Chapter Five
May
As spring chases away the snows of winter, Alison finds herself more comfortable with the little life she's built. She thrives in the Danger Room sessions with Sam and Rahne and the kids, loving the opportunity to teach the youngsters how to defend themselves against possible threats. She doesn't follow the X-Men when the call for battle rings through the mansion, however. Ororo is understanding, calmly telling Ali that if she's ever ready, the team would certainly be glad of her help. The guilt of not joining in missions or fighting whatever menace comes for her friends does weigh down on her. Often she's left guessing if it's the right decision to sit out, especially with her mutant abilities being so powerful.
"We're not gonna force you, man," Bobby comforts her one morning over coffee. She's finished her teaching duties already and had decided caffeine was more important than a shower. Luckily Bobby had brewed a fresh pot and happily handed her a steaming mug. They sit at the corner breakfast nook, Alison looking miserable and Bobby idly scrolling his phone for emails from Judah.
"I know," Alison nods. "But I mean, what am I doing?"
Bobby doesn't look up from his phone as he answers, "Uhhh, by the looks of it, wallowing."
Ali scoffs and shoots him a glare. "I'm serious, ass hole. I love teaching the kids in the Danger Room, I really do. But I'm not stupid. I know my lasers are on par with Scott's optic blasts. I could level a building if I wanted. That's an advantage the X-Men could use in the field."
"We're doing fine without yah, don't sweat it," Bobby sets his phone down and pushes it away.
Ali raises a brow, eyeing his iphone. "Still nothing?"
"It's been weeks!" Bobby throws his hands up. "I thought by now he'd at least send me an email."
"I thought you said you guys weren't dating."
"We're not," Bobby runs a hand over his face. "But I mean, I still care."
"Why don't you call him?"
"It's 5am in Los Angeles; I highly doubt Judah will appreciate a wake up call to my irrational freak out over why he hasn't called me since March."
"Oh my God," Ali rolls her eyes. "Gimme that." She snatches Bobby's phone and twists away from him, typing with impressive speed.
"No! Are you crazy?" Bobby tries to reach around her, but Ali slides out of the breakfast nook and is across the kitchen in no time.
"Aaaaand done!" She smiles and tosses the phone back to him. "Thank me later."
"Thank you?!" Bobby's jaw drops open.
"Look, Robert," Ali turns her back to him, grabbing the coffee pot to refill her mug. "This is a shit or get off the pot situation. And you were twiddling around like a fool. I can't let you do that, so I took matters into my own hands and sent dear Judah a message."
Bobby snaps his mouth closed. With a horror struck face he slowly says, "What did you say?"
Alison rolls her eyes. "Oh calm down, nothing rude. Check for yourself."
Bobby quickly unlocks his phone and reads aloud: "I need clarification regarding the status of our relationship. Are you free to FaceTime tonight?" He stares up at Ali.
She shrugs. "You do need clarification. And being clear with what you need in a relationship is beneficial to both of you. There's no miscommunication or confusion when you address any issues that might occur because you were upfront from the beginning. And," She grabs the low fat milk from the refrigerator. "Maybe the reason he hasn't contacted you is because he wasn't sure what you wanted from him. Maybe he was afraid of overstepping and freaking you out."
Unable to argue with her, Bobby stares from Alison to his phone helplessly. "So…now what?"
Retrieving her mug, Alison fixes herself another coffee and sits in the breakfast nook once more. "You wait. He'll respond."
"And what if he doesn't?"
Alison takes a sip. " Then you'll move on. Come on Bobby. You've dated before."
"Women!"
She rolls her eyes. "Ugh. Men. Women. What does it matter? People are people. The point is that you're getting way too in your head about this. Judah is just a person. Just like Opal was. And just like you are. If he texts you back, fantastic! You're one step closer to getting clarity. And if he doesn't," she shrugs again. "Then he wasn't the one for you. Move on. There are lots of single people in the world."
Bobby runs a hand through his hair and sighs as he sits down across from her. He bites his bottom lip and gives her a nervous look. "What about you?"
Ali raises an eyebrow. "What about me?"
He fiddles with his phone. "Are you going to move on?"
Her demeanor completely shifts and she's glaring at him over her mug. "That is completely different. And none of your business."
Bobby nods his head and looks down at his phone. He smirks in amusement and holds up the device, waving it at Alison. "He's gonna call me tonight."
