Fic: Bulletproof Soul - Part 3
Right well, I'm still getting haunted by this fic and when that happens I just have to get it out quickly so hope you don't mind my continued venting ^_^
Thank you so much for comments, this is unbetaed btw so if anyone has any tips they want to throw at me go ahead! I swear I won't continue this forever but it's still ticking away right now...
Fic: Bulletproof Soul - Part 3
Rating: PG still but that's a-changing eventually
Genre: Shipperfic (or Angst? idk)
Post X3/Movieverse
Words for this part: 3,001
Disclaimer: I am a ridiculously incurable romantic. Oh, and XMen etc etc etc is not mine.
Storm is watching you, and you’re well aware of it.
You lean against a counter, as far away in the room as you can be without looking obvious, your legs and arms crossed.
Marie sits on the bed in the middle of the lab, her skin paler than usual, and her whole posture miserable. The doctor from the government lab is taking some blood, but you feel like the little weasel is stalling for time, like there’s something he’s not telling you all and he has about three minutes, you wager, until you lose your patience.
“Hmmm. Yes, well, all the signs are there.”
Storm asks the question and you’re glad for that.
“Signs of what, exactly?”
The doc turns to her and adjusts his thick silver gloves, pushing his glasses up his nose in apparent nervousness.
“A regression. It seems that with The Cure, some of the subject’s powers have been too...strong. They go through a period of respite and then...” He glances apologetically at you, which is irritating because he should be directing that at Rogue. “Then it’s three days. From the first reoccurrence until full powers are - his voice grows quieter as he looks down - restored.”
Behind him, Marie’s head tilts back to the ceiling, her eyes closed.
“But for now,” the doc shifts around the bed back to stand next to Marie “we should try this stabiliser. It might give her four or even five more days of normal life.”
He freezes as soon as the word ‘normal’ leaves his mouth, realising too late that he’s not in his sterile lab anymore, but in a room with three mutants. You grind your teeth together, biting the angry words back because you know that’s not what Marie needs now.
But you and Storm move closer to Rogue as the little weasel finds her vein and injects a blue liquid directly in. Marie squeezes her eyes shut but opens them in a moment, staring at the wall and you’re reminded that maybe she’s a lot stronger than you’ve been giving her credit for lately.
“Now, I think it’s best to test your powers now, to see if it’s worked.”
“Are you going to be the guinea pig then?” Marie says it with a neutral expression, making the doctor stutter for words and you suppress your smile. That’s my girl.
“Logan?” Storm is looking at you, with a sort of self-righteous expression and you’re starting to wonder what the hell her problem is.
But again you don’t rise to it - just open your shirt sleeve at the wrist and wind it briskly up, exposing your left forearm. You step in front of Marie, the doctor scoots quickly out of the way.
“Ready to zap me?”
She smiles at you but you can tell it’s an effort - it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Ready to be zapped?”
You smile back, dredging up as much warmth as you can because you know she feels like shit.
She raises her hand and it’s trembling just slightly. She moves it slowly towards your exposed skin and you can’t stand it anymore, you grab it with your other hand and press it against your forearm yourself.
She gasps and so does Storm but you just wait, tuning in to your senses for that unique rush of pain. But it doesn’t come and you look slowly up her arm to her face.
She’s watching you sadly, but you get the impression it’s not just about what you’re doing for her now. It’s been a rough few hours for her, since the school woke to the news that her cure hadn’t been that at all. You nod, once.
“It’s good.”
She doesn’t even try to smile this time, just lets her hand drop into her lap and stares down at it.
You and Storm exchange glances and the doctor clears his throat.
“Yes, well, perhaps still use caution in case there’s another ‘episode’, like last night. “ At the words ‘last night’ you stare at him, to avoid looking at anyone else in the room, and he carries on, uncomfortable under your gaze. “So... I’ll be going then.” He looks away, snapping his gloves off. “Of course you can call me if you need anything...if I can...help.”
You sneer at him before you answer with sarcasm. “Yeah, because you’ve been so helpful already.”
