X Men Movieverse Ficlet
Title: Iron
Rating: G
Summary: Pyro has a surreal vacation with "the bad guys."
Feedback is deeply appreciated!
Iron
I don't know what I expected. Maybe a cave somewhere. Or a penthouse in Manhattan. Not a beach house in Mexico.
By the time we got there we were really tired. I hadn't slept more than a couple of hours in the car and a couple of hours on the helicopter in four days. So I just sort of fell into the bed Mystique pointed to and went to sleep, not even thinking about where we were or what we were doing.
When I woke up, I could hear the ocean. I went out on the deck and watched the sun setting. That's how I knew we were on the west coast. Then I went to look for something to eat.
Someone (Mystique?) had been shopping because the refrigerator had a bunch of stuff in it that was fresh - six thick steaks, bags of fresh spinach, salad dressing, a head of broccoli, sliced rare roast beef in a deli bag. Also a couple of bottles of wine and a 2 liter of Coke. Cool. I made myself a sandwich and poured a Coke and went back out on the deck.
The light was fading and you could hear the ocean pounding. We were up almost in the cliff, with a set of metal stairs leading down to the beach. I could see a few lights coming on here and there down the beach, but not many. Very private. Expensive as hell.
It was really quiet. I wondered where they were. Probably still asleep.
Caffeine helped. And food. I could feel my head clearing for the first time in days.
"Pyro?" The deck door opened. Magneto was wearing gray pants and a black shirt, and his hair was wet. "Have you eaten?"
I waved the remains of my sandwich at him. "Sort of."
He nodded. With a glance, the metal storage door opened at the end of the deck. Stacked inside were some wooden deck chairs. "Help me get these out."
I did. They were really heavy, the kind of solid redwood chairs that last forever. Hauling out the second one, I asked, "So why aren't they cast iron? You could just fly them out."
He looked down at the spaced boards meaningfully. "Because I want a chair, not a grill. They sit in the sun all day."
I could feel myself turning red. Right. Clever, dude.
He gave me a hand with the table. If I hadn't been standing close I wouldn't have noticed the sharp breath when he picked up the edge.
"I got it," I said. I moved the table over between the chairs. "You ok?"
He shrugged. "Do you want proper dinner?" He walked back to the doors, slowly and kind of stiffly.
"Yeah," I said.
We all took turns cooking at the school. It was supposed to build character or something for everyone to share chores. So I know how to wash spinach and make a salad and put some potatoes in the oven to bake. It was kind of surreal.
I was washing the spuds while he was rubbing the steaks with garlic and pepper, thinking this is what the bad guys do? They cook dinner? This is like going to the beach with your parents or something. Not that my parents ever went to the beach. Not that my parents actually speak or anything. Not that either one of them would take me to the beach, or anywhere else. But if you had the kind of parents who took you to the beach, then this is what it might be like.
Mystique appeared as the steaks were finishing cooking. She put plates on the table on the deck, and we ate outside. It was really good. Nobody said much. Magneto ate like he hadn't seen decent food in months. Which was probably true.
And kind of made me mad. Because it occurred to me what steak and spinach and the roast beef and broccoli in the fridge all had in common: iron.
Rating: G
Summary: Pyro has a surreal vacation with "the bad guys."
Feedback is deeply appreciated!
Iron
I don't know what I expected. Maybe a cave somewhere. Or a penthouse in Manhattan. Not a beach house in Mexico.
By the time we got there we were really tired. I hadn't slept more than a couple of hours in the car and a couple of hours on the helicopter in four days. So I just sort of fell into the bed Mystique pointed to and went to sleep, not even thinking about where we were or what we were doing.
When I woke up, I could hear the ocean. I went out on the deck and watched the sun setting. That's how I knew we were on the west coast. Then I went to look for something to eat.
Someone (Mystique?) had been shopping because the refrigerator had a bunch of stuff in it that was fresh - six thick steaks, bags of fresh spinach, salad dressing, a head of broccoli, sliced rare roast beef in a deli bag. Also a couple of bottles of wine and a 2 liter of Coke. Cool. I made myself a sandwich and poured a Coke and went back out on the deck.
The light was fading and you could hear the ocean pounding. We were up almost in the cliff, with a set of metal stairs leading down to the beach. I could see a few lights coming on here and there down the beach, but not many. Very private. Expensive as hell.
It was really quiet. I wondered where they were. Probably still asleep.
Caffeine helped. And food. I could feel my head clearing for the first time in days.
"Pyro?" The deck door opened. Magneto was wearing gray pants and a black shirt, and his hair was wet. "Have you eaten?"
I waved the remains of my sandwich at him. "Sort of."
He nodded. With a glance, the metal storage door opened at the end of the deck. Stacked inside were some wooden deck chairs. "Help me get these out."
I did. They were really heavy, the kind of solid redwood chairs that last forever. Hauling out the second one, I asked, "So why aren't they cast iron? You could just fly them out."
He looked down at the spaced boards meaningfully. "Because I want a chair, not a grill. They sit in the sun all day."
I could feel myself turning red. Right. Clever, dude.
He gave me a hand with the table. If I hadn't been standing close I wouldn't have noticed the sharp breath when he picked up the edge.
"I got it," I said. I moved the table over between the chairs. "You ok?"
He shrugged. "Do you want proper dinner?" He walked back to the doors, slowly and kind of stiffly.
"Yeah," I said.
We all took turns cooking at the school. It was supposed to build character or something for everyone to share chores. So I know how to wash spinach and make a salad and put some potatoes in the oven to bake. It was kind of surreal.
I was washing the spuds while he was rubbing the steaks with garlic and pepper, thinking this is what the bad guys do? They cook dinner? This is like going to the beach with your parents or something. Not that my parents ever went to the beach. Not that my parents actually speak or anything. Not that either one of them would take me to the beach, or anywhere else. But if you had the kind of parents who took you to the beach, then this is what it might be like.
Mystique appeared as the steaks were finishing cooking. She put plates on the table on the deck, and we ate outside. It was really good. Nobody said much. Magneto ate like he hadn't seen decent food in months. Which was probably true.
And kind of made me mad. Because it occurred to me what steak and spinach and the roast beef and broccoli in the fridge all had in common: iron.