A/N: Apologies for the wait. Enjoy.
They Call Me Pyro
Chapter 9
Unhinged to Zen
The last thing I remember . . .
Wait. Why is something so simple . . . difficult?
My vision was fuzzy. I grabbed at the semi-soft material on either side of my body, which didn't set off any cause for immediate alarm in my mind.
- An undetermined amount of time later -
I must've dozed off at some point because when my eyelids lifted I was able to see perfectly.
"Delightful," I muttered sarcastically after taking a quick scan of my surroundings. "I'm back where I started." The only difference I noticed right away—no windows. My head fell back hard onto the pillow. Once again I lay in a medical bed with complimentary bounds fastened to all of my limbs—I'd rather get a soft plush robe or mint. I'm easy to accommodate. Comfort was definitely lacking in this establishment.
My mind reverted back to the original unsolved issue since I couldn't do anything about the restraints. As soon as that thought crossed my mind, a wide grin parted my lips. I stared at my open palm, but nothing flashed before my eyes. Not even a spark.
Doubt swirled around in my head. Was I confusing fantasy for reality? No way; I'm not creative enough.
I heard a buzzing noise and the lock drop from the door, then seconds after that, a small group entered my room. The bunch included: The leader, muscle, and Chilly Willy.
Certainty shoved the doubt. Remembering, I let out an over-exaggerated gasp, and whined emphasizing every word, "You didn't let me finish my sentence."
I tried again, full concentration aimed at the palm of my hand. It was the only solution I could come up with to get myself out of this predicament.
"Stop it, Pyro. You're going to give yourself a migraine," said Scott. "It's not going to work no matter how hard you concentrate." He lifted the blanket and tossed it partially aside to reveal my right foot. Above the constraint on my ankle, there was a metal cuff that was the size of a house arrest tracking monitor. I could see a steady green light and a blinking blue light.
Knowing its purpose without having to ask, anger flared as I pulled at the arm restraints. "You can't keep me like this forever! You cannot fix me! I am not broken! I've evolved! This is who I am . . . like it or not!" My gaze locked tight on eyes I couldn't see. The restraints wouldn't budge so I gave up and relaxed.
Civil. Yeah, I could be civil. Sighing, I continued calmly, "Just let me go. You'll never have to see me again."
The leader took a moment before responding. "That's not true and you know it, Pyro," Scott said, firmly. "You're right, though, we can't keep you like this. However, we have the resources to contain you and you're well aware of that too."
Shiiit. My facial expression remained neutral though I was fuming mentally. I didn't want to be sedated for the rest of my life.
"Furthermore," continued Scott, "I refuse to believe this is who you are."
Uncontrollably, I started cracking up. I'm not sure if it's due to the drugs in my system or to get under his skin. Probably both.
"Scott, may I speak with you privately?" Bobby Drake asked over my laughter. He nodded and all three men exited.
Behind the closed door, there was an argument. I couldn't hear specifics but it sounded like it was between Ice Prick and Captain Prick. My guess: My former buddy didn't want me to remain in his vicinity; whereas his superior felt liable.
When the back and forth was over, the loser stalked into my room alone. I smiled and then opened my mouth to speak, but he didn't give me the chance.
"You can't manipulate me so shut your trap or I'll seal it shut for you," he threatened.
Damn. He's not playing around. Sounds like I ought to obey. However, my Cheshire Cat smile remained intact.
"I don't fucking want you here!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. Nothing new. Thus, I'm not surprised in the slightest. "You're a danger to my family and everyone at this school. I can't believe—" Bobby turned around swiftly as if he was looking for something to hit or throw to release the rage. With nothing in reach to break, his fist and half of his forearm froze over before striking the wall.
Even if I were allowed to articulate . . . I wouldn't know what to say. It wouldn't be comforting words, that's for sure. I sure as hell didn't want to be here either. I had the exact same feeling when I was younger. Nothing has changed, I thought somberly.
Besides broken pieces of plaster hitting the floor, there was silence. If he really knew me—which, I know he does—he'd know I have to break the silence, warning aside. "Feel better now?" I asked.
"No." He didn't look at me. "It would've been satisfying had it been your face instead."
If that was meant to sting, it didn't. I couldn't care less. I smirked, and said, "If you did, it would be the cheapest shot in history! I'm bound and literally powerless. Plus, I'm still recovering from serious head trauma, my face included." I shifted slightly in the bed. "Did I mention I was powerless?" That detail bothered me the most. A brief moment of power snuffed almost immediately. My lips quirked at the fond memory.
