A/N: The previous chapter was added in early August 2020 which means this update is less than a year which is not too shabby (for me). Huzzah! I hope you all enjoy the next installment of T.C.M.P.
They Call Me Pyro
Chapter 10
Everything Zen . . . I Don't Think So
Rogue gave my arm a reassuring pat as she stood up. She pushed the rolling chair returning it to its original spot, then walked back to my right side to pick up the food tray. "Do you need anything before I go?" she asked.
My jaw twitched but before I could say a syllable, she held up her finger, tilted her head slightly, and added, "Something I can actually grant."
She knew what I was going to say which is why she stopped me from even uttering the words. Though not as wide, my smile remained. A window, I thought. "I'm all set," I answered, "Don't be a stranger, Rogue."
She kept a happy expression but her eyes told a different story. I decided it was because she was concerned more than just feeling sorry for my predicament.
Turning my attention from the door to the recently added decoration by a single iced fist, I thought about how it fit metaphorically. Broken, crumbling fragments and rage clung to me like a conjoined twin, but, on the bright side, at least my memory was no longer fragmented. Overthinking tends to lead toward an infinite wormhole. Wormholes are worse than mazes. A maze has walls and an exit (if you can find it). A wormhole is transparent with no end and sanity is lost fairly quickly.
Sighing deeply, my gaze landed on the ceiling as my head slightly rotated upright onto the pillow. This room was becoming my wormhole. I can sense a mental imbalance and my sanity slowly trickling from me like an IV drip. Shit. Do I keep that to myself or do I tell my next visitor regardless of whom it is? I told Rogue I was fine . . .
"I'm fine," I stated out loud to myself. Am I convinced? Maybe if I say it again . . . "I'm fine. Really." Confidence elevated with each word. "I am perfectly fine." Nailed it!
At some point, sleep-driven unconsciousness washed over me.
- Six hours later -
My body jerked out of the blue and I awoke from stage 3 sleep. I snorted at myself knowing the reason: snoring. But very loud like a freight train. Forcefully, I shut my eyes but slumber would not be granted. I groaned at the unexpected disturbance, eyes open again now fully awake and nowhere to go. "This blows." If I were able to fold my arms over my middle to showcase my annoyance I would, but I can't, so I scowled instead. That gesture represents everything. Not just due to my freakishly loud snoring disturbing my rest. Crap. I can tell this day is going to be one of the worst days ever.
About a half-hour to forty-five minutes later, the door's deadbolt dropped with a thunk, and the door buzzed open. Well, he's definitely not going to improve my current mood, I thought initially while I silently blinked at my visitor with that same scowl still intact.
The door swung shut by its own weight but there was no noise to indicate it was locked. "Good morning, Pyro," he said. His blue eyes seemed to be staring into my soul but I easily held my glare.
My sour expression deepened at that annoying pleasantry. I could see that pleased him which meant he was goading me. "Asshole."
He shrugged, and said, "Never pass the opportunity to irk someone." After a few moments of silence, he then told me, "Those exact words came from your lips."
Absently, I clenched my jaw. Maybe my memory wasn't as intact as I had thought.
Bobby strode away from the door and undid a strap from my foot. "I wouldn't worry about that too much." Then he leaned over to reach the other foot to release it. "It was a very, very long time ago," he offered, so I wouldn't stress about it. To alter my position, I bent my legs at the knees as he unworked the bonds around my wrists. He continued, "In hindsight, that short statement said a lot about you. You were new to the Institute and I was selected to show you around . . . so, yeah, long time ago."
I nodded in acknowledgment despite that I really didn't remember. However, I had a solid gut feeling that I lived by that statement in my youth. Why on earth couldn't I remember? Putting a pin in that gnawing question, I rubbed my wrists the instant they were free. It was more out of habit than a necessity since the restraints are on for long periods of time, they aren't tight enough to affect circulation. Then I rubbed at my ankle near the contraption strapped to it—literally, an itch I couldn't scratch . . . until now. Standing up, I stretched all limbs and bent backward to include my back. Once repositioned and standing straight, I twisted my torso from side to side.
