A/N: I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. This update is my present to you.

They Call Me Pyro

Chapter 3

They

[Two weeks later]

Physical therapy is . . . well . . . physical. I complained a lot. My body complained too as it ached every-freaking-where! Sweat-soaked hair clung to my forehead and my clothes stuck to my body. Over and over I would say 'I can't' and Moira would say the opposite. It was annoying as hell, but it worked.

Eventually, the torture was over for the day. Moira helped me back to the bed. Usually, that bed made me cringe, but right now it was exactly what I wanted.

"Take a thirty-minute rest, Pyro. When I come back, I'll assist you to the showers."

Before I laid back to relax, I quickly gulped down a full glass of water. I stared at the empty space where a television set should be. Oh, I asked for one and was promptly denied. They didn't give me a reason. The books they left for me just collected dust. When I wasn't sleeping or relearning how to be mobile, I was writing. It hasn't helped resurface memories from my past yet, but I like to think it keeps me from doing something stupid.

Before I knew it Moira was back. She lied. That was not thirty minutes, but this time I didn't complain as I was more than eager to shower. I got to my feet on my own and then looped my arm around the back of her neck using her as a human crutch. I had time to observe the hall as I slowly shuffled my feet towards an elevator. I passed many closed doors—some required codes to allow access and others didn't. This place was bigger than I'd imagined. As soon as Moira pushed the 'up' button for the elevator, the doors opened. I don't know how far that hall went, but it went beyond the elevator. As the doors closed, I thought: 'from one small room to a metal box . . . what an improvement.' I smiled. Sarcasm never fails me. It was like comfort food—without the calories.

The doors slid open and to my surprise, this floor was very different than where I'd come up from. It is modern and fancy, but normal. Since coming back to conciseness, I haven't had the luxury of fresh air, sun rays or the freedom that comes with being outdoors. The huge window at the far end was worth the extra steps. Technically I was still trapped, but not by walls. I removed my arm to give Moira and my limb a break. Resting my forehead on the cool glass, my eyes drifted from treetops to grass to people—kids to be exact. They stood in a circle (from my vantage I could only see half, but I knew it was a circle) kicking a soccer ball to each other. I saw movement in the corner of my eye and my gaze followed it shortly after. They were much older than the soccer kids—possibly my age or close to it. They were all engrossed in a conversation, and from the looks of it, they seemed . . .

"Come on Pyro the shower is calling you."

"Do I smell that bad?" My breath fogged the window. Regardless of my previous rhetorical statement, I still added, "I am fully aware that I reek." My forehead left an imprint. Without giving it a second thought, I left it for someone else to clean.

Moira and I passed sinks and then rows and rows of lockers. Eyeing an opening towards the back, which I pegged, held the showers; Moira stopped at the edge of the last bench that was the closest to the opening. Before she could ask, I said, "Thanks for the help, but I think I can do this on my own." With that statement, I planted my butt on the bench.

"I'll be right outside in the hall if you need me."

Once she exited, I pulled off my damp shirt and let it fall to the floor. When you weren't steady on your feet, removing pants wasn't as easy as it should be, but I managed . . . eventually by leaning on a locker. I slowly padded my way into the first bathing area, twisting both knobs the second I got the chance to do so. I stretched out both of my arms on the partition/privacy walls to keep me steady. I let my head fall back and then shut my eyes—just darkness and the sound of running water put me at ease. The water was a pinch too hot, but I didn't care. I didn't want to move an inch. This was the first time in a long time that I was able to relax every bone in my body; including and most importantly my mind.

An hour later (Yes, one hour later) . . .

Besides the fact that I know little to nothing about who I am or my history, I think it's fair to declare that that shower was probably the longest I had ever taken. Hell, I'll ever take. I didn't care, I needed it—it was like someone pushed the reset button on my mood.

