and the night sky is almost sinister.
The past three years had obviously paid off, and he dismounts the roof and lands on the brick wall with minimal difficulty. He tumbles from the side before the motion detectors can spot him. He maneuvers his body in near impossible positions to avoid the lasers zigzagging across the landscape. And then he runs. He climbs over the gate and slips into the night. He runs until he can't run, he walks until his strength leaves him, but even then he continues on.
Finally, he finds himself leaning against a light pole, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. He's no longer in the French Quarter, and for just a second, cold fear makes him re think what he's done. But it vanishes quickly when he thinks of his hatred for Jean-Luc. He won't go back, he won't let a little bit of fright ruin his chance at freedom.
"Hey!"
Remy looks up from his knees and regards the man with apprehension. He's dirty-looking and has a shady air about him. He's one of those individuals hat doesn't bother to hide the fact that he's up to no good.
Remy is instantly on alert.
"Y' deaf? I said come here, boy."
He does not move. "Why? Can' we talk from here?" He begins feeling under his boot for a stone or pebble. He isn't entirely accustomed to using his explosive abilities yet, but he can conjure them up if need be.
The man cackles and hacks spittle into a stained handkerchief. "Fagan's voice ain't strong, boy. Ain't gonna hurt y', jus need some help drinkin' dis, dats all."
His eyes travel down to the bottle: curiosity peaked. Hesitantly, he stands and comes closer to the man, ammunition hidden in his fist.
Fagan grins a toothless grin, and holds the bottle out to the boy. "Y' ever drank before?"
Remy accepts the bottle and looks down the neck suspiciously. "M' père—er-m' guardian- let me finish off his bourbon every night-"
The man cackles again, this time slapping his knee. "Bourbon, huh? Dat a rich man's drink. Dis here is moonshine, strongest shit you'll ever have de misfortune of drinkin'."
Remy winces as he brings the bottle below his nostrils. Sure enough, the smell is enough to make his stomach churn. "What makes y' t'ink I'll be drinkin' dis?"
He grins once more, slowly this time. "Cause Fagan knows a t'ing or two 'bout young garçons, an' he know when one is itchin' for adventure." He places his hand on the bottom of the bottle and pushes it towards Remy's mouth.
"After y' drink dis, no alcohol will have de same effect on y', ever. It's like havin' instant tolerance."
Bracing himself, Remy takes a swig and his eyes fill with tears as the liquid burns its way down. "Merde," he rasps.
He takes another soon after, and Fagan grunts, obviously impressed.
"Dats enough for now, boy. Come wit me."
Remy follows him blindly, the drink already working through his system and making things spin around him. He got wasted for the first time that night, and he would come to experience many other firsts with Fagan.
Hours later, the fun ends and Remy kneels in the bathroom of Fagan's one-bedroom shit-hole, (Fagan called it an apartment) and vomits everything up. It seemed he would never stop, but eventually he did, and he slept for hours and hours.
Fagan shakes him awake the next night, and tells him to clean up. Remy does as he was told, admittedly in a daze, and used the sink to rinse out his mouth and wet his hair.
"Y' ever been wit a femme?" He straightens his own collar and runs a hand through his grimy mane.
"What do y' mean?" He and Belle are together every day, Mercy allows him to accompany her on her various errand-running, but the grin Fagan is sporting leads Remy to the conclusion that he probably means something much less wholesome.
"Y' know, have y' ever gone to bed wit a femme?"
Remy thinks about how, lately, Bella has begun shaving her legs and wearing lip gloss. How she even smells more enticing…how her shirts no longer lay flat on her chest and that when her hand or foot or cheek brushes against his flesh it turns his body to mush.
He is innocent enough to blush. "N-non. Mais I heard Henri and Theo talkin' 'bout it once."
"Well you're gonna do more den jus talk tonight, boy. Y' hear me?" He limped over to the cabinet and pulled out another bottle. Remy's stomach instantly lurched.
"Come on, boy. Drink up. Y' won' get sick dis time, trust me."
And so Remy does. He drinks even more this time, and soon, he's feeling good. Nothing matters. He doesn't think about the people he's left behind or about the Thieves Guild. He doesn't think about anything but aloof, pleasant thoughts.
The false sense of confidence carries over when he and Fagan stumble into the 8th ward. The prostitutes in their tight, revealing clothing fill his chest with flutters and suddenly apprehension dulls his buzz; therefore cutting his false sense of bravado in half.
"Dis right here is Susie. She better den most, boy. She'll take good care of y', teach y' everyt'ing you'll ever need to know."
