FAN FIC: X-Men: welcome home [UNVEILED] 2/?
TITLE: Welcome Home
FANDOM: X-Men (post X3)
SERIES: UNVEILED (2/?)
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RATING: PG-13 (wtf?)
WORD COUNT: about 2355
WARNINGS: some language
PAIRING: Rogue/Pyro
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SUMMARY: She gathers all her strength into a one neat push and manages to make him budge. The arm loosens, a little, and she can once again draw air into her lungs and ask, defying, "You'd rather she die as a mutant than live as a human?"
PROMPT: 035 lithium for 50scenes
TABLE: HERE
SEQUEL to sorry go 'round
A/N: Okay, um, I have a few things to say. again ---
1. If you're wondering why these fics are written as separate fics instead of one long, multi-chaptered fic, it's because I always lose my interest in those. So I'm cheating my muse like this, pretending to be writing standalones when in reality, it really IS a one damn long fic - shhh, don't tell the damn muse.
2. Thank you for those who reviewed! It means a lot, it does. Oh and, special thanks, again, to
· lilhobbit (aka F aka my X-Men Comics Consultant, honestly) who never tells me to shut up when I rant and whine, but always tries to figure out stuff with and for me. She asked for ryro hug, btw.
· smartasschef14 (♥) for telling me there were no grammatical errors this time. I think she's just blind and failed to notice them, but, whatever. ^^; No, wait, she found at least one... but know that I have messed around with the fic since she read it and the mistakes you find, are probably all mine.
· psychosomatic17 for always managing to make my day somehow brighter, for making me wanna write more and to be better, and for being such a great, hyper and supportive whackjob.
· infiticus for sprucing it up a little lot. And for being my ryro vibe. Also, SHE is the amazing creature behind the title of this series.
3. I love John.
4. This is was supposed to be three parts long, but at the moment I'm pretty sure there's at least two more parts. That's the plan, anyway. Eeek. We'll see.
5. COHEED&CAMBRIA rocks my world. And FYI, so does their song 'WELCOME HOME' ::grins::
6. If you're interested in reading my fic-related rants, then check this entry out :)
AND: The previous fics written for 50scenes can be found HERE
DISCLAIMER: The characters you know from X-Men (both movieverse as well as the comics)? NOT MINE. The characters you don't recognize, at all? Guess whose?
WELCOME HOME
The coldness has eaten its way into her bones, to her spine; dug a hole in there somewhere, and Marie doesn't think it'll ever go away again. No, of course it won't, and she's gonna feel cold and empty 'til the day she dies because that's how the real world works. There truly are no happy endings.
The bedroom in which she sits, at the end of a massive four-poster bed hands in her lap, is expensively furnished and huge, but those are the last things on her mind right now. At least they should be. Still, weirdly enough, she remembers vaguely that when she first entered said room earlier that night, her mind had momentarily stopped to make a mental note that had absolutely nothing to do with the current situation. If it had been day, she thought then, the whole space would've bathed in warm, bright light and it would've looked beautiful.
But it's not day and so the only light illuminating the otherwise dark room is the moon's, filtering through the blinds and creating stripes all over.
She feels like crying, but hasn't been able to shed a tear and she wonders whether that's a good sign or bad. Maybe, she figures, she's still in shock.
Not that she'd be the only one. Marie doesn't know where John went after placing their daughter into a bathtub filled with cold water and ice cubes - and well, asking hadn't occurred to her when he'd exited the bathroom and left them into the questionable safety of his penthouse.
Marie had sat there next to her daughter, on the bathroom's tile floor for as long as she could, but after an hour or so she'd been ruthlessly forced to get out. Forced to escape the heat and the flames. That, having to flee the room for that, it'd actually hurt more than she could've imagined. Never before had the girl used her powers that aggressively, never unconscious… and never, ever, on her mother. Now she'd done all three simultaneously.
That, she realizes, was about ten minutes ago so actually, maybe she really should go back and check on her. Just in case.
Slowly, as if in slow-motion, Marie wills herself to move, to get up. Take a step, walk, go to the door.
