fic; And your heart is fierce, Females of X-Men: First-Class, PG-13 [2/2]
Title: And your heart is fierce
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3.000
Characters: Emma, Raven, Angel, Moira.
Copyright: Title from “Steer” by Missy Higgins.
01-03 : Quotes from “Asking Too Much”, “32 Flavours” and “Outta Me, Onto You”, all by Ani DiFranco. 04: From “Girl” by Tori Amos.
Summary: She is not the pretty stone attached to a ring, she is the brink of disaster, a blade so sharp that the pain kicks in long after the damage is done.
Author’s notes: birthday-fic for littledust . ♥
--
03.
Angel.
you’ve left me with nothing
but i’ve worked with less
The air is stifling hot in the small motel room, the green EXIT sign glowing obscurely in the distance.
Angel twists in the sheets. Back at the club it seemed like a good idea to follow two strangers displaying their powers like magic tricks.
Then again, at three in the morning most things don’t seem like a good idea anymore.
She gets up, dresses, grabs her backpack from the floor and quietly opens the door.
The hallway is deserted.
She has enough money in her purse to catch a night bus if she hitches a ride to the next station. She passes the reception, her hand already on the door handle.
“Insomnia can be such a pain.”, a familiar voice says from her left.
It’s one of the guys from yesterday, the one with the curly hair. Compassion Fatigue syndrome in the making, she thinks. Caring too freaking much will always screw with you in the long term.
He sits in a shabby armchair next to a stack of magazines, suit perfectly crisp.
Angel’s hand curls around the strap of her backpack.
“Do you sleep in that suit?”, she asks.
He tilts his head to the side.
“I imagine that would be terribly uncomfortable.”
He stands up, but stops at an arm’s length, like he is determined not to invade her space. Always so damn considerate.
“In my experience, there is only one effective cure for sleeplessness.”
The metal is warming under her fingers.
“Pie.”, he says, amused, pushing past her through the door.
“Are you coming?”
--
They find a diner that is open all night and sit down in a booth in the back.
A skinny waitress brings them the menu, and the guy - Charles, she remembers - orders apple pie with ice cream. Angel wants a strawberry milkshake.
They sit in silence while they wait for the food to arrive.
“So you knew I was going to bail.”, she finally blurts out.
“In fact it was Erik who pointed out that possibility.”, he says humbly, and she kind of wants to throw the small sachets of sugar into his face, just to get a rise out of him. Shouldn’t he be angry that she tried to leave?
“So you sat in the lobby of a crappy motel all night, waiting for me to come down?”
The waitress comes over and sets their food down in front of them. Charles is digging into his pie like it is the most delicious thing in the world.
“You are free to leave, if that is what you want.”, he says between bites of apple pie.
“I just thought I’d take the opportunity to tell you that you might regret not taking a chance because you were afraid of the consequences.”
“I’m not afraid.”, Angel says, too quickly. She takes a sip of her milkshake.
“I’ve been reading many minds over the years.” His eyes are very blue and very earnest. She looks away.
“And as different as they were, this is what they had in common: They were all afraid. Afraid to lose, to win, to move, to stay where they are. Fear is like the heartbeat of the mind. It’s a rhythm in all of us.”
Angel stares out of the window onto the dark street. She doesn’t remember where she thought she could go apart from “away from here”.
--
They stop in the hallway in front of his room. She knows this dance by now.
“Think about it.”, Charles says, pulling the key out of his pocket and opening the door. “Sometimes you just have to make a leap.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”, she says, walking in after him and closing the door behind her. He turns around from where he is standing in front of the dresser, one hand on the knot of his tie, his face amusingly confused.
She takes off her top.
“What are you doing?”, he asks. He is looking like somebody whacked him on the head with a waffle iron.
“Exactly what it looks like.”, she says and reaches for the zipper on her skirt.
“Oh.”, he says, eyes still big and surprised.
“You can read my mind, can’t you?”, she says, putting her vivid imagination to good use. To his credit, he only blushes a little.
“We can ask your friend next door to join, if you want.”, she finally offers, when he is still frozen in place.
