Chapter Seven - Tie a Yellow Ribbon
I'm comin' home, I've done my time
Now I've got to know what is and isn't mine
If you received my letter telling you I'd soon be free
Then you'll know just what to do
If you still want me,
State College, otherwise known as Happy Valley, had been the centre of Zoe's universe. In her short fifteen years of life, it was the only place she cared to remember in full. There had been countless of times when she would return to it in the solace of her mind during her three years of government captivity, wondering often how unreliable and inaccurate her human memory was compared to the real thing; and now, as a free person she could not begin to describe the feelings that overcame her as she walked an old route to her childhood home.
For now, the streets of State College were mostly bare, though with the start of the new school year just right around the corner, the county was filling up more and more with each new day as both new and old admissions to Penn State come flooding back in town. In a few more days Freshers Week would begin and so would the infamous parties that came along with it, exactly the ones that she would remember hearing from her bedroom window that would last all throughout the night. Zoe could picture her mom loudly playing her jazz records with a glass of wine in hand, trying to drown out the sounds of the Freshers crowd, while her dad would flip through the paper in his robe and slippers like he couldn't hear a damn thing.
The leaves on the trees were in the midst of turning and some were even beginning to fall quietly down, carpeting the sidewalks in yellows, ambers, and reds. Zoe readjusted her scarf and pulled it tighter around her, the walk was fairly quiet except for the slight crunching of leaves underfoot and the passing of cars now and again. The block of houses that lined her street looked the same as she remembered, all neatly trimmed hedges and manicured lawns preceding four-bedroom homes.
Lost in thought she almost missed someone calling out her name. "Wait up!" the voice said, a new pair of footsteps approached her from behind. It was Peter, sweet, shy, accommodating Peter. Her Peter. The goggles that normally adorned the top of his head was replaced by a dark blue beanie, he was wearing the same silver jacket but swapped his band shirts for a faded henley and on his feet were much heavier boots with its laces fastened haphazardly around the ankle. The hands that took one of her own were covered in fingerless gloves, "What, you forgot about me already?" he asked her, not letting go of her hand.
"...Not on purpose," she said laughing. Peter just shook his head lightly.
"So," Peter said, his head motioning towards the houses, "which one is yours?" his dark eyes were soft, his nose tinged a light pink.
"Just a little farther down." came her reply. Soon, she told herself, she would be home.
Peter and Zoe walked comfortably hand in hand until they reached a nicely paved driveway that led to a modest two-story home. The house they had arrived at was made in the colonial style, the dark shingles on the roof were the colour of charcoal and offset by the white panelling of the house, it had one chimney and the front door was painted a bright red. Deep in her heart, Zoe knew every inch of it; she knew exactly which step on the stair creaked, the right way to jimmy the handle to unstick the bathroom door and could place the precise spot where she spilled grape juice on the Persian and subsequently tried to cover it with a small potted ficus. The mere thought of standing at her front door felt so surreal to her, that even the mundane act of knocking seems beyond her imagination, inciting such a response that her hand trembled as it inched to the heavy red-painted door. But before she could manage the smallest of rappings upon the maple wood, she felt a cool draught coming from inside hit her face, with a gentle push, the door gave way to the quiet foyer of the home.
Peter stood behind her, and gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze, "Go on," he said. She could feel the comforting warmth that radiated from his palm before it slipped off her back. Zoe didn't know why she hesitated there at the doorway in the second she did, however, the feeling went as soon as it came. She quickly she stepped over the threshold and went inside, Peter as always, right behind her.
The day was overcast and while the curtains were not drawn, there wasn't a tremendous amount of natural light that filtered through the windows, tinting the space a cool grey. All the same, Zoe still recognised the layout of the furniture of this old was so familiar and smelled just the same. The shoe rack still held her old shoes to her immediate right with the coat hooks just hanging above. The polished wooden staircase was directly ahead leading upstairs just before the hallway that opened up to the kitchen and dining room.