She raises her mug to him before taking a long sip, watching him over the rim. They sit in an awkward silence, the weight of his prying heavy between them.
"Ali I didn't mean to -"
"No," She cuts him off, the words forming around the lump in her throat. "I am not going to move on."
Bobby gazes at her with such sadness that she wants to leave. And so she does, taking her coffee and sweeping passed him and out of the kitchen. The kids would be down soon for their breakfast anyways. She doesn't need them to see her cry.
Lila Cheney's newest album was a love letter to Joey Ramone. It was obnoxious and soulful, dirty, cunning, and crept it's way into your bones and stayed there, banging against your ribcage and rattling your core. It was perfect. As Alison blared the soundtrack through her AirPods while sprinting through the forest that sits on the Xavier property line, she thought of her once bandmate. Curious if she aught to visit Lila - or at least buy a ticket to her upcoming show at the Irving Plaza - her thoughts lead to her own career as a singer. She wouldn't say she was a diva, not in the spoiled, difficult sense of the word. She definitely lived a glamorous life, traveled all over for concerts, met a few celebrities along the way. She'd been happy, truly happy.
Could she ever be that happy again?
She pauses her run, panting from the strain, and then pulls her phone out of the secure pocket built into her leggings. Without hesitating, she flips through her contacts and dials Lila's number. Her call is answered on the third ring.
"Hi. Lila, it's me. Ali. I -"
"Bitch, where have you been?!" Lila shouts on the other end. "I've been waiting for you for months! I've got these killer tickets for the Lizzo concert next month. You in?"
"Oh shit," Ali gasps. "You got Lizzo tickets? I am absolutely in!"
"Fuck yes, babe! Oh my god, it is so good to have someone who understands music going with me. Holy shit, babe. I have so much to tell you! Wanna get drinks tonight? Where are you? Please tell me you're in California."
Alison leans against an oak tree. "I'm not. I'm in New York. But uhm…I wanted to talk to you."
"Sure, sure. I got some time. What's up?"
Taking a deep breath, Alison says, "I was good, right? On stage?"
Lila chuckles. "Babe, are you kidding? You were the best. When you joined the band I thought 'this chick is either gonna destroy my career or shoot us to the top."
Ali smiles. "We got there fast."
"All thanks to you," Lila waits a quick minute before pushing. "What are you really callin' for, Ali? I don't hear from you for a year, and suddenly you wanna talk? You lookin' for a job?"
"No." She straightens up. "No, not at all. I…", she chews her bottom lip. "Longshot died."
"Oh shit."
She trudges on, "I just wanted to talk to you. You were such a big part of my life, it just - it felt wrong that you didn't know I was back."
The warmth of Lila that is her husky voice, her sharp wit, and her choice speech that damn well borderlined coprolalia, showered over Alison. "I swear to God, if you fuckin' make me cry, I will fly out to New York and curbstomp your scrawny ass."
Ali lets out a laugh and wipes a tear away from her eye. "I love you too. And yes, come to New York anytime you want. I'm sure Sam would love to see you too."
"Oh God, stop!"
"You know he has all your albums? And not just downloads on iTunes. He buys actual vinyls and has them organized in chronological order in his room."
Lila chuckles, "He's a sentimental fuck. Tell him to give me a call. I'm doin' a festival with The Avett Brothers, and I bet he'd like to meet 'em."
"Miss Chaney, what are your intentions with the resident Farm-Boy-Next-Door?"
The rocker scoffs, "Please. I climbed that tree. Just tryin' to pay my taxes to mutant-kind's super team." They laugh again, soaking in the looseness that has always been their friendship. And then, "Alright Blondie, tell it to me straight. How the fuck yah doin'?"
Ali bites her bottom lip and holds her breath. She doesn't want to answer, but Lila had a way of weedling out the truth. "Not good. It's-it's hard."
"I should think so," Lila responds. "Guy treated you like a fuckin' queen. How yah gonna adjust to life among peasants?"
Normally Ali would laugh and quip a dig back. This time she's quiet and looks down at her Nike clad feet.
"Al, I'm -"
"It's alright," she cuts Lila off. "I know how I was." She draws lines in the dirt with her toe. "And -"
"Nah, babe. Come on," Lila speaks over her. "I made a shit joke, I'm sorry. And yeah, for a while you were pretty high maintenance. But Longshot loved you so fucking much, just the way you were."
Alison nods. "Yeah, he did." She swallows, a lump forming in her throat.
"I'm sorry, Daz. He should be here with you."