Passing me on my right, Bobby lifted his hand and touched the seemingly plain wall. A vertical panel separated itself an inch away from the wall with a touchpad. So that's why it's plain. Then he put three fingers—thumb, index, pinky, and bending the other two not being used—from his right hand in a precise place onto the pad. When access was granted, a door six-foot-high slid open and disappeared behind the wall to reveal a small bathroom.
My brows narrowed at the dramatics. So much tech for a crapper . . . then I realized the reason: psychiatric patients could cause major self-inflicted harm. I don't want to end my life. Too much of my life had passed while I was comatose. I feel reborn, well, I did before being put in this godforsaken room. I unclenched my hands as soon as I was aware I was showing non-verbal hostility because I did not want Bobby's guard to go up. Now was certainly not the time to try to overpower him as winning was not in my favor . . . not yet anyway.
Entering the bathroom, the door remained open as I looked over my shoulder. Our backs faced each other so I had some privacy. The white sink rested on a simple pedestal. Its color matched the majority of the space. The shower was compact and wide enough to fit only one person. The plastic curtain to contain the water splatter was transparent. The rest of the small room kept to the theme: plain and simple with little to no sharp edges. I took care of business, flushed, and as I washed my hands, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. Short stubble decorated my face and my hair was a little longer than I usually kept it. I raked my fingers through it until I was satisfied with the style. Also, I think I might've inadvertently lost a few pounds. When I turned to exit, Bobby was still in the same spot with his back still facing me.
"Done," I announced. He nodded once in acknowledgment and moved to the side a few inches since he was partially blocking the opening.
Stepping out, Bobby moved to a draw and pulled out two white towels. He turned to face me, closed the short gap between us, gesturing that I take them and shower. Remaining still, nothing was said as I momentarily weighed my options. Not knowing when I'd get my next shot to refresh and smell good, I accepted them. He turned around again to retrieve shampoo and soap. Since my hands were occupied, he placed them on top. "Is this thing going to shock me?" I asked, shaking my foot with the power-dampening device, glancing at it briefly.
"No."
Turning on my bare heels, I stepped back inside the bathroom and put the bathing essentials by the sink. Everything would be within arm's reach from the shower since it was deliberately absent of shelving/caddy. I shed my body of the clothing I had on from the Danger Room and pushed the discarded pile under the sink with my foot. Then I side-eyed Bobby to see that he was respecting my privacy though I know that there's no such thing as privacy in the boy's communal bathroom at the X-Mansion. Taking a stride or two toward the shower, I entered and pulled the plastic curtain closed. Turning the handle to the right, I lifted my head as the hot water hit my chest, exhaling deeply. It was comforting and immediately soothed the pent-up tension. Smiling, I let the water hit my face and then bent my neck to let my hair fall forward so I could watch the droplets from my hair drip off like liquid bombs around the drain. Plus, it just felt good, like a massage. Setting my back upright and straight, I kept my eyes closed for a while longer. Forgetting where I was (or not really caring) I started humming the first well-known toon that came to me. Bobby joined in but sang the words to Take Me Out To The Ballgame instead of humming along with me. He was clearly tone-deaf but it made me laugh aloud. I tried to stifle the laughter but I couldn't. It was impossible. I silently labeled him as the worst singer in the world. He continued to belt out despite my increased laughter. Happy tears leaked from my eyes. The continuous laughter made it hard to catch my breath so I had to plead with Bobby to stop. "Plea-se st-op," I choked out.
He did as I asked but not until the baseball song made it to the end.
Bracing myself on the white tiled wall to my left with one hand, I held my stomach with the other as I coughed. Once composed, I turned to let the water hit my back as I quipped, "Jeez, do you need to check to make sure I'm not smuggling anything between my cheeks?" I pushed my damp hair from impairing my vision. "Because you did a good job of making me cough my guts out. Nothing shoved up there would be able to stay hidden."