His face wobbles before he decides on just gathering his bag and nearly running out of the room.
Storm gives you a baleful look and then steps closer and speaks to you in a low voice.
“You ...talk to her. Be gentle. I’ll see him out.” She doesn’t move though, just stands there looking at you a while longer. You both glance at Marie and then back at each other, neither of you hopeful that you’ll get through. You mutter under your breath.
“Sure. Just call me Dr fucking Phil.”
Storm doesn’t find you at all funny and fixes you with one more hard stare before turning to follow the doctor.
You stand there, scratching your chin, your other hand on your hip. You don’t know - in fact you’re sure, that you’re going to be no help at all.
But you go to her, stand in front of her with your arms folded over your chest. A vague memory slides into your brain that this is the room you were in with Jean when they were testing her and where the two of you... you try and block out what happened with her in this room. You don’t even know if the memory makes you feel better or worse about being alone with Marie again but you’re just sick of complicated thoughts either way. You blow out a long breath.
“You okay?”
She nods, still looking at her hands.
“Liar.”
She looks up at that and nearly smiles.
“You think I brought this all on myself.”
You frown and study her for a moment. Then you ease yourself slowly down to sit beside her.
“Listen, unless you’ve dredged up some mind reading powers from that vault of yours, - you tap her head lightly - you can’t know what I’m thinking.”
She doesn’t move and you want to help her so you put your arm around her, trying not to flinch. “I haven’t ever thought that-not once. I told you, it was your choice. As long as you were doing it for yourself and it was what you really wanted at the time, then it was right.”
She looks up at the side of your face and she’s too close - though your worry is nothing to do with the danger of her skin. You haven’t been alone together since last night. You bear her scrutiny for a little longer, holding still so it won’t seem like you’re lying to her but when you can’t stand it any longer you rub her shoulder briskly and squeeze her hard once before taking your arm back.
“Then why do you do that?”
You concentrate on the ground, and can’t think of anything else to say but, “What?”
She prods you in the arm. “Pull away from me. Like that. You were the only one who never did that to me and now that’s changed.”
Your mouth is suddenly bone dry and you curse loudly inside your head. Damn you, Marie.
You practise a smile. You’re gonna have to do better than that buddy. You draw it wider, trying to make it sincere before you turn to her.
“Rogue, I...”
“Don’t bullshit me, Logan. You know I can tell when you’re bullshitting me.”
You lick your lips. Her face is close and that frown she’s wearing makes her look older than she is.
Because she’s young - too young, you think, the persistent thought grabbing hold of you with force. And you’re too old for her, would be at even half your age, even if you had any idea how old you really were. How do you explain to her how badly you could mess her up? You look at the stubborn set of her jaw and think again of that bike in the garage.
And you feel tired all of a sudden. Bone tired of all this game playing and cloak and dagger. Her face is shining up at you and she’s unaware, so unaware of how goddamn lovely she is.
Your fingers come up to stroke her jaw and you watch her eyes widen, feel and hear her heart race as her pupils dilate and hate your superior senses in that moment. You decide on something close to the truth because you know that even if she doesn’t get what’s going on yet, she’s right. She can always tell when you’re bullshitting her.
You tilt her chin up and study her lips, feeling your own heart speed up. Then you sigh and look away.
“I just... I can’t tell you.” You take a deep breath and glance back, prepared for the confusion you see there. “Is that enough for now? I can’t tell you.”
Her frown deepens, and you rub your face, then brace your hand on your thigh.
“But it’s nothing you’ve done, or haven’t done. It’s just something... I have to straighten out. But I’ll... it’ll be alright. You don’t have to worry, Marie.”
She takes a breath, like she’s forming a protest but then she deflates a little, and just leans to rest her cheek on your shoulder. You close your eyes and give silent thanks that maybe she gets you enough not to push you further. For now.
She pulls back and she has a smile on that you can tell is practiced. She’s being brave.
“Okay. Just, don’t take off alright? Please don’t take off.”