A small sigh escapes her. "Yeah. He should be."
"Look, I'm not good at sentimental shit. Just know that I love you and you've always got a place to stay here. Alright?"
"Yeah, I know. Thanks."
"Lizzo concert in a month." Lila clicks off without a farewell. Alison starts her music up again and continues her run, feeling better than before.
-
She sits alone in the back of the hole-in-the-wall jazz bar. The ambiance is all amber golds and midnight blues, dark and warm and intimate. Each table has a small tealight flickering inside a mini upcycled jam jar. A single lightbulb dangles above a bar stool, where a young woman with coiled black hair sings into a long stem microphone. She's doing a killer cover of Peggy Lee's Fever. But in Ali's opinion, that song is overplayed. She still claps when the singer takes her bow and steps away from the mic.
Alison nurses a gin and tonic, glad she asked for extra lime. Not her favorite drink, but stiff enough to keep her limiting herself to just one. She's not here to get drunk and make a fool of herself. She just wants to watch the show like everyone else.
The next person to take the stage is a man carrying a saxophone. Judging purely by his physicality, Alison puts his age around forty years. He sits in the stool and reaches for the microphone. "Hi, good evening everyone. I'm Joe Watershed. Been playin' the sax since I was a kid, which," he gestures to himself, "was a long time ago." The crowd gently chuckles. "Anyway, I've prepared a couple songs for you all. And, uhm, I hope you like them." He adjusts the microphone to a height more suited for his saxophone. He smiles and Ali finds it sweet.
When he takes a deep breath and plays, she finds it enamoring.
She settles back in her chair, bringing her drink with her, and closes her eyes, letting the music swim around her. Joe Watershed plays like John Coltrane during the beginning of his career when everything was bebop and hard bop jazz. He smoothes a song of hard bop over the audience, making the night feel sexy with the low notes and hints of rhythm and blues.
When Joe is finished with his first set, he only takes enough time to drink from a glass of water before he begins again. Alison finishes her drink, orders a plate of the house special and looks forward to enjoying a fine meal whilst admiring Joe's passionate production.
"Excuse me," a waitress eagerly smiles at her.
Oh no.
"Are you Alison Blaire?"
Ali gives the younger woman a nervous smile. "I'm just here to enjoy the show."
The waitress nods enthusiastically. "Of course, I don't mean to bother you. I just - I am such a big fan! Could I-"
Ali cuts the girl off, "I'll sign whatever you want after the show. Just, don't tell anyone that I'm here, alright?"
"Sure!" The waitress practically squeals. "Whatever you want. And uhm, your meal is on the house. My treat! Thank you so much!" She scurries off, hopefully able to keep from spilling Ali's identity to the entire establishment.
She sinks in her seat, hoping the neighboring table hadn't caught any hint of the exchange. Luckily Joe Watershed's saxophone is wailing in a dramatic crescendo and any chance of eavesdropping was likely squashed. Her dinner doesn't look so appetizing anymore, even though salmon risotto is one of her favorite meals. The desire to hide amongst the crowd was now just a silly game. She was always noticed, either for her music career or for being an X-Men; she very rarely just got to be Alison.
She was Dazzler the great performer, or Dazzler the X-Men, or now Miss Blaire the teacher, which came with its own load of pressure. To sit in the dark, alone and quietly appreciating the skills of someone else had been a real treat. And not to inflict self pity, but she wanted one night to just be. To ignore the fog of sorrow that clouds around her, or the back and forth worry of what she's going to do with her life now. Teaching was fantastic, but was it temporary? Did she stay in New York forever?
Alison sighs and slips her light jacket off the back of her chair. Standing, she leaves cash on the table to pay for her meal and quickly heads for the hostess station.
"I need a pen, please."
"Holy shit! Are you -"
"Yes," she hisses out. "I need a pen."
The hostess, a small brunette with too long of false eyelashes, rummages the podium and quickly hands over a black ballpoint pen. Ali grabs a spare napkin off the podium and scribbles her name and a generic good tidings. She slaps the autograph on the podium.
"Tell no one I was here. And give this to that blond waitress pouring wine over there." She juts her chin out towards the bar.
The hostess, wide eyed with awe, nods her head.
