fic for the fan.
The icon technically doesn't match. But it's new, so yush, much love.
Anyway, I've been itching to write Sofia fic ever since I picked up NW, but the muses weren't cooperating until I read NXM#43 which naturally, got me thinking. I'm a recent Sofia/Julian shipper. And I am not too keen on the Laura/Julian angle simply because I just don't see it just yet (despite the many mentions of canon). So I figured, since Julian is sort of still hung up on Sofia, and Sofia as per NW#2 is obviously still hung up on him, and then there's Laura hung up and processing the concept of YESILIKETHISBOY -- I give you fic.
That has driven me nuts. And whose ending's a little flimsy, and yes I know I could have done better BUT, I was trying to avoid sounding cheesy with Sofia murmuring Jules' name right back. >< So yes, this is it so far. Will try to make it better tomorrow. If that is even possible. But for now, here it is, and here you go, and I will run this past Kam slpwlkngdreamer when I get her on the phone.
The Things They Feel.
Characters: Laura Kinney/X-23, Julian Keller, Sofia Mantega
Fandom: New X-Men/New Warriors (Rated T)
Notes: I don't know if the timelines of the events I mention actually run alongside each other as smoothly as I'd like to think for this fic, but this is basically sometime after NXM#43 and NW#5. If I am wrong, then I plead immunity because we can stretch time in 616 anyway.
I.
It had been recapped on the evening news. She'd seen it when she'd curled up on the sofa cushion that had caved under his weight.
The television had been set on a channel where late night newscasters not quite ready for primetime revisited the events of earlier that day. She hadn't intended to pay attention. It was nothing new, after all, it was just video footage of the newest group of superhero 'vigilantes' as the government referred to them as; the New Warriors. She knew about them mostly because she'd seen a look cross Logan's eyes once, but that one time had been enough to let her know that one of them -- the one called Wondra -- had meant (and probably still meant) something to him. What exactly, he never said, and she naturally, didn't ask.
Either way, she hadn't intended to pay attention. Her mind was focused on other things. Like how earlier that evening everyone had gathered in the living area to reassure themselves with the presence of the other. Having never been much of a joiner, she wandered off in the opposite direction despite Cessily's encouragement for her to sit down with the people she should be now calling friends. Instead, she sat, fingers curled around the bars of wood that held the banister in place, waiting and then watching him walk through and down the hall.
Her perfect eyesight noted a thin line where a smile or frown might settle and movements that were slightly stiff as if it were such an effort to stand, shoulders often slumped rather than squared as they once had been.
She watched in silence as he stopped at the archway that led to where the others traded talk. Watched him as he stalled, bowed his head and then only after one almost heavy, rather tired intake of breath, walked in leaving her with the silence of the hall, punctuated only by the faint ticking of what had been Charles Xavier's grandfather clock.
It was something she did often. Watch him. Even if it did things to her inside. Things that hurt, though there were no bruises or scratches or any other indications of bodily harm. Foreign feelings that had once made her mad and sad and something else that she ran off and locked herself in the nearest bathroom where her reflection lifted two sets of adamantium claws that drew blood from skin that would heal almost as quickly as they had been split open. Feelings whose closest approximation were similar to those that she had felt the day they had made her kill her sensei, or the day she had woken from the daze to find her mother's tear-filled, dead gaze staring up blankly to a sky so bright the blue made you think of white snow. Or even the day she'd turned away from Megan, letting the girl and her mother go because what they had -- and what she craved -- were something that could never be reconciled. Close enough, but not quite, because this feeling was -- is -- to put in simplest terms: new.
She looks up just as the newscaster says that name.
... sources have identified the girl as depowered mutant, Sofia Mantega, former student of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, located in Westchester County.
That name that Julian murmurs repeatedly in his sleep, his fingers tightening around the edge of his pillow, muscle shifting subtly under the skin of his upper arm as he holds cloth and foam tighter as if in an embrace.
... most recent update indicates that Ms. Mantega shows a positive response from the surgery and is recovering ...
They flash a picture of her on the screen, cropped from what seems to be an identification card. She's smiling, but it's not the same one from the yearbook. Or the one that Julian keeps hidden in a box under his bed.
"Laura?" She looks up to see Cessily walking towards her, sleep edging the corners of her eyes. "You're still up?"
On the tv, the newscasters have turned to sports, who trumped who in what game.
She says nothing and follows the girl back upstairs.
II.
The ECG is beeping faintly. It's the only other sound other than the whir of the air-conditioning unit and the hushed inhale and exhale of a body lying prone in the bed. As far as the patient is concerned, she is nothing more than a shadow amongst other shadows. As far as any doctors or nurses who might check in will know, she is not even there.