Bobby replied, yelling, so I could hear him, "I'm good. The cavity check was completed while you were unconscious."
I stiffened. That was an invasion of privacy unlike no other. A few long moments later he said, "Just messing with you." And then I relaxed. Damn it. Typically, I'm not gullible but he was very convincing. Perhaps because I couldn't see his expression. "Ha. Ha. Good one," I replied sarcastically over the shower noise.
"Are you coming out soon?"
"Don't rush me!" I exclaimed, jokingly. Facing the showerhead once again, I grabbed the small bottle of shampoo, popped the top, took a sniff, and then put about a nickel's worth in my palm.
About fifteen minutes later, I turned off the water. Pushing the curtain aside, I grabbed the first towel, tucked it snuggly around my waist, and briskly towel-dried my hair with the other. Not knowing what to do with the towel in my hand, I held onto it and picked up the garments under the sink. When Bobby turned to face me, he was holding deodorant, and a hospital gown was draped over his arm—can you guess the color? I'm going to pretend it's any other color than that or I'm going to strangle someone with it. My gray eyes locked onto his blue ones. Could he sense the reluctance? Probably. We traded. I got the short end of the bargain but at least I no longer smell like an ashtray. As I started to turn around I heard "Hold up." Remaining on the threshold, I turned my head to look at Bobby.
"Do you want to shave?"
"Yeah."
He eyed me for a moment and said, "I'm not going to regret it, am I?"
Scoffing, I fully turned to face him. "No. I don't want to kill myself or you." I paused, adding, "Not right now anyway." As soon as those four words passed my lips, I couldn't decide if that was a harmless joke or a warning. He didn't seem fazed by it. Though, to be fair, I wasn't very intimidating at the moment. He'd always be a nuisance . . . I mulled briefly before putting a mental pin in it knowing I'd have plenty of time to revisit that thought later when alone.
He snorted and quickly glanced at my leg. "You wouldn't get far on your own anyway."
Bobby was absolutely right and he wanted me to know it. Message received; loud and crystal clear. I hoped my expression remained neutral as I responded by extending my arm, palm facing up.
He gave me a closed-lipped grin, dumped the things in his hands by the door, and used a key to open a locked drawer that contained what was needed. Bobby placed the razor and shaving cream can in my free hand.
"Much obliged," I said, winking before turning my back on him once again. I heard Bobby shift but I didn't look to see if he fully turned. Being mostly in my birthday suit would be the only freedom I'd get a sense of for a while, thus, the gown would go on last. The quickest hygiene task was first and I put on more deodorant than I usually did; unsure if this was going to be a daily occurrence or not. My mirrored reflection stared back at me. If looks could shatter. Anger stirred behind my eyes. I took a long blink. Anger has always been like a friend of mine that never left my side—a friend I never asked for or ever wanted. Turning on the faucet, I cupped water into my hands and splashed my face. Stretching this task out as long as I could, I went to work and took my time to achieve grooming perfection.
With my breath refreshed and teeth brushed, I inhaled deeply before slipping the hospital gown over my head and body. The back was pre-tied so I wouldn't need an extra pair of hands. I wasn't sure I could handle my former peer's expected reaction. Why was I being such a weenie about this? Put on your big-boy pants, Johnny! Wait. I can't. I can't because I don't have any and that's probably why this sack is so emasculating. An orange jumpsuit would be preferred instead. After all, I was a prisoner, minus the iron bars and orange duds.
Walking out in my white, boring garb, I was able to manage between the threshold and Bobby's frame. Successfully, I bypassed his assumed facial expression and padded to the chair by the wall with the hole in it. During my short stroll, I noticed the sheets had been changed. It took some adjusting to sit backward in the chair as it's not an easy task when only covered by a gown. I draped my arms over the short backrest and challenged, "Got something to say?"
He shrugged. "That went smoother than I expected."
I extended my arms, my forearms leaning on the backrest, and then I spread my hands, fingers splayed slightly with palms facing up. "What can I say . . ." I said in a neutral tone and flashed Bobby a smile, "I'm cured. Docile."