You laugh a little because it’s ridiculous how she knows you. Maybe you weren’t far off with the mind reading comment. And again you think you must be getting soft when you answer.
“Alright.” She smiles and it’s genuine this time.
Storm comes back in right then and you see her freeze in the doorway, the movement obvious even in your peripheral vision. You glance up and see her expression pretty clearly across the room.
Disapproval, mingled with something else. You register how close you are to Marie then and you shuffle back automatically which bugs you because it makes you look guilty.
Guilty because you are, genius.
Marie turns at your expression and smiles at Storm who adjusts her features into something more neutral.
“Feeling okay?” Marie nods and you slide even further away from her while she’s not looking.
Storm comes forward and sits on the other side of Marie, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and they start talking - giving you the perfect out. You stand and mutter something about leaving them to it before striding out of the room without giving either of them a chance to respond.
You head straight to the gym, a rage building inside you like thunder through your veins and you don’t even know exactly why.
But it must be obvious because when the door to the gym bangs violently open and you make your way to the punching bags taking your shirt off on the way, the three boys who were working out there step quickly out of the way without question with just one look at your face.
You thrash the bags for thirty minutes, taking some strange satisfaction from the resounding slaps your fists and feet make on them. You haven’t wrapped your hands but you don’t care, even though dried blood on your knuckles shows as evidence of cuts that have healed themselves already so you can open them up again.
You ‘re concentrating so hard on demolishing the heavy bag that you don’t notice Storm until she’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you. You stop and reach out to still the bag, looking at her and waiting. When she doesn’t speak, you wipe the sweat from your face and break the silence yourself.
“What?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “What went on last night, Logan?”
You frown but your gut turns to ice.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“With you. And Marie.”
You look at the bag and steady it, give it a couple more half hearted punches.
“Nothing. Kid got up for a drink, accidentally touched me - you know the rest.”
She arches a sculptured brow at you and you give the bag a particularly vicious kick. Then she pushes off the wall and walks to the other side of the bag, holding on to it and forcing you to stop.
“You know how she feels about you, Logan. You want to be careful there.”
You curl your lip at her. “What the fuck does that mean.”
She doesn’t flinch at your language, just pushes off the bag and leaves it swinging.
“Just remember. You’re her teacher.”
She walks away and you listen to her boots clicking on the wooden floor until the door bangs shut. You clench your teeth and then in one movement, the claws on your right hand burst through your skin, and you lash out and cut the hanging bag dead in half.
The tattered innards of it are still floating to the ground by the time the door slams shut behind you.
And then you’re stalking through the halls, heading straight for your room. You reach your wardrobe and pull the black bag from the back of it, not truly conscious of what you’re stuffing in there but filling it quickly before you chuck your leather jacket on over your still bare upper half, and fling the bag over your shoulder.
You yank your door open and nearly bowl Marie over.
“Hey!” She’d been reaching for the handle, her hands covered in her black long gloves for the first time in a long time.
You stop, trying to steady your breath which is coming harsh and fast. Her brown eyes travel over you, taking in your bare chest, the jacket, and lastly the bag. Her face falls.
“You said you wouldn’t.”
You shake your head, forcing your body to stay still. “Marie...”
“You said you’d stay.”
You lick your lips and shift your weight onto one hip, bracing your hand there and looking at the ground. She steps forward slightly but you don’t look up.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
“So, ask.” You know you’re being an arsehole.
“Three days. That’s all I’ve got for sure. So I wanted....”
She waits so long that you look up at her and it’s a mistake.
“I wanted you to take me away. From, here.”
You want to tell her that that’s the worst idea you’ve ever heard. And the best, all rolled up into one. You want to tell her that she won’t solve anything by running away but even you can see the hypocrite that turns you into. You want to tell her that she’s crazy, and beautiful, all at once.
Instead you only manage one word.
“No.”
You push past her then, wishing you hadn’t caught a glimpse of the devastation on her face before you did but you move fast - towards the garage and the bike and freedom.
