A/N: Here for alignment purposes.

In Your Blood

Chapter 6

Pyro's 3rd Reaction, Response

Reaction

First of all, don't blame me for a minuscule paper cut. So beneath you. And if you ever call me Cupcake again I'll borrow Bobby's power and use it to do something you're going to hate. Don't test me, Allerdyce!

He shivered as his thoughts zipped straight to his lower region. Then Pyro swore as his pants became taut. 'No! No! What is wrong with you!? That is not an exciting threat,' he internally chastised. "Severely inappropriate!" he yelled, hastily getting up out of the chair to shut the door, grabbing a box of Kleenex on the way back to his desk. The whole task was uncomfortable but necessary. He usually complained about his bedroom being small but tonight he was grateful. Once seated again, he pushed his pants and boxers down to pool around his ankles to proceed with the process and finish up the chore when it should've been the opposite. "Bitch," he muttered with a crooked smile spreading his lips. Ignoring the tissues dotting the right side of the floor, he tugged his clothing back over his legs and continued with Rogue's letter.

No one got hurt that day in Boston—besides your ego. Murdering law enforcement doesn't get swept under a rug—they work nonstop to catch the perpetrator. You attacked them, but because of me, they didn't need to plan a funeral for anyone. You're welcome. If I didn't dampen your power would you have stopped or kept hurling fire? You know as well as I do, which. And I don't even need to delve deep into my subconscious to consult your imprint. He talks to me, but that's a different story.

Pyro's brows rose; unbeknownst that they act like a squatter inside her head and talk to her. He made a mental note to ask her about it as his curiosity spiked. Was that version a replica or completely different?

You keep that news clipping because it's like a trophy. An achievement. You don't need it. Or is it a crutch, unknowingly? Chew on that!

He glared at the printed media clipping tacked to the wall on a small narrow corkboard strip but ultimately disagreed with her. It was a reminder as he said and it was his truth, which was all that mattered. In the past, Pyro had doubts from time to time and those uncertainties were always swiftly negated because of that core reminder. He didn't wear his feelings on his sleeve like the majority of the population tends to do, but he has empathy and a heart despite the occasional sociopath claims by former classmates.

It's not a shock to anyone at the mansion that I'm not comfortable in my own skin, but it's not like I was given a choice if I wanted to absorb the life force of anyone I make skin-to-skin contact with. You'd tell me to embrace it. But it's not that simple. It really isn't. It's funny, well, not really, that I can walk among humans without receiving double-take glances unlike others with exterior mutations, but I know my skin is toxic where I have to cover it up, always having to be cautious. It's not liberating and I can't escape.

'I'm the only one who is not afraid but you don't see me. You never have. It's frustrating, still is, and yes, I've been holding a grudge.' He shook his head as if that would make his heartstrings disappear. He didn't want to admit that to himself but it was self-reflection honesty hour, apparently. Aloud he said, "Do you see me now? Now that I'm gone?" And then let out a sarcastic laugh.

Honestly, I don't know where I want to be because no matter where I am...

I'm imprisoned.

'Damn it, Rogue. Why do I want to give you the biggest hug? I'm supposed to hate you. And I've got a grievance with you. Remember?' "Shit," Pyro swore aloud then eyed the clipping again. A moment later he stood, pulling the article, tearing it an inch and a half where it was tacked. The pyromaniac read the article and then fisted it, molding it into a ball. He took a few paces to the small trash bin letting the newspaper ball drop in. Next, he picked up the bin to clean the floor of the Kleenex rather than make several unnecessary trips back and forth. He contemplated torching the bin's contents but decided against it as he set it down by the door. Using his power against enemies and mutant-hating politicians was highly encouraged but stinking up the Brotherhood's living quarters was not on that list. Then it occurred to him he no longer had a personal extinguisher following him around. 'Guess he was good for something.'

Response

I'm usually not this forthcoming but I'll make an exception. I'll begin by letting you know that it seems like I'm starting to forgive you. Furthermore, I've retained what you wrote and processed (most) of it and redecorated a bit. I almost included a portion of the article to prove that I got rid of it, but you'll have to trust me on that. Perhaps these letters are therapeutic as you've stated and cathartic. However, let me pivot for a moment. I know I have no right to this next question but I'm going to ask anyway: what's going on at the mansion? I'm not asking for X-Men secrets or anything of that sort, just a random story or two. Preferably one with Bobby at the forefront.

Are the tables turning? But let's be crystal clear. For you. I don't regret my decision. Sure, my bedroom is bland and small, but I don't have to share it. It was also windowless but he didn't dare reveal that.

Pyro re-read the last seven words he wrote and thought, I'd gladly share it with you.

You say you're not comfortable. We'll let's spin that around. Do others avoid you? Have I ever flinched in your presence? I know the answer to that like I know the back of my hand. He considered crossing out the last sentence but struck the thought almost immediately. After revealing some of his cards . . . what's a few more? I didn't twitch in your presence even after the shit that went down on Bobby's porch. I was mostly livid more than anything else, but—and it's a big one—I'm letting that go as I've stated at the beginning of this letter.

PS: I must know: what does my imprint say to you? And are they an exact clone of me or nothing like me at all?

PPS: This may be so off base but are you able to quiet any of the imprints? Like mentally put them in a soundproof box? I bet it's possible. You're strong in every way that counts. Don't let them make you think otherwise.