He cocked his head to the side. "Docile?"
"Bend me. Shape me. Mold me into the perfect boy scout. After all, that's what they want, isn't it?"
Bobby sighed, turned, picked up the mess by the door, opened it, and tossed the pile into a rolling industrial laundry basket to the right of the opening. When the door snicked shut behind him, simultaneously his gaze met mine. "While you're a threat to us . . . we're doing it for everyone. Including humanity. Including you as I've told you prior." He paused. "What you do impacts us," he said, tone firm. "We don't want to make amends or more promises that only seem like empty words at this point. I know it doesn't seem like it, but this" he gestured to the room "is not so bad as opposed to the alternative." He noticed the disbelief on my face and Bobby scoffed. "We'll gladly hand you off to get poked, prodded, sedated with guaranteed shitty living conditions—" He stopped short and I blinked, processing. "Do I really need to go on, Pyro?"
I rubbed the back of my neck in frustration and then lowered my eyes. When I didn't say anything, Bobby continued, "We could turn this bad dream of yours into a nightmare, but we picked the best option for your sake."
"And yours," I shot back, my eyes meeting his once again.
He smirked and tilted his head slightly. "Theirs. I was outvoted," he admitted.
With a sly grin, I said, "So help me get out of here and then we'll both get what we want . . ."
Bobby stared at me. No matter what he was about to say, I swear there was a hint of consideration behind his eyes. As I waited, I attempted to persuade him with a power I didn't possess. Say yes. Say yes. Say yes. I probably looked as eager as a kid on Christmas morning. He was taking so long that I gestured for him to say something.
He narrowed his eyes at me but didn't speak. Was he choosing his words carefully? Weighing the pros and cons? Did he have to take a shit?
"Wish it was that simple. I'd snap at you, accusing you of not listening but—"
Cutting him off, I pointed at him, and spoke quickly, "You damn well know you have my full attention." Lowering my arm and smiling, I said matter-of-factly, "There isn't much to distract me in here."
"A willing listener by default," he said. "And before you interrupted me, I was going to give you credit for giving me your undivided attention."
"When the topic is about me . . . I listen," I told him with obvious pride.
"Okay self-absorbed prick," Bobby teased, "I have other responsibilities to get to today." With a quick, short shift and tilt of his head, he indicated the bed.
I wanted to complain but I had stretched my bathroom/hygiene break to the max so I kept quiet and transferred myself from the chair to the bed swiftly. Adjusting the gown so it wasn't bunched by my butt/thighs, I fidgetted until I was satisfied and comfortable. Bobby waited until I was settled and then he fastened my limbs.
x - X - x - X - x
Alone again with only my thoughts as company, which is just a fact and not a complaint necessarily as I could bitch about so many other things, but I won't because then I'd just get angry and I really need a break from that emotion.
Unpinning the thought from earlier, I mulled over that.
Bobby . . . Iceman . . . the icy prick in my side. Always. How does that ever change unless he's . . . out of the picture? Am I capable of ending someone's life? Guards don't count. Rogue would never forgive me and she'd easily kill me without breaking a sweat. Plus, I couldn't do that to Lexi. Crap. Why am I such a softy? I've been called selfish more than I can recall. Arrogant is high on that list as well. Okay, so Bobby's life was off the table. Even if just temporary, I'll figure out a non-lethal solution.
I'm not dependent on an external source anymore which now makes him and I even, but I cannot be naive; he's been training and I have only gotten a little taste of my evolution. My eyes closed, remembering the euphoria from that lick of power; my lips quirked at the corners in pleasure. I wanted to hold onto that, but I knew it would fade as all rushes do. While the escape was brief, the drive would linger.
Staring at nothing in particular as I lay in bed still confined to it, something I saw with the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned my head to see the brown spider crawling where the ceiling and wall meet. When it got to the middle, it walked on the ceiling about four or five feet away from the wall towards me. The spider dropped to the floor using its web to descend, but I couldn't see its landing with the edge of the bed obscuring my view.