"Thanks," Ali flashes her a smile before exiting out the door and into the night. The pavement is wet with raindrops as Ali tries to hail a cab back to Westchester. Around her, New Yorkers hustle to find their dinners or rides, darting into restaurants or running down the steps leading to the underground trains. She could take a train herself, but it would only get her so far before she'd have to climb back up to the concrete jungle and flag down a cab to head back home. Plus the subway was always loaded with creepers.
After missing an embarrassing number of yellow taxis, due to what seemed like everyone trying to steal them from her, Alison gives up and decides a walk in the rain might be the best solution. Besides, Remy's apartment is nearby. If anything, she can pop in and ask for a ride home, or have a glass of bourbon while she waits for the rain to pass.
Taking out her cellphone, Alison dials the cajun's number. He answers on the second ring. "Dazzler! Chere, wha' can Remy do fo' yo'?"
"I'm like two blocks away from your apartment, are you home? I'm soaked to the bone thanks to this damn rain."
"Ah," Remy's voice is like molasses. "Oui, head on up. Remy'll put de kettle on."
"Got any bourbon?"
His smile leaks through his words. "O' course, chere. O' course."
"Be there in five." She rounds the corner, seeing the sign for his building just across the intersection. The nice thing about X-men like Gambit, was that they lived off the Institutes campus. Sure, they always were accommodated for if there was a need to stay the night at the mansion. But generally, they kept their own homes in the city and answered the call when help was needed.
Aside from being a long time member of the X-Men, Remy was the King of the Theives Guild in New Orleans, a position he'd gained once his father had died. He split his time between New York and New Orleans; Ali was lucky he was in the city tonight.
"Chere!"
Ali looks up, seeing the lanky cajun leaning out of a window, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Hustle up, Remy'll buzz yo' in."
"Thanks!" Ali shouts back and trots to the steps of the swanky apartment building. Mere minutes later, she's up the elevator and standing in the entryway of Remy's four thousand dollar rental. "Hey," she smiles, slipping out of her black Columbia raincoat. "You really saved me. It's getting nasty out there."
"Anytime, mon ami." Remy takes her dripping coat and retreats to the bathroom to hang it over the shower, allowing the water to puddle and run down the drain. On his return, Ali has relieved herself of her wet, hot red pumps and is twisting her long blonde hair to release some of the water caught in the locks. "Bourbon?"
"Yes, please! Got anything to eat? I sorta had to skip dinner." She shakes her head and fluffs the roots of her thick hair.
"Got some jambalaya in a pot finishin' up."
Alison eagerly nods. "Oh God, yes please!"
Remy chuckles and gestures to the minimally decorated living room, "Have a seat, chere. Remy'll get yo' fixin's." He leaves for the kitchen as Ali plops herself on the dark leather sofa, tucking her feet under herself and leaning against the couch arm. "So," she says loud enough for Remy to hear in the next room. "How long are you with us this time?"
"Oh, 'bout a month or two, if all goes as Remy be hopin'."
"Things down south smooth over for you?"
He reenters with two glasses and a bottle of Responsible Lee Straight Bourbon. "Smooth enough fo' now." He hands her a glass and pours her a double shot before serving himself. He raises his glass in a small toast and Ali mimics the action before tossing back her drink. The brown liquid hits the back of her throat and slides down with a warmth she hadn't had since before Thanksgiving, when she and Betsy drank a bottle of Logan's scotch and sat on the rooftop, airing out their traumas. Logan's scotch was good, Remy's bourbon was superb.
"Shit, this stuff is fantastic." She licked her lips and tips her glass at him. Smiling, Remy refills it. "So," Ali settles back against the cushions, letting the liquor work its way through her and warm her chilly bones. "Are you gonna make me ask?"
Remy smirks and looks down at his glass. "Nah, chere. Yo' don' have tah ask. Doin' alright, keepin' busy. Can't pay no attention to Anna if everythin' else is blowin' up around me."
Alison frowns. "What else is blowing up?" Of course, Anna's engagement to Erik had been such a shock to her and Betsy; she can't even begin to image how Remy had felt about it.
His jaw clenches and when his black and red eyes meet hers again, the lightheartedness from them is gone. "Laura's missin'."
"What?!" Ali lurches forward. "What do you mean missing? I thought she was coming home!"
Gambit nods. "She was. She was supposed tah. She hasn't called in two weeks. Not tah me, or 'Ro. That ain't like her, mon ami. She very strict with protocol. Always calls. Always keepin' Remy an' 'Ro informed. We ain't heard nothin' from her."
"What happened?"
