The ground behind Headquarters was strewn with jagged rocks and twisted pieces of metal, the sun barely reaching the ground, leaving the air cool around Clarice as she took a deep breath, centering herself. Opening her eyes, she focused on the solid concrete wall in front of her, trying to keep her heartbeat steady.
"Alright girl," Clarice muttered to herself, taking another deep breath and raising her hands up in front of her. "Just like John said, calm, deliberate, focused. Just take a deep breath and focus on that warm jelly doughnut. Don't think about anything else." That, of course, made every single thing she had been fighting to keep in the back of her mind surge forward. Blood, bullet holes, police tape, her fault, her fault...
"Nope," Clarice snapped, clenching her hands into fists and driving her nails into her palms, using the pain to clear her head. "Not happening. Warm jelly doughnut, nothing else."
Taking another deep breath, she opened her fists, spreading her fingers. Her hands were throbbing, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Clarice welcomed it, letting her mind sink down into the pain, falling into its rhythm. She could feel the fabric of the world between her hands, could feel her power sparking along her arms. Focusing on her storage closet room, she pulled. Purple appeared between her hands, popping and sparking. Baring her teeth, Clarice pulled harder, her room held clearly in her mind, the throb of pain a steady, reassuring undercurrent. The portal began to get wider. She could see the wall of her room –
Bullet holes, peppering the wall. Blood running down it, blood of a child, an innocent –
"No," Clarice gasped, trying to force the image away. Her chest was tight, her hands starting to tremble...
– door splintered inwards, foot prints in blood, combat boots, boots of the men she had led there, led there because she couldn't control herself, because she was useless, weak, a danger, a killer –
"No!" Clarice snarled, tear running down her face. The portal snapped closed, leaving only the faint smell of ozone behind.
"Fuck!" Zingo whined, looking at Clarice worriedly. Clarice wanted to comfort her, but she knew if she opened her mouth she would scream, so she just clenched her hands into fists once more, welcoming the spikes of pain as her nails bit into already tender skin.
"Clarice?" John. Of course it was John. "Clarice, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she snapped, not looking at him, eyes focused on the wall where her failed portal had been.
"No, you're not," John replied, moving into her field of vision, his face lined with concern. "I could hear your heartbeat all the way in the vault."
"That's kinda creepy, you know," Clarice snapped, glaring at him, hating him in that moment, hating how softly he looked at her, how gentle his voice was, how her body automatically wanted to relax around him. She didn't want comfort, not right now. Not when she didn't deserve it.
"I know," John said, not even seeming to notice the ire in her voice, or choosing to ignore it if he did. He ran his eyes over her face, noting where the one tear had dried with a pained twist of his lips. Then his eyes moved down to her hands.
"Hey," he said, reaching out immediately and taking her hands in his. "Clarice..." His thumbs pushed her fingers back easily, pulling her nails out of her palms, exposing the vibrant red crescents she had marked herself with. He looked up at her, a pain in his eyes that made Clarice's heart want to break. She looked away from him, staring over his shoulder at the wall. She waited for the yelling, the remonstrations, the anger.
It never came. Instead John wrapped his hands around hers, covering her abused skin with the protective layer of his own hand. Clarice was so shocked that her eyes snapped back to him, meeting his gaze for the first time since he had found her.
"I'm sorry," John murmured, running his thumbs along her knuckles. "Clarice, I'm so sorry."
"For what?" Clarice asked, shaken by the sorrow and regret on John's face.
"For your pain," he replied, lifting her hands, which were still held firmly in his. "For making you feel like you had to use your abilities before you were ready."
"John..." Clarice trailed off, shaking her head. She took a deep breath, suddenly overcome by urge to laugh. "You are a complete, ridiculous idiot." John raised his eyebrows in surprise, cocking his head slightly.
"Oh?" he asked, the corner of his lips twitching in what might have been a small smile. "What for this time?"
"It's not your fault," Clarice replied, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. "None of it. Not the ranch, not the soldiers, not me... You act like everything bad that happens is on you, but it's not." John looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he dropped his head, a small, self-deprecating smile twisting his lips.