Bobby crouched by the wall at the far side of the room near the door and then sat. One leg rested Indian style along the floor, the other was bent over the other like an upside-down V. Both of his hands rested on his knee as he stared at the ring with so many vows attached to it. "An organization attempted to enslave mutants. We, the X-Men, stopped them."
I glanced at the shame on my ankle. "Hypocrites."
He snorted. "Of course you would say that," Bobby said, tiredly with a sigh. "You're like a broken record. Or Holden Caulfield."
"Phonies," I mocked jokingly. Then I slightly pushed myself up in the bed to see him better. "Ironic . . . using their gadget on me that was built with hatred."
"And fear," he mumbled quietly. His gaze finally met mine. "It wasn't an easy decision, but it was the only option. I meant it when I said you were a danger to everyone." He paused, adding, "Including yourself." To let that sink in, no words were exchanged for a few moments. "Dude, you were on such a massive power trip . . . it was quite frightening." He stood up and leaned his back against the wall. "Sure, it must've sucked growing up here and not being allowed to use your gift unless you were in the danger room as where others didn't have restrictions." He took a breath. "Professor X never meant it as a punishment."
"Can you blame me for being power-hungry when I finally get a taste of what I've been craving?"
Ignoring my statement, he continued, "You resented him for it . . . probably still do and you don't even realize it."
My gaze on him lingered. To me, Bobby sounded like a robot unable to form his own ideas. I decided not to challenge. Ignoring instead, I said, "Just look at me and absorb the whole picture, Bobby." There was no mistaking my tone for anything but serious.
He did as I asked but I couldn't read his expression. After a few moments, he exited without another word. When the door clicked shut, the lock engaged, and the buzzer went off.
"The resentment is justified," I whispered to the empty room. Why am I the only one that sees the underlying reason?
It wasn't until the excitement died down and alone that I noticed a TV in the upper left corner. The remote sat on top of the table next to me. When I reached for it, my hand was jerked back suddenly. I mentally cursed at myself for forgetting about my current limited limb mobility. Sleeping wasn't an option given that I was wide awake, so instead, I thought about the honest one-on-one talk with Drake and my future.
I'm not the problem, I've never been. They are. Why can't they just leave me be? Why am I always on a tight leash like a misunderstood Pit Bull? Did I really reach maniac the other day in the Danger Room or were they overreacting? Ugh, and I can't do anything about the frustration that's starting to spill over because I can't get off of this damn bed!
My head hit the plastic headrest with a thunk. If I did that more and harder they'd come running. But I also knew that would guarantee sedation and isolation, which would land me in a position I'm trying to avoid. Craaap. Why did I cackle like I'm the Joker earlier? I took a deep breath through my nose then let it out slowly through my mouth and repeated that method a few times. Zen. Yeah, I could use some of that.
I spotted a brown spider at the far side of the ceiling above the door. Its pace slow and steady—only humans always seem to be in a rush. When it reached the center of the ceiling, the spider stopped. "Got a light?" I asked it and I laughed immediately after. "That's right. I don't need one anymore but I could really use a cigarette." The arachnid remained in the same spot. I shrugged my shoulder and I felt the need to explain, "Hey, I have to entertain myself somehow and you're all I've got currently. Could use a little help with this." I lifted my right leg as much as I could with the restraint and rotated my ankle. I waited a moment, and said, "Didn't think so." Its black eyes flashed yellow; all six or eight of them. I blinked rapidly a few times, thinking I was seeing things. It still hadn't moved. I peered at it, trying to refrain from blinking to see if its black eyes would change color again. It didn't. I lowered my body just enough so my head could lay on the pillow instead of the uncomfortable headrest. I closed my eyes for a few moments and when I reopened them the spider was gone. I checked every wall that I was able to view but I didn't catch sight of any brown spots with eight legs. What kind of drugs did they give me? And how much?
Possible hallucinations and distractions aside, I had to focus on reflection. If not now when?