Looking to her left, an archway revealed her parents' study, gravitating to it like a moth to a flame, Zoe proceeded to the study without another thought. The room contained volumes shelved high to the ceiling and she went around the perimeter of the room just feeling the covers of those books on her skin, fingers flying to stroke the spines of her parents' treasured collection. There was never any order to it, as far as she could tell, though maybe it was something only her dad could have understood; she remembered fondly how meticulous he was, he didn't even let his wife clean his half of the study, preferring to do it himself. Two desks lined the left and right side of the space, one desk faced the window, the other faced a Fats Waller poster, two halves that artfully represented just the type of people her parents were.
As a young child, she would join them in this room, her father would reserve for her their discarded paper, he kept it in a neat stack so that she would always have something to draw on. She herself couldn't count the many hours she spent scribbling away with her box of Crayola at her dad's feet. On his desk she found a thin scientific journal, worn down on the edges, smooth to the touch, smelling far older than her and darkened with age; Zoe held it gently on her cheek for a minute as if trying to seek out her father's warmth. Peter rummaged in a file cabinet in the corner, beyond her line of sight, not really knowing what he was looking for or why he was looking, he just did. Carefully, Zoe slid the journal back in its place, turning when she heard a clacking of heels coming from above.
The two of them made for the hallway, waiting to meet the new interloper. Slowly, and with great leisure, a tall figure descended the stairs; one hand grazing the railing, dark-blonde hair pulled aside to one shoulder, the statuesque figure had a pair of light eyes that she immediately recognised as it met hers. She could hardly believe what she saw, "Mom?"
"I've been waiting for you, darling." she said with a mile-wide smile, "I'm so glad you're home!"
Zoe in an instant ran to her, clinging to her mother's slight frame she began to weep with happiness. With a quivering chin, she barely found the words to speak without choking. "Mom, what happened to you? I-" thought you were dead, she wanted to say, though failed.
Beyond confused, Laura had shushed her sweetly, "You must be starved. Why don't you let mom fix you something to eat? " she said, leading her calmly through to the kitchen.
"How are you here" despite her protestations Laura had helped her sit at the dining table with a little too much force for mere enthusiasm. Zoe saw that the table was set, and more than that it was set for three, almost as if she were expecting them.
"You must have had quite the adventure since you were gone, must have been so scared too. Well, why don't I help you forget about it?" Laura asked, running her palms down her shoulders trying to assuage her daughter's anxieties.
It wasn't possible, Zoe had thought. The last she had seen of her mother was in that very kitchen; lying face down on the linoleum, bleeding out through the bullet wounds to her heart. She had been waiting for her child to come home from school. "You're not real, are you?" She didn't wait for the reply, Zoe already knew the answer.
The mother's soft touch had turned to ice, and her grip had hardened. Zoe tried to seek her mother's eyes, though found only a dark shadow cast over Laura's visage. Zoe tried to rise from her spot but could no longer move her limbs, she peered down to see her arms and legs strapped to the chair with thick leather straps. She learned all too quickly that the more she panicked, the tighter her restraints became.
The voice that once belonged to her mother, had begun to morph, distorting to a lower, more sinister register, the tone was clipped, clinical, detached. At once a frightening sight loomed over her: an evil entity with many faces and had the body of a man. She knew instantly that they were here for her, to run experiments, to gain knowledge behind her unique mutation. "Hold still," it ordered. Her confusion dissipated into raw terror, her breathing had accelerated into short, shallow breaths. "This will go faster if you didn't struggle."
Zoe began to whimper, remembering how painful their routine tests were, she hated every single moment of them and didn't want to go through it again. "No, no, please don't! It hurts, please!" she begged, her objections falling on deaf ears.
"You'll only hurt yourself if you continue this way. Be a good girl and it will be over soon."
"No! No! Mom?" she was growing ever more hysterical. "Peter? Peter!" however the boy had vanished and her calls were cut off by a sudden fit of coughing. That coughing had soon turned into choking and before she knew how they got there, she was suffocating from the long protruding tubes that had sprouted down from the base of her throat and out the opening of her mouth. She could feel her brain throbbing with the lack of oxygen as her nails had dug into the arms of the wooden chair. Zoe could not tell, but in her agony, she had begun to rock the chair she was in, the seat creaking under her agitated body until finally she had forced the unsteady thing to tip over with her still strapped to it.