“I… I’m sorry if I said anything that gave you the impression that I would… that we would expect…”
“Well, people never really say what they want, right? They just expect you to do it.”
He looks wrecked by now, like he’s torn between utter confusion and something else, something that almost looks like sadness. She has no idea why.
You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to., says his voice in her head, and she nearly jumps in surprise.
“That’s not the story of my life so far.”, Angel says.
Charles crosses the distance between them, picks up her top from the ground and hands it to her.
“Here”, he says. “This is not what we brought you here for.”, he says, very seriously.
She puts the top back on and crosses her arms in front of her.
“What is it I’m here for, then?”, she asks, chin raised.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t offer me a place to live just because you’re a good guy. What’s in for you?”
A heartbeat.
“I wish somebody has told me that I don’t have to be alone in this.”, he says, and his voice is so small in the room she has to move closer to hear all of it.
“I- I don’t want people like you, like us to grow up believing that there is something wrong with them, that their abilities are anything else than a miracle, an incredible gift. I want to build the kind of home that…” He trails off.
That I didn’t have, she realizes, and she’s not sure if it is her thought or his.
“If I try to leave again, will you stop me?”
Charles shakes his head.
“You are free to go wherever you like. And if you change your mind tonight, or tomorrow, or anytime in the future - it’s always your choice.”
Angel turns around. She believes him. She could just go downstairs and open that door and dive into the darkness.
“Your friend.”, she says, without turning around.
“How did he know that I was going to bail?”
For a moment, there is silence, and just when she thinks that he isn’t going to answer at all, he says:
“It takes one to know one.”, quietly enough that she isn’t sure if she was supposed to hear.
In her room, she can see the EXIT sign glowing in the darkness.
Whatever, she thinks, and turns around. She’s had worse things happening to her.
--
04.
Moira.
And castles are burning in my heart
And as I twist I hold tight
And I ride to work every morning
“A little more to the left.”, Moira says.
Alex looks up from where he has been slamming his fist against the metal frame of the vending machine.
She takes a look around the waiting room. It’s empty.
She manages to get a good kick into the left side of the machine, sending a few M&M-packets and a chocolate bar flying.
--
“I wasn’t really trying to get candy.”, Alex confesses, when they share their haul on the sticky yellow plastic chairs.
Sean is stretched out over two seats next to her, drooling over her jacket. Moira doesn’t mind much, it’s not her favourite anyway. At least one of them is able to sleep.
“Sometimes it just feels good to punch something.”, Alex says.
It’s been three hours since a surgeon told them that it is a complicated procedure. Moira wonders if that’s doctor-code for “get used to the idea that he’s not going to make it”.
One of the nurses, a small one with red hair and kind eyes, told them that it might be best to go home and get some sleep.
Moira hadn’t known how to explain to her that the closest thing these kids have to a home is right there, behind a different door, in a room that only writes beginnings and endings.
--
The nurses change shifts in the morning. The new one is a tall blonde with a sour expression.
“I’m very sorry, but this is information that can only be granted to the next of kin, Miss-“
“That would be Mrs.”, Moira says. “Mrs. Xavier. Can I see my husband now?”
--
She sits at his bedside and waits for the medical personnel to catch up on her disguise and throw her out. There is no ring on her hand, no excuse except for her desire for him not to be alone.
Charles’ hand is warm, alive, even though his eyes are closed. He doesn’t look like he’s asleep, more like somebody switched off a light inside him.
He stirs.
“Charles?”
“Raven.” His voice sounds strained and hoarse, his face tight with pain.
She can feel the breath catching in her throat like remorse.
“I’m here.”, she says, “I’m here, you’re not alone.”
Something in his expression shifts like the gentle push and pull of the shore.
“I told you you were not alone, my friend.”
--
After she takes the kids home and makes sure they have everything they need, she goes to the firing range.
Moira takes the pieces of her gun apart and puts them back together, practiced, economical movements. She aims and fires.
She thinks of Charles, of the bullet that cut through his life. (She thinks of the one she fired, too.)
She doesn’t cry. When she leaves, the heels of her boots are clacking on the linoleum floor like the faint rattle of gunfire in the distance.