Fagan thrusts some sooty bills in his trembling hand and gives him a wink. "Dis should last y' for most of de night. Have fun, boy!"
Remy opens his mouth to beg Fagan to stay, but the lovely, chocolate colored woman interrupts his thoughts.
"You come here to Susie, I ain't gonna hurt you none."
Gulping, he adjusts his sunglasses and lets her take his hand. She leads him into a run-down building, and invites him to sit next to her on the musty-smelling mattress. She removes her cheetah print top, and Remy feels himself harden.
He blushes and she eases him next to her. "Ain't nothin' to worry 'bout, hear?"
He nods, but releases a groan when her hand goes over the bulge in his pants. She brings his hand to her large breast, instructing the movements he should make with his fingers and hands.
When she starts to pant he knows he's made progress.
"Dose some hands you got there. You sho is good at this, you sure you ain't lyin' to Susie 'bout bein' a virgin?"
He grins and kisses her full mouth. He's clumsy and inexperienced, but she slows him down and teaches him patiently.
Soon they're both undressed and she lays beneath him. He plunges deep within her warmth, and the sensation is so foreign and intense that it ends almost instantly.
He nearly dies of shame and she pats his back. 'S'only ya first time. An' besides, you youngin's can get it up again right quick."
She's right, it only takes a few minutes of kissing and fondling and he wants it again, more potently even than the first round. This time he makes sure to hold it, and with some difficulty, he manages to pay attention to her words.
She teaches him everything she knows that night, which isn't a small feat—considering her profession, and by the end he's given her all the money in his pocket and asks her cheekily when he can see her again.
She pulls her clothes back on. "You gonna be sayin' dat to all the filles in a couple days. I can see it already."
He tells her that she's the only one for him and that he'll certainly marry her. She laughs and swats him on the butt.
"You ole flirt!"
He grins and they part ways. His walk becomes more of a strut. His shoulders square and his chin raises and he feels truly invincible.
He and Fagan meet up at the apartment.
The older man lounges across the couch, satisfied. He laughs outright when Remy saunters through the door. "Look at dat grin!"
The Cajun shrugs and buffs his nails on his shirt, setting Fagan's laughter off again.
He shakes his head at him and pulls the blanket over his shoulders. "I'm goin' to bed, Remy."
He frowns. "Y' called me Remy."
"Oui," he grumbles into his pillow. "Dats y' name ain't it?"
"S'just, y' always call me 'boy'."
Fagan chuckles. " Well y' ain't a boy no more, are y'?"
Remy laughs along with him.
He stays with Fagan for seven days, seven action-packed days. They go back to the 8th ward, until Fagan's funds ran out, but Remy had no problem with pick-pocketing and they were able to go back. He drank more moonshine, soon he wasn't even puking the day after.
But the thing with good times is their lack of longevity. Good times can only last for so long before fading out, and sometimes they are ripped harshly from beneath your feet.
He'd just come back from another night of love making, and he senses that something is off even before he opens the door. This night will teach him to never ignore his instincts again.
Hands entrap him and he is forced to his knees. He knows spontaneously that the Thieves Guild has come and his happy times are done.
He also knows by the blood pouring from his friend's head that Fagan is dead. They left him on the ground: with no more care than a pile of trash.
Jean -Luc says only one thing to him before he allows his goons to beat him. "De guild owns y', you'll never escape…wit y' life."
It had seemed like such a brilliant idea at first. But after this night Remy never tries escaping again.
And then all he remembers is pain.
He breaks through the black water, he hears Mercy and Tante weeping for his broken body.
"Why?" He manages, "why dey have to kill 'em? He never done nothin' wrong-"
Henri's face clouds over with anger and he goes back to applying ice to Remy's face. They'd found him like this in his room. The older LeBeau brother aches to do something, but he is helpless against his father.
When confronted earlier in the night: Jean-Luc feigned remorse and painted a picture of regret. "I had no choice," he maintained.
But, the look of vindication on his face during the entire dispute let Henri know that his father finds some sick pleasure in the control and power he possesses.
Remy's young face is cut and bruised, his arm is broken and his left eye has swollen completely shut.
It isn't hard for them to figure out what has happened.
There is this old man, who spent so much of his life sleeping, that he is able to keep awake for the rest of his years. He resides on a beach, in a town where I am going to live. And I often ask him-Are you looking for the mother lode? Huh? No. No my child, this is not my desire, and then he said: I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire. ~Dig For Fire- Pixies
It isn't hard for them to figure out what has happened.
One look at Rogue's hopeless eyes and a quick mental scan, courtesy of Emma, gives them a general idea of what's unraveled during the southerner's respite.