Moments later, someone I thought was long gone stood in front of me at the foot of the bed. Skin a beautiful blue, curves in all of the right places, straight scarlet hair that ended at mid-length, and captivating yellow eyes. Unable to blink and speechless, I stared. How could I forget those eyes! In disbelief, I would've buried my face in the palm of my hand if I were physically able so I shook my head at myself instead.
She crossed her arms and disrupted the quiet by saying, "You look different."
"You're alive," I said in an octave just above a whisper. "Why didn't you reveal yourself the first time? I was in a coma for six years. My memory is better now but some things are still fuzzy. Your subtle hint as an arachnid makes sense now."
"Never dead," she corrected me. "Dead to Magneto when I selflessly shielded the bastard from getting 'the cure.' I was injected instead." She waved a hand in the air as if to put the past back in the past. Then she held up a finger. "Recon." She held up another. "You were loopy when I visited the first time."
"Yeah," I agreed, "I don't know what the hell they gave me."
She held up another finger. "More recon and lastly—" She held up a fourth finger. "—planning."
She followed my eyes to the camera in my room.
"I took care of that," she told me. "Enough chit-chat. We should go." Mystique unbuckled the restraints starting with my wrists first. I rubbed them and then stretched my arms as she took care of my feet. I stood up as soon as I was free to do so, ignoring the chill I felt when my bare feet touched the cold tiled floor. She left the metal cuff that hugged my ankle so the X-Men wouldn't be immediately tipped off that something was awry. She also told me that she didn't think there was a tracker on it. However, there was a 50/50 probability that they could track us. Mystique asked me if I wanted to proceed with getting sprung and I instantly nodded a few times rapidly in a row.
She checked the drawers for clothing. The bottom drawer contained basic plain light gray sweats that she tossed at me.
I turned, my back facing her as I untied the hospital gown and let it fall to the floor. Once both feet were in the pant legs of the sweats, I pulled up on them to cover my bare ass. The sweatshirt was halfway on when she dropped white tennis shoes at my feet. They were one size too big but better than what I had, which was nothing. Laces intact, I slid my naked feet into the shoes and then fastened the laces again to make sure they were tight.
By the door, Mystique morphed into Moira, which I mentally labeled as a good choice. With nothing sentimental here to take with me that would be left behind, I quickly joined my real-life 'get-out-of-jail card.' She opened the door without any extra effort and waited, letting me precede her. Looking back at her over my shoulder, I smirked. With all that was going on, I completely forgot about the exit from this room being a potential roadblock. When had the deadbolt dropped? My pace was normal as Mystique directed me. When we stood in front of an elevator, I gave her a look; she pushed the button anyway. The wait was long, or, perhaps I was just impatient. Once in the elevator, Mystique had to do more than just press a button. Her eye was scanned, but since I was behind her, I couldn't see if she had to alter it; however, Moira most likely has full access. The next prompt: hand scan. After that, a number pad. Once the six-digit code was entered then she was able to select a floor and get the metal box moving. I pondered how she got the code. Could she see the numbers clearly as a horse-fly? Did she snoop around and find it on a Post-it Note? Mystique took her position behind me again. Neither of us said anything. I was tense not knowing what I'd see when those doors opened. However, I did know, the fewer eyes on us, the better. I wanted to be long gone before they knew I was MIA.
Stepping out with Mystique/Moira close behind, I kept my eyes straight ahead and my pace steady. The narrow corridor was long and the motion sensor ceiling lights activated as we advanced. There wasn't much to observe so I assumed we were on a sublevel. The likeliness of coming across someone here was minimal so the tension I was feeling lifted by about fifty percent.
"There should be either a ladder or stairs up ahead," Mystique told me.