-- fin
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3.000
Characters: Emma, Raven, Angel, Moira.
Copyright: Title from “Steer” by Missy Higgins.
01-03 : Quotes from “Asking Too Much”, “32 Flavours” and “Outta Me, Onto You”, all by Ani DiFranco. 04: From “Girl” by Tori Amos.
Summary: She is not the pretty stone attached to a ring, she is the brink of disaster, a blade so sharp that the pain kicks in long after the damage is done.
Author’s notes: birthday-fic for littledust . ♥
--
03.
Angel.
you’ve left me with nothing
but i’ve worked with less
The air is stifling hot in the small motel room, the green EXIT sign glowing obscurely in the distance.
Angel twists in the sheets. Back at the club it seemed like a good idea to follow two strangers displaying their powers like magic tricks.
Then again, at three in the morning most things don’t seem like a good idea anymore.
She gets up, dresses, grabs her backpack from the floor and quietly opens the door.
The hallway is deserted.
She has enough money in her purse to catch a night bus if she hitches a ride to the next station. She passes the reception, her hand already on the door handle.
“Insomnia can be such a pain.”, a familiar voice says from her left.
It’s one of the guys from yesterday, the one with the curly hair. Compassion Fatigue syndrome in the making, she thinks. Caring too freaking much will always screw with you in the long term.
He sits in a shabby armchair next to a stack of magazines, suit perfectly crisp.
Angel’s hand curls around the strap of her backpack.
“Do you sleep in that suit?”, she asks.
He tilts his head to the side.
“I imagine that would be terribly uncomfortable.”
He stands up, but stops at an arm’s length, like he is determined not to invade her space. Always so damn considerate.
“In my experience, there is only one effective cure for sleeplessness.”
The metal is warming under her fingers.
“Pie.”, he says, amused, pushing past her through the door.
“Are you coming?”
--
They find a diner that is open all night and sit down in a booth in the back.
A skinny waitress brings them the menu, and the guy - Charles, she remembers - orders apple pie with ice cream. Angel wants a strawberry milkshake.
They sit in silence while they wait for the food to arrive.
“So you knew I was going to bail.”, she finally blurts out.
“In fact it was Erik who pointed out that possibility.”, he says humbly, and she kind of wants to throw the small sachets of sugar into his face, just to get a rise out of him. Shouldn’t he be angry that she tried to leave?
“So you sat in the lobby of a crappy motel all night, waiting for me to come down?”
The waitress comes over and sets their food down in front of them. Charles is digging into his pie like it is the most delicious thing in the world.
“You are free to leave, if that is what you want.”, he says between bites of apple pie.
“I just thought I’d take the opportunity to tell you that you might regret not taking a chance because you were afraid of the consequences.”
“I’m not afraid.”, Angel says, too quickly. She takes a sip of her milkshake.
“I’ve been reading many minds over the years.” His eyes are very blue and very earnest. She looks away.
“And as different as they were, this is what they had in common: They were all afraid. Afraid to lose, to win, to move, to stay where they are. Fear is like the heartbeat of the mind. It’s a rhythm in all of us.”
Angel stares out of the window onto the dark street. She doesn’t remember where she thought she could go apart from “away from here”.
--
They stop in the hallway in front of his room. She knows this dance by now.
“Think about it.”, Charles says, pulling the key out of his pocket and opening the door. “Sometimes you just have to make a leap.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”, she says, walking in after him and closing the door behind her. He turns around from where he is standing in front of the dresser, one hand on the knot of his tie, his face amusingly confused.
She takes off her top.
“What are you doing?”, he asks. He is looking like somebody whacked him on the head with a waffle iron.
“Exactly what it looks like.”, she says and reaches for the zipper on her skirt.
“Oh.”, he says, eyes still big and surprised.
“You can read my mind, can’t you?”, she says, putting her vivid imagination to good use. To his credit, he only blushes a little.
“We can ask your friend next door to join, if you want.”, she finally offers, when he is still frozen in place.