Remy has left to save Rogue, and Phoenix has left to keep her side of the bargain. It's almost enough to make Emma emotional, and that isn't something that happens often.
Emma looks to Scott wearily. "There are no traces of Phoenix in her mind, she's really gone." Her blue eyes fill with sympathy. "Scott…something isn't right. This makes no sense."
"Why would Phoenix leave when she finally has the perfect host? And for something as elementary as a wager?" He snorts. "Gambit's an idiot. He's so focused on playing the victim that he isn't thinking clearly."
Emma nods. Aware of Scott's unnecessary hatred toward Remy, but keeping her opinion silent for once. "He must be desperate to believe this. She's up to something Scott and I can't help but feeling like this is the calm before the storm."
"For years we tried to rid Jean of Phoenix—" he trails off. They have both established their suspicions but nothing can be done until the team as a whole comes up with some kind of plan.
"All we can do for now is be by her side." The leader shakes his head. "We won't abandon her like he has. And when the time comes…well, we'll do what we have to."
She nods. There is no reason to stress about something they don't have the ability to prevent or handle. They need to take this step by step, and the first step is getting their teammate home and rested. "I'm going downstairs to speak with the doctors."
The swish of the door sounds her exit, and Scott leaps from the plastic chair and stands over the belle. He takes her minute hand and presses his lips against it. Finally, they are alone. At last, he can let the tears he should have spilled for his wife spill for her. She looks so helpless, just like she had all those years ago. She must be protected, cared for.
And he will be here to do all that and more. Remy is gone, though he's left for seemingly all the right reasons, it's still abandonment and Scott can't wait to help Rogue build her heart back.
Watching her steady breathing and the steady rise and fall of her chest fills Scott with something he can't explain. It wasn't just love, or devotion, its something even more: it's…peace.
He returns to his seat when he hears Emma and Ororo approaching. Emma gives him a knowing look but does not say anything. They've made all the proper arrangements and Rogue is ready to board the jet. She can go home.
The homecoming is…uncomfortable—to say the least. No one knows exactly what's happened, save for Emma and Scott, and even those two weren't privy to the true depth of Rogue's mind. The last they've seen of Rogue is when she destroyed the west wing of the mansion, and then she and Remy disappeared. Where had they gone? Where is Remy now?
Bobby begins shooting off questions almost immediately, but goes silent at Emma's violent glare.
Rogue ignores their encouraging smiles and pats on the back, she declines Hank's offer to receive a 'quick' check-up, and goes straight to her room.
Once there, her calm begins to disintegrate. Remy is really and truly gone. He was supposed to have come for her in the hospital. She would have been mad at first, but he would smile that smile and make some joke and she would forgive him instantly, like she always did. His face would go serious and her tears would fall over. He would hold her and promise her never again, that he would always be there. He would kiss her salty cheeks, and then he would kiss her lips. She would taste the salt and spice of his mouth. And they would come together, they would stay that way forever.
Their love isn't easy like Emma and Bobby's, or durable like Scott and Jean's, but it is still love, and it would keep them going.
The belle leaves her spot on the bed and whips open her closet door. She feels her way to the back and opens the case.
It's full of portraits. Some in paint, some in charcoal, some in plain pencil. Some are on expensive canvases and some are on scraps of notebook paper. But they are all done lovingly, they are all secret, they are all of him. Of him in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee. Of him in mid jump during a danger room session: the glowing cards flying from his hand in a precise arc.
There are some of him smiling, grinning, laughing, frowning, thinking, yelling, crying. All these images that happened in real life or in her mind. Some are of just one body part. An eye, the corner of his mouth, a lock of his wild hair. Anything that moved her at the time.
What an obsession, what a lie. Remy had filled her heart and mind but now he is gone, just like that. Just like that. Poof, he's walked right out of her life. She wonders what would happen if she could time travel. If she could go back and tell the love sick artist of these pictures that it wouldn't matter in the end. That things would end harshly and abruptly, just like she'd always known they would. And hadn't she known? Hadn't she tried building walls and ignoring her feelings and pushing him away? But she'd been weak, she'd let him sneak in somehow, and now she's paying for it. She's paying for her naivety with every painful beat of her heart, with the dizziness in her head, with the morose memories that are her doomed love.
With a tilt of her chin, two years of memories and hopes and dreams crumple to dust. Gone, nothing. All evidence of what she'd felt for him, gone, just like that.
Just like that.
You're not alone.
She goes to his room next. The first thing she notices when she enters the dark space are the pictures. She picks one up, sneering at their happy-go-lucky grins. Lies. Liars deserve to burn.