She might have followed you for a bit but she wouldn’t have been able to keep up anyway and you know you’re acting like a man possessed. Maybe you are - that would be a convenient answer at least.
When you start the bike and feel it rumble underneath you, you wait for the relief you thought that was going to bring. Instead, you get a hollow ache, starting in your chest and sliding low, to twist your gut with guilt and rage and god knows what else.
Stubbornly you turn the bike, gunning it out of the door and down the long driveway, all the way to the gate. You stop at the road, looking both ways although neither of them seems appealing.
And all you can think of is a girl, dark hair and darker eyes, redder lips than should be legal and a streak of white that frames a face you know better than your own. You see her last expression again and the pain it causes you is almost physical.
The noise of the bike is breaking the stillness of the late afternoon and it sounds as if it’s waiting, impatient even.
That’s when against all your better judgement, your strongest will, your best intentions, you spin the back tire out and around and screech back up the driveway, back the way you came.
You see a group of students out in the grounds, and the shock of white hair from their teacher as she leads them in some instruction that you can’t hear and couldn’t care less about.
You don’t even know how you’re going to find her - or what the hell you’re doing on any level until you pull to a violent stop in front of the entrance to the mansion. You turn to look up at the door and then she appears, right on cue, walking out onto the top step looking at some papers in her hand.
She's frowning in concentration before she glances up and freezes when she sees you, her lips falling open slightly. Your eyes lock and the question in hers is so raw, you nearly look away.
But you gun the bike once, and shift forward slightly.
“Get on.”
Her face breaks into a smile that nearly shatters you and she flies down the steps, her scarf floating out from her neck. She jumps up behind you, her body instantly wrapped firm against yours and it’s involuntary when you think; ‘There, now that’s it. That’s the relief you were after.’
Then you frown, blocking out all your thoughts and wheel the bike around viciously, half hoping she’s holding tight. She is, until halfway down the drive she releases one arm from your waist and you vaguely notice the group on the lawn turn ,as she crows some kind of triumphant sound and in your rear view mirrors you see white papers writhe and twist in the air behind you both, as she lets them go.
*
Next part HERE
Thank you so much for comments, this is unbetaed btw so if anyone has any tips they want to throw at me go ahead! I swear I won't continue this forever but it's still ticking away right now...
Fic: Bulletproof Soul - Part 3
Rating: PG still but that's a-changing eventually
Genre: Shipperfic (or Angst? idk)
Post X3/Movieverse
Words for this part: 3,001
Disclaimer: I am a ridiculously incurable romantic. Oh, and XMen etc etc etc is not mine.
Storm is watching you, and you’re well aware of it.
You lean against a counter, as far away in the room as you can be without looking obvious, your legs and arms crossed.
Marie sits on the bed in the middle of the lab, her skin paler than usual, and her whole posture miserable. The doctor from the government lab is taking some blood, but you feel like the little weasel is stalling for time, like there’s something he’s not telling you all and he has about three minutes, you wager, until you lose your patience.
“Hmmm. Yes, well, all the signs are there.”
Storm asks the question and you’re glad for that.
“Signs of what, exactly?”
The doc turns to her and adjusts his thick silver gloves, pushing his glasses up his nose in apparent nervousness.
“A regression. It seems that with The Cure, some of the subject’s powers have been too...strong. They go through a period of respite and then...” He glances apologetically at you, which is irritating because he should be directing that at Rogue. “Then it’s three days. From the first reoccurrence until full powers are - his voice grows quieter as he looks down - restored.”
Behind him, Marie’s head tilts back to the ceiling, her eyes closed.
“But for now,” the doc shifts around the bed back to stand next to Marie “we should try this stabiliser. It might give her four or even five more days of normal life.”
He freezes as soon as the word ‘normal’ leaves his mouth, realising too late that he’s not in his sterile lab anymore, but in a room with three mutants. You grind your teeth together, biting the angry words back because you know that’s not what Marie needs now.