"It feels like it, sometimes," he said after a moment, looking back up at her. "The X-Men left me with this responsibility, this war. And I want to get people ready for it, give them the best chance they can at surviving what's coming. But it seems like every time I do, someone I care about gets hurt."
"Everyone finds their own reasons to stay," Clarice said, ignoring the way her heart had jumped at his last words. "You told me that, back in the warehouse. And you're right. Everyone here is fighting for their own reasons, not because you made them. So stop blaming yourself."
"Only if you stop blaming yourself for your family's death," John replied, looking at her seriously. Clarice took a deep breath, her chest tightening as the images from the farm tried to swamp her. She forced them back, squeezing John's hands, focusing on the feel of him, solid and real, grounding her, keeping her from getting lost.
"I'm trying," she said eventually, when her voice was back under control. "That's why I'm out here. I need to get control of my powers, for them and for myself."
"Then let me help," John offered, squeezing Clarice's hands gently. "You don't have to do this alone." Clarice felt that now familiar twist in her heart again at his words. I don't know how else to be, she wanted to tell him. But that wasn't quite true anymore. Not since he had sat beside her bed and forgiven her for almost ripping his home apart, not since he had seen her lose all control and still hadn't flinched away from her touch.
"Okay," she finally said, giving him the smallest of smiles. "But I am going to need my hands back."
John looked down at where their hands were still wrapped together. He made no move to drop them at first, running his thumb over her knuckles instead. Clarice's heart skipped a beat and she swore she saw John grin, but then he opened his hands, slowly pulling them away from hers, saying "If you insist."
Clarice flexed her fingers, suddenly feeling cold and unbalanced. John moved to her shoulder, leaving the space in front of her open. Taking a deep breath, Clarice raised her hands in front of her. She looked at the concrete wall and focused, holding the picture of her closet-room in her mind's eye. Taking another deep breath, she gently took hold of her power, gripping at the fabric of reality only she could feel. Slowly, she pulled, trying to hold onto just the image of her room, her safe spot in Headquarters.
Purple light appear between her hands. Encouraged, Clarice increased her power, pulling more firmly, trying to widen the portal. But the fabric was slipping her fingers, her power fizzling even as she called on it. Gritting her teeth, Clarice concentrated harder.
Room. Safe.
Room. Safe.
Safe. Must be safe.
Must be safe. Have get to safety, exposed, trapped.
Coming, they're coming, chains, handcuffs, blood, bullet holes, your fault, your fault, killed them –
"No!"
The portal slammed closed, spitting sparks as it did. Clarice stood there, shaking, her heart pounding in her ears. She wanted to scream, scream and run, run as far away from this place, any place, as she could.
"Clarice, hey, it's okay." Clarice whipped around, rage boiling up inside of her.
"Stop fucking saying that!" she yelled, hating how John didn't even flinch, just looked at her, calm and steady. "It's not okay! I can't even fucking open a portal to inside the fucking building, how the hell am I ever going to get to fucking Sentinel Services? Without my abilities I am dead. They'll find me and take me back to that fucking detainment center, my hands shackled, my arms full of needles, chained up like a –"
"No," John cut her off, taking her by the shoulders, his tone one that left no room for argument. "I will never let that happen, Clarice. Never. It doesn't matter if you never make another portal in your life, you will not be taken."
"You can't promise that," Clarice argued, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry, because she knew he meant it.
"Yes, I can," John said, squeezing her shoulders gently. "I can promise you that as long as I am alive, you will not be taken. And I'm damn hard to kill."
Clarice closed her eyes, unable to look at him any longer. It was torture, to see him looking at her with such warmth, to hear his words, and only be able to wonder if it was because of his guilt, because of what Dreamer put in her head. She wanted so badly to fall into him, to just give in and let her heart run to him. But she couldn't. Not when she still didn't trust her own heart, her own mind. So she opened her eyes and looked at him, shaking her head.
"I can't just rely on you forever, John," she said, reaching up and touching his arm, words that were supposed to have been a rebuke coming out so much softer, a gentle honesty brought into the open by grief and exhaustion. "I need to be able to trust myself, to be able to trust my powers. I just... I don't know how. My powers have always been motivated by fear, or anger, or sheer adrenaline. But if Dreamer taught me anything when she shoved those memories into my head, it's that I can't sustain that, not if I actually want to be able to use my powers, really use them. I just don't... I only have that warm jelly doughnut."