I was only waiting for things to settle down. For you to realize that you need me like I need you.
A small flame forms in her hand and the picture frames pop and crackle. She watches herself and Remy curl into black ash. She does the same with his blankets and clothes and books, surrounding them all in a telekinetic ball so as to not alert the X-men.
We can be together now. Forever. No one can stop us.
When it's done she curls into a ball in the middle of his bare room. Everything is gone, like he is gone. He'd vanished without a trace, and, now, so have his things. He's made it seem like he'd never been there in the first place, and she's simply returning the favor. An eye for an eye.
It's all gone, poof: just like that.
I'll never leave you.
Just like that.
Time to let go. You have me now.
She ignores the arguments of Logan and Scott and shows up at the session anyway. Her hair is thrown in a ponytail, her uniform is clean and her face is determined. All is right in her world.
Life will go on. She's tired of their pity, she's been on the receiving end of their pity for too many years, and she's tired of sitting in her room- crying for a man that is never returning to her.
Two weeks is plenty of time to mourn in a lifetime full of tragedy; she's done with that now. She is Rogue: the strong one, the solid one, the fighter.
What started as a simple routine quickly becomes an all out one-woman battle as she lets her frustration come to the front. Bone claws extend from her knuckles, a violet katana appears in her right hand, while a ball of ice forms in the other. She floats high above them and soars across the computer-generated landscape, pummeling any android that dares enter her vision.
For so long she's hidden her psyches away, and now they are free. The results are explosions, destruction, and unparalleled power.
They are staring at her when she decommissions the last droid. Their mouths ajar, fear is present on their faces.
But before anything can be said to break the silence, Xavier's voice comes over the intercom. Hank had just informed him that miraculously, both Betsy and Jean are up and functioning, and ready to see visitors. They are to terminate the session and head to the Med lab immediately.
They don't need any encouragement, as soon as their recovery is made known the team breaks out into jumps and cries of happiness. Warren is especially excited, and is gone almost instantly.
She and Scott find each other in the swarm of ecstatic X-men. His smile is relieved but shaky.
Their hands intertwine and they leave together.
May 2006.
It's the evening of her nineteenth birthday, and she'd forbade them to throw her a big party. She hated being the center of attention, but in true X-man fashion, they completely ignored what she wanted and go all out anyway. Too many balloons and decorations, too much food, too many people, and way too many presents.
He'd taken her arm and lead her to Hank's office.
"I heard the Professor and Mr. McCoy talking about it a week ago." He blushes and smiles sheepishly. "I thought that maybe…"
She eyes the device cautiously, her face just as red as his. "But what if somethin' goes wrong? What if-"
He presses his lips in her hair. And she wants it, so very badly. Can't she let herself be selfish, just this once? One night to let go and feel. One night out of a million nights. One chance to forget. To forget Piotr, her skin, his fiancé, their duties as X-men.
They walk hand in ungloved hand down the hill. He kisses her, she decides she likes the feel of tongues and lips mingling together, she decides she isn't scared or disgusted, at least for right now. Soon they're tangled together by the lake. The heavy, bulky collar around her neck is uncomfortable, but his mouth on hers is the exact opposite, it's more than comfortable.
Together; alone. They won't be disturbed on this night. There's too much commotion inside for anyone to notice their absence, and it doesn't hurt that a new guy had arrived today, a friend of Storm's. A guy with startling fiery eyes and too much charm, a shameless flirt who will keep them distracted with his smooth tongue: Jean included.
"I never thought I'd ever get to touch you," he confesses, peeling off her dress and watching her face to make sure he isn't going too fast.
"Me either, shuga." She reverberates his actions and unbuttons his shirt. Wet grass and twigs work themselves into her silken curls, but she's never been more content.
"Are you sure you're ready," he breathes, chuckling internally because there's no way he has the self control to put a stop to this. He runs his thumb across her smooth cheek. She is beauty incarnate, and he's never wanted anything or anyone more in his entire life.
"Oh, yes." She unzips his pants clumsily and bites her lip. "Ah, Ah want ya to touch me everywhere. Ah want to feel everythin'."
They lay naked together and he braces his weight on his elbows. "I would do anything for you." And as he kisses her neck he lets himself enter her.
She cries out in both pain and awe as he forces his manhood against her hymen.
"Scott-" Her voice comes back and the throbbing has faded to a dull ache. She smiles up at him shyly, she's never wanted to see his eyes so badly before.
He doesn't move just yet. "I would leave her for you." He's ashamed, but relief comes with the truth. He loves this woman, and the love fills him up more and more as he feels her core soften and mold around his intrusion.