But you and Storm move closer to Rogue as the little weasel finds her vein and injects a blue liquid directly in. Marie squeezes her eyes shut but opens them in a moment, staring at the wall and you’re reminded that maybe she’s a lot stronger than you’ve been giving her credit for lately.
“Now, I think it’s best to test your powers now, to see if it’s worked.”
“Are you going to be the guinea pig then?” Marie says it with a neutral expression, making the doctor stutter for words and you suppress your smile. That’s my girl.
“Logan?” Storm is looking at you, with a sort of self-righteous expression and you’re starting to wonder what the hell her problem is.
But again you don’t rise to it - just open your shirt sleeve at the wrist and wind it briskly up, exposing your left forearm. You step in front of Marie, the doctor scoots quickly out of the way.
“Ready to zap me?”
She smiles at you but you can tell it’s an effort - it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Ready to be zapped?”
You smile back, dredging up as much warmth as you can because you know she feels like shit.
She raises her hand and it’s trembling just slightly. She moves it slowly towards your exposed skin and you can’t stand it anymore, you grab it with your other hand and press it against your forearm yourself.
She gasps and so does Storm but you just wait, tuning in to your senses for that unique rush of pain. But it doesn’t come and you look slowly up her arm to her face.
She’s watching you sadly, but you get the impression it’s not just about what you’re doing for her now. It’s been a rough few hours for her, since the school woke to the news that her cure hadn’t been that at all. You nod, once.
“It’s good.”
She doesn’t even try to smile this time, just lets her hand drop into her lap and stares down at it.
You and Storm exchange glances and the doctor clears his throat.
“Yes, well, perhaps still use caution in case there’s another ‘episode’, like last night. “ At the words ‘last night’ you stare at him, to avoid looking at anyone else in the room, and he carries on, uncomfortable under your gaze. “So... I’ll be going then.” He looks away, snapping his gloves off. “Of course you can call me if you need anything...if I can...help.”
You sneer at him before you answer with sarcasm. “Yeah, because you’ve been so helpful already.”
His face wobbles before he decides on just gathering his bag and nearly running out of the room.
Storm gives you a baleful look and then steps closer and speaks to you in a low voice.
“You ...talk to her. Be gentle. I’ll see him out.” She doesn’t move though, just stands there looking at you a while longer. You both glance at Marie and then back at each other, neither of you hopeful that you’ll get through. You mutter under your breath.
“Sure. Just call me Dr fucking Phil.”
Storm doesn’t find you at all funny and fixes you with one more hard stare before turning to follow the doctor.
You stand there, scratching your chin, your other hand on your hip. You don’t know - in fact you’re sure, that you’re going to be no help at all.
But you go to her, stand in front of her with your arms folded over your chest. A vague memory slides into your brain that this is the room you were in with Jean when they were testing her and where the two of you... you try and block out what happened with her in this room. You don’t even know if the memory makes you feel better or worse about being alone with Marie again but you’re just sick of complicated thoughts either way. You blow out a long breath.
“You okay?”
She nods, still looking at her hands.
“Liar.”
She looks up at that and nearly smiles.
“You think I brought this all on myself.”
You frown and study her for a moment. Then you ease yourself slowly down to sit beside her.
“Listen, unless you’ve dredged up some mind reading powers from that vault of yours, - you tap her head lightly - you can’t know what I’m thinking.”
She doesn’t move and you want to help her so you put your arm around her, trying not to flinch. “I haven’t ever thought that-not once. I told you, it was your choice. As long as you were doing it for yourself and it was what you really wanted at the time, then it was right.”
She looks up at the side of your face and she’s too close - though your worry is nothing to do with the danger of her skin. You haven’t been alone together since last night. You bear her scrutiny for a little longer, holding still so it won’t seem like you’re lying to her but when you can’t stand it any longer you rub her shoulder briskly and squeeze her hard once before taking your arm back.
“Then why do you do that?”
You concentrate on the ground, and can’t think of anything else to say but, “What?”
She prods you in the arm. “Pull away from me. Like that. You were the only one who never did that to me and now that’s changed.”