Letting out a sigh, he runs a hand through his brown hair. Ali notes it's longer than she's seen it in quite some time, as is the stubble on his face. In fact, she frowns, Remy looks downright shabby. Not that he was squeaky clean per say - God, no - but the man looks like he hasn't had a decent nights sleep since Christmas.
"Dunno, chere. After we go' back from Paris, Laura tol' 'Ro she needed tah do somethin' on her own. She kept in touch, let us know where she lay her head at night. But den dah calls stop comin'. 'Ro called Remy, Remy came back to New York. An' dah search begins."
"Holy shit," Ali whispers. "Let me help you."
The cajun shook his head and took another drink. "Appreciate it, chere. Truly, Remy do. Bu' dis ol' swamp rat gotta go at it alone."
Alison sighs and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "So now Logan and Laura are both missing. You think it's connected?"
He nods. "Oui. Logan gone got himself in trouble, now his daughter's roped in as well." A timer beeps from the kitchen. Remy sets down his drink and turns to dish some dinner into bowls for them. Handing Ali her grub, he takes a seat in the recliner to her right. The smells are intoxicating and she silently thanks the almighty for gifting the cajun with culinary greatness.
Her first bite has her moaning, "Jesus Christ, Remy. This is incredible."
He chuckles and blows on a spoonful before taking a bite. "S'aight. Dah fish in the north ain't the same as home."
"Meaning you didn't catch it off your back porch, swamp rat?"
"Hey girl, yo' come to N'Awlins an' Remy'll show yah real food. Dis a poor excuse for what we have back home." He nudges her knee with his toes. "Yo' wanna crash here tonight?"
She waves a hand, "Nah. I have to teach tomorrow morning. I should head back."
"Aight. Aftah supper we go. Dah bike too risky in dah rain, but Jubilee stashed her little convertible in dah buildin' garage. We take it."
Their conversation recentered around Laura and possible whereabouts, though Ali could tell her friend had already thought of every angle. It wasn't uncommon for any member of the X-Men to suddenly disappear, especially Logan. Hell, Alison had been off world for an entire year! But she admires Remy's determination to get his friend back and promised to help him and Ororo in anyway she could.
After bellies were filled, leftovers properly stored, and dishes washed, they climb into Jubilee's yellow convertible and drive quietly up to Westchester. Behind the wheel, Remy's jaw clenches and unclenches, his brow pulled together in a scowl.
"Look," Ali nudges his shoulder. "I know literally everything in your life is super tense right now. Anna's getting married," - his fingers tighten around the wheel - "Laura's missing. Ororo's incredibly stressed out, which I'm sure stresses you out, being that you two are basically siblings. And just," she lets out a sigh. "Look, we're not best friends. But if you need someone to talk to, I'm always around. At least now I am, anyway. I can't provide comfort food like you can, but I'm good at drinking and decent at listening. So, you know. Feel free to take advantage of that."
A smile creeps across his face. "Merci, Ali. And, for wha' it's worth," He glances over at her. "Remy sorry 'bout Longshot. He was a good'un."
The sit in an easy silence for the rest of the drive.
The shower she took was absolutely glorious. Betsy had gifted her a bottle of Chanel shower gel and Ali had become practically addicted to the scent. The water was set to the perfect temperature and showerhead pressure. The eucalyptus she'd tied to the shower spout filled the room with a smell that cleared her sinuses and helped relax any anxiety she'd collected throughout the day. She took longer than she normally allows, spoiling herself with an extra lather and actually mustering up enough motivation to shave. By the time she'd finished, moisturized, applied her night time skin care products, and completed her oral care, it was well past midnight.
Sensibly, she climbed into bed, happy she'd changed the sheets that morning because clean sheets and freshly shaven legs are one of the best combinations and few joys in life. Releasing an audible "Aahh", Alison rests her head and settles down under her blankets.
Not a bad day, she thinks. Overall, not terrible. She adjusts herself, finding her comfort, and then lets a content sigh. I think I'm getting better at this, Longshot. I think it's getting easier to breathe. In contrast, her chest tightens. God, I miss you. Every single day, every good day, every bad day. She bites her bottom lip. All day, everyday I wish you were here.
"You know I love you, right?"
His head is in her lap while they lounge on a couch in a cheap hotel room. Ali has on black silk panties and his leather jacket. Longshot had managed to pull on a pair of briefs before flopping himself back down. He looks up at her with a tender smile.
"Yeah," he says. "I know."