The iron ladder became visible when we were about four feet away from it. Part of the upper portion disappeared blocked by the wall but it was evident that it led to more than just a dead-end. I ascended first, pushing the hatch up and open by using both of my arms due to its weight. Humidity wafted over me. I partially stuck my head out so I could see the environment we were going to enter into. I only saw plants and flowers so I continued climbing up the last few rungs. Once out, I offered my hand to Mystique and she accepted the assistance. While she closed the hatch, I took a quick walkthrough. The greenhouse housed a variety of living things. The Venus flytrap, my favorite, waited with its traps agape to surprise small pests. If I used my finger to trigger the trap it would react, but I didn't want to give the carnivorous plant false hope at a snack. So far, this escape has been anything but false—Mystique had done her homework very well.
Rejoining her, no longer needing a disguise, she shed Moira's look. Yellow eyes looked at me as I gazed at the lawn that stretched for miles. She didn't utter that three-worded question; however, I could sense it. Getting out has been at the top of my list and I didn't want to wait; not even a second longer. My fingers wrapped around the door handle and I pushed it down to open.
Once the mansion was in our wake and mostly out of sight, Mystique made a beeline toward an area I don't recall ever exploring. She stopped. I ruled out 'taking a break' as a reason, mainly, because I doubt she needed one. Nevertheless, I wasn't going to protest, though, I was a little anxious without my power to defend myself. The soon-to-be-setting sun felt nice on my face as I breathed in the fresh air, appreciating the wide-open space.
Since we were reasonably free and clear, I came clean. "Thanks for the help but if you only sprung me to use me, I'm not interested."
She regarded me and the corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. "No longer a follower. Good," she said evenly. "What do you want?" Before I could answer, she added, "Do you have a plan? I heard what you said. You know I won't tolerate mutant suppression of any kind."
"No actual plan, yet," I replied. "All I know is . . . the X-Men aren't going to like it. Or me." Cocking my head to the side, I said, "I gave them a chance. I would've disappeared but they declined and now I'm going to be a thorn in their side." I bent down and rolled up the pant leg to uncover the x-gene-suppressing device. "How are we going get this off? Is it going to shock me if we try an unconventional way?"
She held up a small tool. "This is why planning is important." She crouched, motioning to use the instrument on the metal cuff, but stopped suddenly. Tilting her head back to look up at me with no emotion, Mystique said, "However, I am willing to see if it is capable of shocking you."
Mocking a thoughtful expression, I said, "I'll pass. Maybe next time." Then I winked as a dirty thought swirled in my head. "Get this off of me, Raven. Please." With her, I had to be polite. Plus, without her, I'd still be strapped to the bed.
Mystique did as I asked without further delay. The cuff released within seconds after she inserted the tool, which I realized was the key and not just some random hardware. My facial expression was easily readable: relief and gratification. I was truly free. No walls, no one telling me I'm unstable, nothing holding me back anymore.
She picked up the human-made solution to the 'mutant problem' and said disdainfully, "The newest version goes around our necks."
I held out my hand and she gave it to me. Raising that hand at eye level and squeezing it enough to make my knuckles white, I told her, "A token of what we're fighting against. That's what I want." And, let's face it, burning things would be an added bonus!
My eyes, now hardened with determination to match my tone, locked onto hers. "I jumped the gun before when I said 'we're'. Do you want to help me?" I asked. "I'm fully open to whatever you have to say on the journey ahead."
No words needed—her signature vixen smile answered my question. Mystique sauntered to a dwarf evergreen tree, crouched next to it, reaching into it she pulled out an odd-looking pouch. "Planning," she uttered once again as she walked back to me, clearly emphasizing the importance of forethought. Mystique took the cuff from me and dropped it into the bag. "This will block the signal if there is a tracker." She glanced around. "I will look at it more closely when we're elsewhere."
In acknowledgment, I nodded once, and then she gave me the bag to hold. Glancing at the bag containing my newly found motivation—one that doesn't just solely benefit me—in my possession, I asked her, "Do you think you can get your beautiful hands on a collar version?"
A/N: I indicate new chapter progress on my profile so just a reminder to check it periodically to see what I'm working on.
The chapter title consists of lyrics from a song titled Everything Zen by Bush.