She didn't choose tonight so much as tonight chose her. It's the worst way to time things, leaving them to chance, but she's been trained in a manner that doesn't pay any mind to when plans go out the window, since most if not all plans often do. But tonight is the time since previous evenings had offered her little opportunity. Nevertheless, she is prepared. She had thought this out, had planned as carefully as she might a mission, laying out routes after processing all the necessary research and memorizing all the viable entrances and exits, all the possible scenarios.
Now, waiting and watching, she's not quite sure why she went through all the trouble. Seeing this girl confuses her as much as Julian does, more so because Julian's lingering feelings for this girl has caused her vitals to spike more often than once, and her heart to tighten in her chest so much that she can't breathe right. This girl has made her mad and sad and mad again, and as one razor-sharp claw of adamantium slides out between her knuckles, slicing skin, she can't help but think that one little cut will make all the confusing, painful feelings go away.
I want to punch him, sometimes. Hit him because he is obviously doing something to me.
You like him, Laura. A lot, from the way I see it.
That does not make sense, Cessily. Liking something should not make you feel like killing something. I have found that I like ice cream. That does not make me want to kill. If I like Julian, shouldn't I be experiencing something more positive?
Why do you want to hit him?
Because for once, I don't want to hear him say anything when he's asleep.
Jealousy. She knows the etymological root of the word, where it originated and how to translate it into a variety of languages. She's never felt it. At least, she doesn't think she has. Not in the way that she feels it now.
Walking over, her footsteps light and silent against the tiled floor, she notes the way the moonlight cuts across Sofia Mantega's bruised features, making her skin pale and almost blue. In her head, she recounts the profile she hacked through one of the school computers: Codename: Wind Dancer. Mutant Power: Psionic ability to manipulate currents of air, allowing abilities such as the generation of wind with intense force, the ability to lift and carry objects, flight and the amplification of small vibrations in the air allowing her to hear faraway conversations.
Status: Depowered.
In a previous life, the one she has made every effort to leave behind, it was always easy to eliminate anything standing in the way of her objective. But Julian is not an objective. Julian, like Cessily, like Sooraya, like the other children who are now coming to know her as Laura -- person, teenager, girl -- is her friend. And Sofia, who is no longer one of them, she knows simply by having seen the footage of that battle in downtown New York, is a person of incredible integrity, strength and compassion. And that, she believes, is the reason why the boy who makes her confused and hurt inside, is just as confused and hurt as he whispers the name Sofia and the adjective beautiful in nights that loom too long.
"Get well soon, Sofia Mantega." Laura murmurs the words as she slips away like a hush, feet carrying her beneath currents of wind that catch and thread through the strands of her hair.
Anyway, I've been itching to write Sofia fic ever since I picked up NW, but the muses weren't cooperating until I read NXM#43 which naturally, got me thinking. I'm a recent Sofia/Julian shipper. And I am not too keen on the Laura/Julian angle simply because I just don't see it just yet (despite the many mentions of canon). So I figured, since Julian is sort of still hung up on Sofia, and Sofia as per NW#2 is obviously still hung up on him, and then there's Laura hung up and processing the concept of YESILIKETHISBOY -- I give you fic.
That has driven me nuts. And whose ending's a little flimsy, and yes I know I could have done better BUT, I was trying to avoid sounding cheesy with Sofia murmuring Jules' name right back. >< So yes, this is it so far. Will try to make it better tomorrow. If that is even possible. But for now, here it is, and here you go, and I will run this past Kam slpwlkngdreamer when I get her on the phone.
The Things They Feel.
Characters: Laura Kinney/X-23, Julian Keller, Sofia Mantega
Fandom: New X-Men/New Warriors (Rated T)
Notes: I don't know if the timelines of the events I mention actually run alongside each other as smoothly as I'd like to think for this fic, but this is basically sometime after NXM#43 and NW#5. If I am wrong, then I plead immunity because we can stretch time in 616 anyway.
I.
It had been recapped on the evening news. She'd seen it when she'd curled up on the sofa cushion that had caved under his weight.
The television had been set on a channel where late night newscasters not quite ready for primetime revisited the events of earlier that day. She hadn't intended to pay attention. It was nothing new, after all, it was just video footage of the newest group of superhero 'vigilantes' as the government referred to them as; the New Warriors. She knew about them mostly because she'd seen a look cross Logan's eyes once, but that one time had been enough to let her know that one of them -- the one called Wondra -- had meant (and probably still meant) something to him. What exactly, he never said, and she naturally, didn't ask.
Either way, she hadn't intended to pay attention. Her mind was focused on other things. Like how earlier that evening everyone had gathered in the living area to reassure themselves with the presence of the other. Having never been much of a joiner, she wandered off in the opposite direction despite Cessily's encouragement for her to sit down with the people she should be now calling friends. Instead, she sat, fingers curled around the bars of wood that held the banister in place, waiting and then watching him walk through and down the hall.
Her perfect eyesight noted a thin line where a smile or frown might settle and movements that were slightly stiff as if it were such an effort to stand, shoulders often slumped rather than squared as they once had been.