Life. If I had a therapist, that's where I'd start. I understand that life isn't fair. No one said it was. We just think it's supposed to be. But my life has never been fair. I guess you could say I should be used to it by now. Maybe I was. But now that I regained some memories and seeing as where I ended up—neutralized and fastened to a bed—that understanding that I've come to terms with and was numb to is now a freshly opened wound that's bleeding profusely. It stings. A single tear rolled out from the corner of my eye and it slowly continued a path down my cheek to my jawline. I turned my head to the side and used my shoulder to wipe it away. Don't be fooled. I'm not sad, just angry. However, anger alone won't get me very far. It's just an emotion, but it can be used as fuel. Usually, that emotion fuels people to make dumb decisions because they act on impulse without thinking. I won't make that mistake. I can't afford to, frankly. Life isn't fair but I'll force it to balance in my favor. I'm overdue.
Still confined to this fucking bed, though. I groaned loudly, unable to do much else. Patience training starts at this very moment. It's an important skill that I've never bothered with in the past but it's something I am capable of changing.
It was quiet and dull until—to my surprise—a brunette appeared in my room. She immediately apologized. "I was never here," she said, turning on her heel.
She was halfway through the wall by the door when I managed to verbalize, "Wait."
Stopping short, she turned to face me and took a step forward so that her body was fully in the room.
"I've been alone in here for quite a while. I don't even know what time it is." She didn't offer me that information. Frankly, it wasn't important to me, just a fact. "Hold on . . . I remember you," I told her, trying to stall while I was thinking. After a few heartbeats, it came to me. "Kitty, right?"
She nodded and said, "Katherine, but I prefer Kitty."
"Are you a spy?" I teased, flashing her a smile.
Her lips parted to mirror my smile as she crossed her arms over her chest. "If I were, that would be classified information."
I cocked my head to the side. "So what are you doing exactly?" She regarded me. Probably deciding whether or not to answer. "You don't have to answer, Kitty. Just stalling," I told her sincerely. I noticed she didn't seem to be uncomfortable which I found intriguing. Did I achieve Zen? Probably not but I'll give meditation credit for keeping me grounded, currently. "Could you do me a solid and hand me the TV remote before you go?"
She looked up. A slight smile tugged the corner of her mouth. "One sec," she told me and then went through the wall. Only her hands came out by the camera and she pulled on a wire. Her hands disappeared and I flinched, startled when she popped out a foot or so from me. She grabbed the remote and put it directly into my hand. Kitty disappeared into the wall by the camera and fixed what she'd altered. When she was done, she waved, and her hand is the last I saw of her.
Pushing the power button on the remote, the TV clicked to life. An animated program appeared on the screen. Normally, that type of show would be ideal but I kept changing channels until I found the news. Though my four-walled world was currently controlled, I was curious to find out what was going on with the rest of the world. After the weather report and a segment about a reality show finale recap, I channel surfed again. I stopped on the History Channel. The title of the show grabbed my attention: Forged in Fire. It was a competition type of show. Even with my unique skill, I would never be able to accomplish what the contestants are able to do with just metal, hand tools, electric tools, some water, and flame. Historic weapons are amazing and some even beautiful. So beautiful I'd imagine it was a great honor to be slain with its sharp blade! During the commercial break, I pressed the info/display button which informed me that it was close to six in the evening. As the winner was announced, he made a short comment about the win, and then the credits rolled. At the bottom of the screen, the words BREAKING NEWS rolled from right to left. I pressed the appropriate digits on the remote to go to that station directly. Those same two words in all capital letters were at the bottom. As I suspected it involved my kind. Mutants. My right hand tightened around the remote. The Registration Act was back on the table and the way they were talking, it sounded to me as if it was very close to a done deal.
x - X - x - X - x
I heard all of the sounds to indicate I had a visitor. The door opened. I narrowed my eyes at the guest with a food tray in hand. I wasn't going to be fed like a baby. Not by her. Not in this condition because it was far from sexy.
"Oh, don't pout, Pyro." The door closed behind Rogue and I pressed the off button to the TV.
"I'm not."
She slightly smiled at me as she strode to my right side. "Your words don't match your muttered tone." Rogue placed the tray on my lap. Then she undid the restraint from my right wrist. "Only one is allowed off. I figured you'd prefer your dominant hand." She lifted the cover from the tray. The comforting scent of the food hit my nostrils quickly. My stomach rumbled as if it had been awoken.
"Brilliant," I replied sarcastically.
She tensed. "I'm not the bad guy here," she said defensively.
Arching an eyebrow, I asked, "Are you sure about that?" I took some bites of food and swallowed. "It seems to me your husband is just parroting what he's told."
She walked around to my left side and rolled the cushioned stool with a short backrest to the other side to sit. "You're only saying that because you didn't like what you heard."