His words don't surprise her, they've known each other's feelings for years. But even as they begin moving together and she whimpers from the pleasure of it, she knows she will never ask Scott to leave Jean. Sometimes love isn't enough to keep a relationship going, there has to be common interests and similar personalities, and Jean can give him those things. She wishes Scott could be hers, but some things in life are just meant to be, no matter what.
Jean and Scott are one of those things.
It hurts to admit that, but she's used to hurting, she's used to sacrificing her heart so life can go on smoothly.
She and Scott can never be. They only thing they have is love, and maybe it should stay that way. It has to stay that way.
With this in mind, she slowly lets her heart break and watches the twinkling stars as she and her best friend make love.
Present Day.
Henry stops her right outside the lab.
"Is there something wrong?" They manage to detangle their hands.
"Not at all, Scott." Beast smiles and pats Rogue on the back. "I simply need to have a few words with our Mississippi Marauder, why don't you join the others?"
His jaw tightens but Rogue shakes her head. "S'okay Scott, Ah'll be right in, ya go ahead."
"But-"
"Yoah wife is waitin' for ya, shuga."
Something mists behind his visor, he nods and turns and does as she instructs.
Beast fiddles his huge thumbs awkwardly. "It sure is astounding, the way they both recovered at the same time-"
"Get on with it Hank." She forces a smile. "Everyone knows what a bad liar ya are, so don't even try."
He nods and itches the back of his neck. "I wanted to recommend that you refrain from seeing Betsy and Jean at this time, they're delusional and are saying things they don't mean-"
Her eyes go over his furry face. "There's somethin' yoah not tellin' me-"
He doesn't answer and her suspicions are confirmed.
They know. This could ruin everything…
"Ah don't know what yoah problem is, but Ah have to see them! No matter how angry they get or what they say, Ah deserve all of it. Ah hurt both of them and Ah-" Tears fill her vision but she brushes past him so he can't see.
"Ah have to see that they're really okay, it's the least Ah can do!"
"But Rogue-"
The belle notices insignificant details as she bursts into the room and all conversation stops, as Jean drops her glass of water and Betsy's fingers tangle in the sheets.
She notices the slight wave of Jean's fire hair, how small Betsy has gotten, how Jean's eyes are two bowls filled with ocean water, the chipped, pink polish on Jean's nail as she lifts her arm and points at her with a trembling finger.
"Kill her."
I did not take this into account. How this simpleton is able to sense my presence: I'm sure I do not know.
Beast runs to prepare a needle. "She needs a tranquilizer-"
Betsy rocks back and forth in Warren's arms. "You don't understand-the power-she'll return-she'll kill us all-"
The Professor's head drops into his hands. "They're projecting!"
Emma falls to her knees soon after and the screaming begins.
"Kill her! Now, while she's weak. Kill her!"
"The power-never seen anything like it-devastating power-she'll return-she'll kill us all-"
Hank takes Jean's arm but she uses her telekinesis to knock him away. "Kill her Scott, kill her!"
"Stop it, Jean!" Her husband shakes her. "What's gotten into you?"
The chaos only continues and Rogue escapes to the hallway. She leans on the wall. What is happening? What do they mean? She'd expected them to be mad at her, maybe even furious. But to want her dead…?
I should have forgone mercy and destroyed them when I had the chance.
She feels Scott's hands on her shoulders. "They're not thinking straight. They must still think Phoenix is inside you."
He helps her up and hugs her.
"It'll all be okay, Rogue. And I'll be here, for whatever you need."
I need…to feel.
That night she finds herself outside Scott's door. She watches as her hand knocks and he opens it, his face filling with both surprise and desire.
She kisses him and he kisses her back. They know each other's mouths, each other's technique. He's held her like this before, the feel of his hair through her fingers is familiar. They enter the room lip-locked, they fall on the bed.
Passion…
He breathes in her scent, letting it overpower his wife's. Soon the entire room seems to have forgotten Jean, and all he can see/smell/hear/taste/feel is Rogue. He doesn't inquire into the sudden lack of her absorptive skin. It's irrelevant to him.
His hand slips down her stomach and under her panties. It's been so long that she shutters and whimpers and her orgasm comes quickly, powerfully.
How can a shallow, human physical reaction feel so good?
She lets Scott fill her both physically and mentally. For a while, a few hours, she's able to forget about the man named Remy, just like that.
Just like that.
…More…
No my child, this is not my desire, and then she said: I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire. No my child, this is not my desire, and then he said: I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire. No my child, this is not my desire, and then she said: I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire, I'm Digging For Fire. ~Dig For Fire- Pixies