Anticipating the jolt from the fall, she thought it was weird that it did not come. Gone was Happy Valley and her mother's kitchen, as if they were all just swept up by a great gust of wind, because the next thing she knew she was outdoors, feeling weightless and without pain.
In the arms of her loving husband, she mad peace in knowing that she would be dead in just a few short moments. Her only regret was leaving him to go on without her. Still, amongst the sea of towering firs, she found her fears carried away. How wonderful it was of him to have brought them here, she mused, and what a fitting place to die.
Slowly, silently, the first snowfall began to make its way down to earth in a lazy, meandering fashion. It fell on her nose and eyelashes, as well as the exposed skin of her torn suit. She could see her husband's breath in the air, yet she didn't even feel the cold anymore.
Looking up, she saw the heavens completely bare, the stars, it seemed, found a new dwelling within her husband's eyes; it made his tears sparkle as they hit her face like precious diamonds. He caught the weak hand she was raising to him and held it to his cheek. She kept thinking that she adored this man, adored how his silver hair was beautiful in the moonlight and the way he whispered words of love for her in her ear. "But you're mine. Don't go," he pleaded quietly. She almost laughed, didn't he know it was futile to do so? It wouldn't be much longer now.
"No tears, Pietro." she said, "I love you, but I don't want my passing to lead to yours, whatever you do, don't end it because of me.'' That was what she wanted to tell him, what she had to tell him and what he had to hear. It was important. He had to have heard her. He needed to. Surely he must have?
In her final seconds, Zoe took comfort in the snow. Blanketing everything, it will bury that ugly crater and the remains of the Sentinel plant, it will bury her body, her love, her hate, and soon it will bury the Black Forest too in perfect whiteness.
Zoe Kinney awoke trembling in a cold sweat. Without Erik to share her pain, she felt more alone than she did in her tiny prison cell, and she began to cry. It was then that she realized that this was the first time she allowed herself to do so without holding anything back. And though she felt the crushing depths of her loneliness and the sinking weight of her sorrow, she relished in once again knowing the full expression of her feelings. She didn't have to force herself to be strong. There, in the darkness, surrounded by Pink Floyd LPs, she was finally free, and she was going to make oceans from her tears.
The remnants of her dream had not been forgotten, and though she could not make sense of it, it lingered like foul smoke in the air. The images were burned into her mind; blood on the linoleum floor, a frozen forest, a golden city ascending from the sand, and a distant voice calling out into the void,
"En Sabah Nur".
Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions
I keep my visions to myself,
...
Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?
Dreams of loneliness,
Like a heartbeat, drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering, what you had,
And what you lost
A/N: I thought I would give you guys a new chapter! To be honest, this was both a big challenge and a lot of fun to write, I surprised myself because I've had this in the works for a while but never had the inspiration to finish it, so even I didn't anticipate how it was going to end. I hope you didn't think this chapter was too confusing, so enjoy it! On a side note, I've slightly tweaked Chapter One of this fic to better coincide with the details I've added here.
MageVicky: Thank you for your reviews! As per my plans about the fic, I'm only really wanting to use DoFP to develop my OC, so this fic will diverge from that narrative to focus on Zoe before she eventually becomes a full member of the X-Men. If I ever do finish this story and get around to a sequel, Apocalypse should center around her coming into her powers and perhaps mastering it. There you go, ask and you shall receive.
Song credits go to Tony Orlando's "Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree" and Fleetwood Mac's masterpiece: "Dreams" (I can't express how obsessed I am with this song). If you had any song recommendations for this fic, or any other fic of mine, please message me or leave a review! A thorough musical education is good for the soul. :)
Have an opinion? I want to hear it. PM is always open for a chat, or leave a review if that floats your boat.
I do not own any characters you might recognise, they are the property of Marvel (and maybe Sony Pictures?). I do own my OC Zoe.
Many thanks! And happy fanfic hunting!
-HannahBananasxx