I wrapped the towel around my waist. Droplets of watermarked my path to the sink. I stared at the stranger looking back at me in the mirror—if Moira had asked me to pick myself out of a group of photos I wouldn't have been able to do it successfully until now. 'So that's what I look like.' I inspected my beard, and ultimately decided it had to go. Everything I needed to remove the facial hair was provided for me. I guess that's what Moira was doing previously while I was taking a breather. Since the beard was long, I couldn't just start with the razor. I'd have to trim it first; thus, the task took some time before I was finished. I rinsed off the lingering shaving cream and toweled my face dry. I looked younger. I smirked at myself, which in turn triggered a memory that lasted only a split second. I re-enacted the memory as I saw it exactly by glancing at my right hand, palm facing me. It looked ordinary, but the markings on my hand matched the outline of the contraption I saw around my wrist. My entire life is a giant jigsaw puzzle that has to be put back together. This piece is just a corner of the frame, but it belongs.

With my mind concentrating on other things a thought finally dawned on me: They vacated the floor and showers for me. Was it to protect my ego or for a different reason? I noticed earlier that the older males outside seemed peeved about something and this must be why. I sat on the bench and leaned forward to open the locker that was labeled 'Beaubier'. Sweats. I wasn't thrilled, but not surprised. I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting, but I guess anything is better than the rank apparel that remained on the floor where I'd left it. They could be torched for all I care. No amount of detergent will get that smell out—fire is probably the only alternative.

After I put on the dark gray sweats, I rummaged through the locker I was already invading. Underneath towels, clothing, and various hygiene products, I discovered a black bag. I noticed there was a single yellow X on the front after I pulled it out.

As soon as I gripped the zipper, I heard Moira's voice. "How are you doing, Pyro?"

I quickly gazed in that direction. The door was slightly ajar, but she was still on the other side of it as I saw her silhouette. "I'll be right out," I yelled back, stuffing the bag back where I'd found it. I don't know why I felt like I had to be sneaky; I was simply just trying to get answers to the questions that they can't answer. Memories, however, can't be forced to resurface, but to give them a boost I should be surrounded by familiar territory and faces, which, they could help me with. Recovery required certain steps: first, regain mobility/strength, and second, everything else.

'Why am I being isolated?' I wondered on the way out of the locker room.

I'll never forget the look Moira gave me when I emerged. I know I looked like a different person. Hell, I felt like a completely different person.

Neither of us said anything on the journey back to my whole world—room X-2.

Once Doctor MacTaggert left me to myself, I rolled up my sleeves and began to write. I wrote in detail the memory that revealed itself earlier as well as theories and questions. One of the bigger questions being: what are they keeping from me? I circled that question multiple times. I'm not being paranoid—I know they are because I can't shake that feeling.

Fully absorbed with my notes, I found myself absently sketching the yellow symbol I saw on the gym bag. I studied it long and hard hoping an answer would jump right out at me. Hastily, I closed the notebook and stuffed it under my pillow when I heard the door buzz. Shortly after, a tall muscular man with dog tags hanging around his neck walked in with a scowl.

He stared me down for a few heartbeats. "They say you don't remember anything." He said to me in a gruff voice. Does he always scowl or was that just his face?

"That would be true." I replied, pausing for a moment, "But there's something about you that makes me think you'll tell me what they won't . . ."

He laughed. Okay . . . so I guess he is capable of other facial expressions."You can't manipulate me, kid."

Kid. That irked me, but I remained unperturbed. Crossing my arms over my chest, I asked, "What do you want?" I hoped he heard the annoyance in my voice.

"Can't bullshit a bullshitter."

Confused, I studied him. Why would I lie? What would I have to gain? He turned around and the door buzzed. When he reached the doorjamb, I said, "I didn't catch your name . . ."

Just before the door closed, he said over his shoulder, "Didn't give it."

A/N: Did I ever mention that I love reviews? A BIG thank you to those that left one for the last chapter! I love hearing from my readers. Your excitement gives me the motivation needed to update as soon as I can.

You can always check my profile for progress notes!

Have a happy and healthy new year! I know I'm excited for 2014 for X-Men: Days of Future Past, among other things!