She watched in silence as he stopped at the archway that led to where the others traded talk. Watched him as he stalled, bowed his head and then only after one almost heavy, rather tired intake of breath, walked in leaving her with the silence of the hall, punctuated only by the faint ticking of what had been Charles Xavier's grandfather clock.
It was something she did often. Watch him. Even if it did things to her inside. Things that hurt, though there were no bruises or scratches or any other indications of bodily harm. Foreign feelings that had once made her mad and sad and something else that she ran off and locked herself in the nearest bathroom where her reflection lifted two sets of adamantium claws that drew blood from skin that would heal almost as quickly as they had been split open. Feelings whose closest approximation were similar to those that she had felt the day they had made her kill her sensei, or the day she had woken from the daze to find her mother's tear-filled, dead gaze staring up blankly to a sky so bright the blue made you think of white snow. Or even the day she'd turned away from Megan, letting the girl and her mother go because what they had -- and what she craved -- were something that could never be reconciled. Close enough, but not quite, because this feeling was -- is -- to put in simplest terms: new.
She looks up just as the newscaster says that name.
... sources have identified the girl as depowered mutant, Sofia Mantega, former student of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, located in Westchester County.
That name that Julian murmurs repeatedly in his sleep, his fingers tightening around the edge of his pillow, muscle shifting subtly under the skin of his upper arm as he holds cloth and foam tighter as if in an embrace.
... most recent update indicates that Ms. Mantega shows a positive response from the surgery and is recovering ...
They flash a picture of her on the screen, cropped from what seems to be an identification card. She's smiling, but it's not the same one from the yearbook. Or the one that Julian keeps hidden in a box under his bed.
"Laura?" She looks up to see Cessily walking towards her, sleep edging the corners of her eyes. "You're still up?"
On the tv, the newscasters have turned to sports, who trumped who in what game.
She says nothing and follows the girl back upstairs.
II.
The ECG is beeping faintly. It's the only other sound other than the whir of the air-conditioning unit and the hushed inhale and exhale of a body lying prone in the bed. As far as the patient is concerned, she is nothing more than a shadow amongst other shadows. As far as any doctors or nurses who might check in will know, she is not even there.
She didn't choose tonight so much as tonight chose her. It's the worst way to time things, leaving them to chance, but she's been trained in a manner that doesn't pay any mind to when plans go out the window, since most if not all plans often do. But tonight is the time since previous evenings had offered her little opportunity. Nevertheless, she is prepared. She had thought this out, had planned as carefully as she might a mission, laying out routes after processing all the necessary research and memorizing all the viable entrances and exits, all the possible scenarios.
Now, waiting and watching, she's not quite sure why she went through all the trouble. Seeing this girl confuses her as much as Julian does, more so because Julian's lingering feelings for this girl has caused her vitals to spike more often than once, and her heart to tighten in her chest so much that she can't breathe right. This girl has made her mad and sad and mad again, and as one razor-sharp claw of adamantium slides out between her knuckles, slicing skin, she can't help but think that one little cut will make all the confusing, painful feelings go away.
I want to punch him, sometimes. Hit him because he is obviously doing something to me.
You like him, Laura. A lot, from the way I see it.
That does not make sense, Cessily. Liking something should not make you feel like killing something. I have found that I like ice cream. That does not make me want to kill. If I like Julian, shouldn't I be experiencing something more positive?
Why do you want to hit him?
Because for once, I don't want to hear him say anything when he's asleep.
Jealousy. She knows the etymological root of the word, where it originated and how to translate it into a variety of languages. She's never felt it. At least, she doesn't think she has. Not in the way that she feels it now.
Walking over, her footsteps light and silent against the tiled floor, she notes the way the moonlight cuts across Sofia Mantega's bruised features, making her skin pale and almost blue. In her head, she recounts the profile she hacked through one of the school computers: Codename: Wind Dancer. Mutant Power: Psionic ability to manipulate currents of air, allowing abilities such as the generation of wind with intense force, the ability to lift and carry objects, flight and the amplification of small vibrations in the air allowing her to hear faraway conversations.
Status: Depowered.
In a previous life, the one she has made every effort to leave behind, it was always easy to eliminate anything standing in the way of her objective. But Julian is not an objective. Julian, like Cessily, like Sooraya, like the other children who are now coming to know her as Laura -- person, teenager, girl -- is her friend. And Sofia, who is no longer one of them, she knows simply by having seen the footage of that battle in downtown New York, is a person of incredible integrity, strength and compassion. And that, she believes, is the reason why the boy who makes her confused and hurt inside, is just as confused and hurt as he whispers the name Sofia and the adjective beautiful in nights that loom too long.
"Get well soon, Sofia Mantega." Laura murmurs the words as she slips away like a hush, feet carrying her beneath currents of wind that catch and thread through the strands of her hair.