Your mouth is suddenly bone dry and you curse loudly inside your head. Damn you, Marie.
You practise a smile. You’re gonna have to do better than that buddy. You draw it wider, trying to make it sincere before you turn to her.
“Rogue, I...”
“Don’t bullshit me, Logan. You know I can tell when you’re bullshitting me.”
You lick your lips. Her face is close and that frown she’s wearing makes her look older than she is.
Because she’s young - too young, you think, the persistent thought grabbing hold of you with force. And you’re too old for her, would be at even half your age, even if you had any idea how old you really were. How do you explain to her how badly you could mess her up? You look at the stubborn set of her jaw and think again of that bike in the garage.
And you feel tired all of a sudden. Bone tired of all this game playing and cloak and dagger. Her face is shining up at you and she’s unaware, so unaware of how goddamn lovely she is.
Your fingers come up to stroke her jaw and you watch her eyes widen, feel and hear her heart race as her pupils dilate and hate your superior senses in that moment. You decide on something close to the truth because you know that even if she doesn’t get what’s going on yet, she’s right. She can always tell when you’re bullshitting her.
You tilt her chin up and study her lips, feeling your own heart speed up. Then you sigh and look away.
“I just... I can’t tell you.” You take a deep breath and glance back, prepared for the confusion you see there. “Is that enough for now? I can’t tell you.”
Her frown deepens, and you rub your face, then brace your hand on your thigh.
“But it’s nothing you’ve done, or haven’t done. It’s just something... I have to straighten out. But I’ll... it’ll be alright. You don’t have to worry, Marie.”
She takes a breath, like she’s forming a protest but then she deflates a little, and just leans to rest her cheek on your shoulder. You close your eyes and give silent thanks that maybe she gets you enough not to push you further. For now.
She pulls back and she has a smile on that you can tell is practiced. She’s being brave.
“Okay. Just, don’t take off alright? Please don’t take off.”
You laugh a little because it’s ridiculous how she knows you. Maybe you weren’t far off with the mind reading comment. And again you think you must be getting soft when you answer.
“Alright.” She smiles and it’s genuine this time.
Storm comes back in right then and you see her freeze in the doorway, the movement obvious even in your peripheral vision. You glance up and see her expression pretty clearly across the room.
Disapproval, mingled with something else. You register how close you are to Marie then and you shuffle back automatically which bugs you because it makes you look guilty.
Guilty because you are, genius.
Marie turns at your expression and smiles at Storm who adjusts her features into something more neutral.
“Feeling okay?” Marie nods and you slide even further away from her while she’s not looking.
Storm comes forward and sits on the other side of Marie, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and they start talking - giving you the perfect out. You stand and mutter something about leaving them to it before striding out of the room without giving either of them a chance to respond.
You head straight to the gym, a rage building inside you like thunder through your veins and you don’t even know exactly why.
But it must be obvious because when the door to the gym bangs violently open and you make your way to the punching bags taking your shirt off on the way, the three boys who were working out there step quickly out of the way without question with just one look at your face.
You thrash the bags for thirty minutes, taking some strange satisfaction from the resounding slaps your fists and feet make on them. You haven’t wrapped your hands but you don’t care, even though dried blood on your knuckles shows as evidence of cuts that have healed themselves already so you can open them up again.
You ‘re concentrating so hard on demolishing the heavy bag that you don’t notice Storm until she’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you. You stop and reach out to still the bag, looking at her and waiting. When she doesn’t speak, you wipe the sweat from your face and break the silence yourself.
“What?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “What went on last night, Logan?”
You frown but your gut turns to ice.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“With you. And Marie.”
You look at the bag and steady it, give it a couple more half hearted punches.
“Nothing. Kid got up for a drink, accidentally touched me - you know the rest.”
She arches a sculptured brow at you and you give the bag a particularly vicious kick. Then she pushes off the wall and walks to the other side of the bag, holding on to it and forcing you to stop.
“You know how she feels about you, Logan. You want to be careful there.”