"No, you don't," John said, smiling gently at her, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, making Clarice jump. "You said it yourself, your powers have always been motivated by fear. But I think I know how to change that."
"How?" Clarice asked skeptically, suddenly very, very nervous.
"You remember when you told me about Bear?" John asked, dropping his hands from her shoulders. "About how he would sleep at your back, making you feel safe?"
"Yes?" Clarice replied questioningly, crossing her arms over her stomach, feeling exposed.
"Well," John said, moving so that he was standing behind her, so close that Clarice could feel the heat radiating off his body. "I'm Bear."
"What?" Clarice asked, completely confused, turning her head so that she could look at him, eyebrow raised. John chuckled, and Clarice's heart skipped a beat, suddenly realizing how close he was to her.
"I'm here to make you feel safe," he explained, reaching up and gently resting his hands on her shoulders once more. "I know I'm not as good as a big black dog, but I'm hoping I can be the next best thing."
You're not the next best thing, Clarice wanted to say, looking up into those deep, steady brown eyes. You are so much more than that. But she couldn't. Not yet. So instead she just nodded and turned back to the front, trying to ignore how every breath she took made her back brush against his chest, or how the steady weight of his hands on her shoulders made the tension in her chest start to loosen.
"Just focus, Clarice," John murmured, squeezing her shoulders gently. "You're safe. I've got you. You're safe, safe here with me."
"I know," Clarice breathed. And she was. With John at her back, she knew that nothing could touch her, that he would guard her, protect her, just like she would him. Because, if Clarice was truly honest with herself, that's what it came down to. She wanted to protect him, wanted to know that if she ever needed to, she could save him. So, taking a deep breath, concentrating on the warm, solid bulk of him behind her, Clarice lifted her hands.
The purple sparked immediately. Holding the image of her room in her mind, Clarice began to pull. Her hands throbbed, sending pain shooting up her arm. She gritted her teeth, refusing to acknowledge it. She could still feel John's hands on her shoulders, thumbs rubbing along her skin comforting. Focusing on that, she pulled harder, opening the portal farther. She could see the wall now, and a corner of her pillow.
Concrete cell, shackles, blood, so much blood –
"Easy," John murmured, his lips right next to her ear. "I've got you, Clarice. You're okay, you're safe, I've got you." Clarice wanted to say something, but her chest was so tight she could barely breathe, let alone speak.
Pools of blood, shattered doors...
Warm, Clarice thought forcefully, pushing at the other thoughts. Warm, pine trees... safe.
Alone, weak, so weak, your fault –
Not alone, Clarice countered, leaning into John's hands, pressing her back against his chest. I am not alone.
The portal was growing. She could see all of her pillow now, and the bag where she kept all of her clothes. Baring her teeth in exaltation, Clarice called on more of her power, leaning on John as the surge made her knees start to tremble.
Pain, destruction, death, always following you –
John laughing. John looking at her as he pets Zingo, listening to her. John looking at her, his eyes filled with something she barely dares to name...
Fake, all fake, Dreamer –
John's face on her pillow, John's arms around her, holding her to him, real, real –
The portal blew open, towering over her, big enough three people could walk abreast through it with ease.
"Yes!" John crowed, making Clarice grin. She held the portal, refusing to let it start to shrink. She could feel John's heartbeat against her back and she counts it, steadying herself. Then, when she's sure that she's held the portal for long enough that people could have run through it, Clarice dropped her hands, closing the portal gently.
"That was amazing," John said, coming around so that he was standing in front of Clarice. His eyes were bright with excitement and he was grinning. "I knew you could do it."
"Not without you," Clarice replied, too high on her triumph to care about censoring her words. John grinned at her, but shook his head.
"I was just the big black dog," he said, reaching out and taking her shoulders again, the weight of his hands now so familiar that Clarice immediately began to relax when he touched her. "The rest was all you, Clarice."
You were so much more than that, Clarice thought, her heart twinging as she looked at him. Her heart ached to tell him, to reach across the distance between them and... But she couldn't. Not yet. So instead she smiled at him and promised herself that she would find the courage to tell John exactly what had given her strength today.