She nods, though the magazine in her hands trembles. "And you know I'd do anything for you, right?"
He reaches up and twirls a lock of her hair with his large finger. "Yes, Alison. I know."
She pouts. "So let me come with you."
His finger stops and his smile vanishes. A glare meets his eyes and he frowns at her. "We've been over this."
"And over this and over this," she glowers back. "And I still say I should come with you."
Longshot shakes his head. "Absolutely not. I will not put you in danger."
"I'm an X-Men! I put myself in danger damn near every day!"
"It's not your fight, Alison!" He pulls himself up to seating and turns to face her again. "I cannot ask you to leave your home and fight for mine."
"You're not asking me. I'm offering." She watches as he stands and begins to pace near the door. "I love you, you know that. I want to help. All you talk about is freeing your people, returning to the rebellion, finally defeating Mojo. Don't you think I want to be a part of that? Don't you think that what's important to you is also important to me?"
He's shaking his head, refusing to listen to her. It infuriates her. She stands, discarding the copy of PEOPLE she'd been reading, and puts her hands on her hips. "My mutant powers could help you win, Longshot."
"You are not a weapon!" He shouts, whirling around and pinning her with a look of fury. "I will not put you in harms way!'
"Don't you dare treat me like I'm some helpless, fragile doll!" Ali shouts back. "I'm a fucking mutant! Don't you understand what that means here?! There are people who try to kill my kind every day! What do you even think being an X-Men means?! We're fighting the same battle as you, Longshot! We want equality for ourselves too!"
"You don't have Mojo here," He mutters.
"No," she shakes her head. "We don't. We have our own fucking neighbors who try to snatch our children away and drown them for looking different. We have congressmen trying to pass laws to put us in concentration camps. We have religious leaders turning our own families against us. We have -"
"Stop." His fists are clenched and he looks as if he is about to cry. He swallows, hard. "Please." He crosses the space between them in two long strides and wraps his arms around her. "I-I know the world has been unkind to mutants." He inhales deeply. "But Alison, I cannot bring you to Mojoworld. I can't subject you to the possibility of -"
"I don't care what the possibilities are," she cups his face, thumbing away the few tears that have slipped. "I love you and I'm going with you. There is absolutely nothing you can do to stop me."
He purses his lips and glares at her through watery eyes. "You are a horribly stubborn woman."
"I know, honey." She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "You'll thank me for it later."
How he came to be was unknown. The flash that he traveled through had brought him to this room, where a woman lies sleeping in her bed. Under a quilt her chest rises and falls with each breath; calm, unaware, pure.
There is nothing pure about him.
He keeps to the shadows, crouching in a corner to wait. Until the word is given, he cannot strike. The orders are definite, unbreakable and shackle him to the mission he must complete. And so he watches and waits and the woman does not rise. His fingers ache with the need of use. He brings them to his side, where he keeps his weapons and gently pats the metal in reassurance. He will not fail. He will not be sent back to the dark.
Suddenly the woman grunts and stirs in her sleep. He narrows his eyes at her, watching for anymore movement.
Nothing.
He rises, glaring at her peaceful slumbering. Coiled like a snake ready to strike, he reaches for the knives he keeps strapped to his right side. The metal slips between each finger, cold and deadly.
As soon as this is finished, he can return. He won't have to -
She whimpers. A pitiful, somber sound that makes him freeze. The sound is nothing extraordinary. And yet, there is an itch within his mind that he cannot ignore. He blinks and shakes his head, a buzzing slowly growing louder in his ears. Gritting his teeth, he emerges from the shadows and crosses the bedroom quickly, coming to stand next to the bed and loom over her.
She looks like a porcelain doll, unmarred skin and delicate eyelashes. She frowns in her slumber and it wakes an urge in him he cannot place. The buzzing grows louder.
Time moves slowly as he stares down at her. His grip on his knives tightens and a burning rage runs through him, a hatred swimming through his blood. Still as a statue, he glares down at this stranger, his mark, a victim in his quest for freedom. She is his only assignment, nothing more than a piece to the puzzle of his lost self. He was promised answers, granted only when life leaves her.
It's just a life. There are billions of them across the multiverse. What was the loss of this one to others that would still live on?
Snarling, he raises his hand to plunge the sharp points of his blades deep into her chest. He won't wait for the codeword, he can't. He needs answers. He can't return to the dark. A quiet growl bubbles up from his chest.
She doesn't wake.
…Not at first.
"Longshot?!"