You curl your lip at her. “What the fuck does that mean.”
She doesn’t flinch at your language, just pushes off the bag and leaves it swinging.
“Just remember. You’re her teacher.”
She walks away and you listen to her boots clicking on the wooden floor until the door bangs shut. You clench your teeth and then in one movement, the claws on your right hand burst through your skin, and you lash out and cut the hanging bag dead in half.
The tattered innards of it are still floating to the ground by the time the door slams shut behind you.
And then you’re stalking through the halls, heading straight for your room. You reach your wardrobe and pull the black bag from the back of it, not truly conscious of what you’re stuffing in there but filling it quickly before you chuck your leather jacket on over your still bare upper half, and fling the bag over your shoulder.
You yank your door open and nearly bowl Marie over.
“Hey!” She’d been reaching for the handle, her hands covered in her black long gloves for the first time in a long time.
You stop, trying to steady your breath which is coming harsh and fast. Her brown eyes travel over you, taking in your bare chest, the jacket, and lastly the bag. Her face falls.
“You said you wouldn’t.”
You shake your head, forcing your body to stay still. “Marie...”
“You said you’d stay.”
You lick your lips and shift your weight onto one hip, bracing your hand there and looking at the ground. She steps forward slightly but you don’t look up.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
“So, ask.” You know you’re being an arsehole.
“Three days. That’s all I’ve got for sure. So I wanted....”
She waits so long that you look up at her and it’s a mistake.
“I wanted you to take me away. From, here.”
You want to tell her that that’s the worst idea you’ve ever heard. And the best, all rolled up into one. You want to tell her that she won’t solve anything by running away but even you can see the hypocrite that turns you into. You want to tell her that she’s crazy, and beautiful, all at once.
Instead you only manage one word.
“No.”
You push past her then, wishing you hadn’t caught a glimpse of the devastation on her face before you did but you move fast - towards the garage and the bike and freedom.
She might have followed you for a bit but she wouldn’t have been able to keep up anyway and you know you’re acting like a man possessed. Maybe you are - that would be a convenient answer at least.
When you start the bike and feel it rumble underneath you, you wait for the relief you thought that was going to bring. Instead, you get a hollow ache, starting in your chest and sliding low, to twist your gut with guilt and rage and god knows what else.
Stubbornly you turn the bike, gunning it out of the door and down the long driveway, all the way to the gate. You stop at the road, looking both ways although neither of them seems appealing.
And all you can think of is a girl, dark hair and darker eyes, redder lips than should be legal and a streak of white that frames a face you know better than your own. You see her last expression again and the pain it causes you is almost physical.
The noise of the bike is breaking the stillness of the late afternoon and it sounds as if it’s waiting, impatient even.
That’s when against all your better judgement, your strongest will, your best intentions, you spin the back tire out and around and screech back up the driveway, back the way you came.
You see a group of students out in the grounds, and the shock of white hair from their teacher as she leads them in some instruction that you can’t hear and couldn’t care less about.
You don’t even know how you’re going to find her - or what the hell you’re doing on any level until you pull to a violent stop in front of the entrance to the mansion. You turn to look up at the door and then she appears, right on cue, walking out onto the top step looking at some papers in her hand.
She's frowning in concentration before she glances up and freezes when she sees you, her lips falling open slightly. Your eyes lock and the question in hers is so raw, you nearly look away.
But you gun the bike once, and shift forward slightly.
“Get on.”
Her face breaks into a smile that nearly shatters you and she flies down the steps, her scarf floating out from her neck. She jumps up behind you, her body instantly wrapped firm against yours and it’s involuntary when you think; ‘There, now that’s it. That’s the relief you were after.’
Then you frown, blocking out all your thoughts and wheel the bike around viciously, half hoping she’s holding tight. She is, until halfway down the drive she releases one arm from your waist and you vaguely notice the group on the lawn turn ,as she crows some kind of triumphant sound and in your rear view mirrors you see white papers writhe and twist in the air behind you both, as she lets them go.
*
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