[OOC: House of TM RP with
shadeof_grey and
iron_tony. Takes place after
this last night of happiness, on the morning of
Steve and Tony's anniversary party.]
“Stop!” Wanda yelled, holding her hands out in front of her. Steve found himself frozen, his face twisted into a grotesque, rage-filled grimace, his blood burning with anger-at Tony, at himself, at Wanda and
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The one comfort that was sustaining her was that she was surrounded by people who were stronger and more assured than she was. Wanda was fine, Tony was fine, Steve was fine. Especially Steve. Steve was as solid and dependable as they came.
So, on the morning of the party, the last thing she expected was to be awoken by a psychic distress call from Steve. Hastily she pulled on her robe and ran to the bathroom. Knocking on the door, she said, "What's wrong?" She tried to pretend that she wasn't hearing what she was hearing, but there was no way to deny the thoughts she was picking up. They were too distressed and scattered to understand, but whatever it was, it had to be bad. "Please open the door, Steve."
*OOC -- OMG, ( ... )
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Tying the belt of the robe, he turned to the sink and quickly rinsed the vomit out of his mouth before opening the door and motioning for Jean to come in.
"We have to speak telepathically. I don't want to wake Tony," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it was still his battle voice, clear and crisp and commanding, simulating a confidence he couldn't make himself feel.
When Jean was safely inside the room and the door was shut behind them, Steve opened his mind. Something is very, very wrong, Jean, he sent. And I think... I think you know that, though maybe you don't consciously realize ( ... )
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You're right. There's something going on, someone I don't trust -- Jean hesitated. It was actually very hard to lie, telepathically, especially to someone who knew her as well as Steve did. But she couldn't say it was Wanda who was giving her suspicions. She might be wrong. She wanted to be wrong. Somebody's doing something to make the world wrong. I think it might be Domino.
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Inwardly, he cringed. So Jean knew something, but not as much as he did. And now he was going to have to tell her - he was going to have to tell a woman who considered him to be one of her closest friends (in this world, at least; in the old world they'd barely known each other, and Steve wasn't sure which of those relationships counted more) that she'd been dragged into a fantasy world against her will. He thought of his own reactions, just moments earlier; he thought of the turmoil still going on in his brain, the way he felt two seconds away from breaking. He didn't want to inflict that on another human being. Maybe they could leave the world be, for a little longer. Maybe he could just pretend...
No. They had to do this. No matter how much it would hurt.
Last night, he explained, taking the gentlest route, when I fought Madame Morpho, she did something to me. I don't know what. But when I woke up this morning, I had memories - full memories - of a world ( ... )
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Jean lifted him higher, pushing him up against the door.
Why do we want YOUR truth?
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You want my truth, he sent back, though he wasn't sure if he was speaking mentally or verbally or both, because it's the real truth. And that's what you want.
Then he softened. Jean, he continued, straining against the force that was battering him into the doorframe. He refused to direct his speech toward the Phoenix. I know this isn't easy to accept. Believe me, I know. But you have to. We have to fix this.
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Jean lets Steve drop, and she lunges toward the medicine cabinet. She doesn't have to think about what she's doing. The Phoenix has her, but for the moment that she comes to herself, Jean is in control. But the Phoenix has her, and there is only one thing to do with the Phoenix. She tears through the cabinet, looking for something sharp. She isn't even thinking about Captain America. He doesn't matter.
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"Jean, what are you doing?" he cries, not even bothering with telepathy anymore. He doesn't know if she's herself or the Phoenix, if she's regained her memories or not, but there's a terrifyingly manic gleam in her eye. Without thinking, he lunges across the room, grabbing her wrists in both hands.
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And her body goes rigid, hot. She can feel the pressure as her pupils dilate. NO! says the Phoenix, and the razor spins out of her hand. The blunt edge hits Cap's shoulder and ricochets. Falling to the floor, the sharp blade lands across Steve's foot.
Jean gasps. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't --" She stares at the blade. "Steve, it won't let me."
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"Don't apologize, Jean," he says, his voice gentle. "For my part, I'm glad it won't let you." He knows what she was trying to do, of course, and though he may not be in a position to be saying anything, considering the near-suicidal thoughts he was having a minute ago, he's not about to let her go through with it. "You should never take life for granted, no matter how awful it is."
He reaches out a hand, placing it on Jean's shoulder. He isn't afraid of the Phoenix. They're on the same side of this argument.
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"We've died too many times, Steve. We're not allowed to die anymore. But if Jean can't die, you know what you and I need to do."
Leaning close to him, her face almost touching his face. "You'll help us kill that bitch."
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"No, we're not killing anyone, Jean. We don't do that. We're going to confront Wanda and make her turn the world right again. And after that, we'll decide what to do. But we won't kill her."
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She felt the fire draining out of her, and it was only Jean's voice that said, quietly but audibly, "Have you asked her what she wants?"
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Steve has to wonder, though, how much they're really "puppets." How much of this is what Wanda wants, and how much of it is what they all, in their most private moments, want for themselves? He doesn't really know the answer, but it doesn't matter. The world needs to be set right.
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