“I… I’m sorry if I said anything that gave you the impression that I would… that we would expect…”
“Well, people never really say what they want, right? They just expect you to do it.”
He looks wrecked by now, like he’s torn between utter confusion and something else, something that almost looks like sadness. She has no idea why.
You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to., says his voice in her head, and she nearly jumps in surprise.
“That’s not the story of my life so far.”, Angel says.
Charles crosses the distance between them, picks up her top from the ground and hands it to her.
“Here”, he says. “This is not what we brought you here for.”, he says, very seriously.
She puts the top back on and crosses her arms in front of her.
“What is it I’m here for, then?”, she asks, chin raised.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t offer me a place to live just because you’re a good guy. What’s in for you?”
A heartbeat.
“I wish somebody has told me that I don’t have to be alone in this.”, he says, and his voice is so small in the room she has to move closer to hear all of it.
“I- I don’t want people like you, like us to grow up believing that there is something wrong with them, that their abilities are anything else than a miracle, an incredible gift. I want to build the kind of home that…” He trails off.
That I didn’t have, she realizes, and she’s not sure if it is her thought or his.
“If I try to leave again, will you stop me?”
Charles shakes his head.
“You are free to go wherever you like. And if you change your mind tonight, or tomorrow, or anytime in the future - it’s always your choice.”
Angel turns around. She believes him. She could just go downstairs and open that door and dive into the darkness.
“Your friend.”, she says, without turning around.
“How did he know that I was going to bail?”
For a moment, there is silence, and just when she thinks that he isn’t going to answer at all, he says:
“It takes one to know one.”, quietly enough that she isn’t sure if she was supposed to hear.
In her room, she can see the EXIT sign glowing in the darkness.
Whatever, she thinks, and turns around. She’s had worse things happening to her.
--
04.
Moira.
And castles are burning in my heart
And as I twist I hold tight
And I ride to work every morning
“A little more to the left.”, Moira says.
Alex looks up from where he has been slamming his fist against the metal frame of the vending machine.
She takes a look around the waiting room. It’s empty.
She manages to get a good kick into the left side of the machine, sending a few M&M-packets and a chocolate bar flying.
--
“I wasn’t really trying to get candy.”, Alex confesses, when they share their haul on the sticky yellow plastic chairs.
Sean is stretched out over two seats next to her, drooling over her jacket. Moira doesn’t mind much, it’s not her favourite anyway. At least one of them is able to sleep.
“Sometimes it just feels good to punch something.”, Alex says.
It’s been three hours since a surgeon told them that it is a complicated procedure. Moira wonders if that’s doctor-code for “get used to the idea that he’s not going to make it”.
One of the nurses, a small one with red hair and kind eyes, told them that it might be best to go home and get some sleep.
Moira hadn’t known how to explain to her that the closest thing these kids have to a home is right there, behind a different door, in a room that only writes beginnings and endings.
--
The nurses change shifts in the morning. The new one is a tall blonde with a sour expression.
“I’m very sorry, but this is information that can only be granted to the next of kin, Miss-“
“That would be Mrs.”, Moira says. “Mrs. Xavier. Can I see my husband now?”
--
She sits at his bedside and waits for the medical personnel to catch up on her disguise and throw her out. There is no ring on her hand, no excuse except for her desire for him not to be alone.
Charles’ hand is warm, alive, even though his eyes are closed. He doesn’t look like he’s asleep, more like somebody switched off a light inside him.
He stirs.
“Charles?”
“Raven.” His voice sounds strained and hoarse, his face tight with pain.
She can feel the breath catching in her throat like remorse.
“I’m here.”, she says, “I’m here, you’re not alone.”
Something in his expression shifts like the gentle push and pull of the shore.
“I told you you were not alone, my friend.”
--
After she takes the kids home and makes sure they have everything they need, she goes to the firing range.
Moira takes the pieces of her gun apart and puts them back together, practiced, economical movements. She aims and fires.
She thinks of Charles, of the bullet that cut through his life. (She thinks of the one she fired, too.)
She doesn’t cry. When she leaves, the heels of her boots are clacking on the linoleum floor like the faint rattle of gunfire in the distance.
-- fin