I scoffed and put the plastic fork down that had meat speared to it to drink some water.
She gathered her hair with her hands and pushed it over her left shoulder. "At least you aren't whiny anymore. What? You thought I was going to feed you?"
Keeping my expression neutral and unreadable for her question, I put the cup down, picked up the fork again, and continued to eat my dinner. Rogue kept her eyes on me the whole time but she didn't indicate initiating any further conversation. I opened my mouth to say something sexist that would get her angry but decided against it. I can't alienate everyone and I might need her on my side later. I wondered if her husband knew she was here with me and if they argued about it. She didn't appear to be distracted or upset; thus, I settled the thought and decided he didn't know. I smiled to myself which caught her attention as I knew it would.
"What?" she asked.
I probably looked like a smug asshole but I couldn't help it. "Nothin'," I answered neutrally. I finished everything on the tray except for a few pieces of onions. Placing the fork on the tray, I then ran my fingers through my hair while I had the opportunity to do so. She didn't press me to answer. "Do you know how long they are going to keep me like this?" Then I thought I should be specific and added, "Isolated and confined?"
Her eyes met mine. "I don't know, Pyro. Honest." She took the tray from my lap and put it on the small dresser where the cover was. "I believe they want to see how mentally stable you are before coming to any decisions. I know what happened in the Danger Room. I sincerely believe it's something you can't resolve on your own. Do you agree?"
I turned my head to glare at the door. "I'm fine."
"You may be fine now but you're not fine." Then she pointed out again that it was another thing I didn't want to hear. I heard her perfectly. To get me to agree is a different story.
We sat in silence. I stretched and moved my right arm in different directions. It popped when I pulled it across my torso to my left.
"So tell me about Lexi?" I said, genuinely interested. Apparently, I had a soft spot for the Squirt.
Her face warmed instantly followed by an unmistakable smile that beamed admiration. Rogue inhaled before speaking so that told me she had a mouthful to say. "She's the best. Absolutely the best. She listens and offers to help with anything and everything. Her favorite color is purple and she wants a dog very badly. She reminds me every day like I've forgotten."
"Does she ever ask for a sibling?"
"No," she said, "I think it's because it's never just the three of us. You know?"
I nodded. To some, the Xavier Institute was one huge, extended family so I understood why Lexi didn't think to ask for a brother or sister because she has many that don't share her personal space, unlike a sibling.
"Lexi likes to draw, color, and make Logan play dolls with her."
Incredulous, I said, "And does he?"
"Oh, yes. He doesn't use the two-letter word with her."
My eyes narrowed at her in sustained disbelief so I asked Rogue with a straight face, "What does your daughter have on him? She must have something to blackmail him with."
Smile still intact, Rogue went on, "She doesn't give Bobby or me a hard time." She chuckled. "Ok. She makes a fuss about vegetables—anything green, mostly."
As she continued to gush about her daughter, I wondered what the Squirt's future would look like. The probability that she contracted the x-gene from Bobby is high.
Following her shifting gaze, as she talked, it landed on the cracked wall. She didn't inquire and I didn't offer context. "I don't know what I'd do without Lexi in my life," she told me after wrapping up about her daughter, her gaze back to me. "Any decision I make, I have to keep her in mind because what I do affects her."
I processed what she said and I also detected what she didn't say. It's not just her choices . . . it's the X-Men's too.
Flashing her a wry smile, I said, "Is that the only reason as to why you're nice to me?"
She rolled her chair closer to me and put both of her hands on my right arm. Then she moved her head slightly and our gazes locked. "I thought it was obvious that I truly care for your wellbeing but you're severely headstrong." Her eyes shifted for a moment. She resisted the urge to (playfully, I assume) do something to my head.
"My power is suppressed. Aren't the bounds overkill?" I asked, disbelief evident from my tone.
I couldn't tell if her eyes showed worry or sadness when she told me no. Rogue's answer to my question was undoubtedly sincere. Shit. I was going to be in here for a while. As that realization set in, I made myself as comfortable as I could get. Lastly placing my recently described "hard-head" onto the pillow. I wondered why she was able to get through my thick skull when it seemed like nobody else could penetrate. I eyed her thoughtfully.
"John . . ."
I didn't correct her. There was plenty of time for thinking when alone. Steering the conversation away from me, I told her about Forged in Fire instead.
When it was time to secure my right wrist with the restraint, I didn't give her a hard time.