Every step seems to drain her energy more and more and she doesn't really understand why her body is putting up such a fight. Why the hell is she so hesitant to go see her own kid when really, she's the only thing Marie can't imagine living without? And Shelby, despite everything, she needs her mother, now more than ever, and what kind of a person does it make her, if she bails on her child because she's afraid.
What is she afraid of anyway? Of what'll happen or afraid of… her?
Because the latter? That'd suck.
When she finally reaches the bathroom's door, she presses her ear carefully against its wooden surface. There are no sounds to be heard, no whimpers, no nothing and so she concludes it's safe enough for her to enter now.
But instead of walking in like she planned to, Marie only pushes the door open, revealing the sight that breaks her heart every time she sees it.
Shelby, she's in the bathtub with a pained grimace shadowing her face, clothes on and trembling.
Though, really, Marie isn't stupid enough to think she'd be trembling out of sheer coldness like she is, because the water is practically boiling now and all she wants to do is go there, pull the plug and rescue her. But then, that wouldn't rescue her at all, now would it? As far as Marie knows and according to the doctors, it might make everything worse instead and she can't risk that. Can't risk her life.
She doesn't notice the slight shift of air around her, not before it's too late - a pair of very familiar arms sneak up and around her, capturing her, pulling close and she simply lets him. John, he feels unbearably warm against her back, almost as if his insides were on fire, burning, but she only wants more. It's so fucking cold, okay? She just wants to be warm again.
Unexpectedly his head comes down to meet the nape of her neck and she can feel his breath against her cold skin… her eyes close, but the weird thing is that unlike a moment ago when she was all alone, she can breathe freely again. His hands travel from her stomach to her middle, slowly, and as they do, the grip only tightens. She frowns, eyes still closed, when she hears him draw in a breath… hears him sniff. What the… Well, she definitely didn't see that one coming.
Marie has no idea what's happening or why, really, but it's not the right time for the questions yet. Mainly, because she has no idea what the damned questions are or should be and even if she did, she's too tired to ask them anyway because-
Her brain is shutting down.
He seems to notice this, the way her body gives in and relaxes against his, and that's when he opens his mouth to murmur, "don't worry, I'll take care of it." But the comment isn't comforting like one would think - and it isn't even meant to be. It, like the tone used and the man using it, is cruel and cynical, full of poison and bitterness and its only purpose in life is to throw Marie off. She knows this; she can hear it.
And it does upset her, by reminding her of the twisted lie she told him and of things she left untold; of what's behind and between them and has always been. With that realization, her eyes snap open and she tries to elbow him off, angry. To her surprise, John doesn't fight; no, instead, he opens his arms lifting them in mock-surrender and takes a step backwards, giving her enough room to spin around.
Spin she does. So fast, in fact, that she almost loses her ground and stumbles a little, but she barely notices it.
"Don't," she says as if to warn, voice edgy and yet desperate somehow, "don't blame me for this!"
She knows he'll tilt his head in about a second, give her a pointed look of mock and anger, and then step all over her with a simple smirk. That's what he always does.
John, as she assumed, tilts his head while stuffing his hands into his pockets and the look on his face, hell, it cuts right through her soul. He's furious and he's furious at her and shit, he has no right to be, because-
"I didn't do this!" She spits with something heavy pressing her throat, "It isn't my fault!"
John's - no, Pyro's jaw tenses dangerously - Pyro's, because right now, she knows it's Pyro standing in front of her, trying to keep his emotions in check, and there's absolutely no traces of John left on his features.
And well, that means she's in even deeper shit.
"She could die," he says then, clearly accusing her; eyes burning with the kind of hate and resentment that Marie actually shivers through and through.
"She won't," she claims in haste as if letting him say that would somehow make it true, "she won't die, 'cause you're the fucking leader of the damn Brotherhood and you've got about thousands of doctors and scientists smart enough to figure out what's wrong with her. You just had ten of them taking tests!"
Her claim, accusation, whatever it is, it makes him chuckle coldly before he tells her the truth he has never bothered to clarify, "I'm not the fucking leader of the damn Brotherhood and even if I was, it wouldn't matter. She could die, Rogue, get that?"
It takes a while before her mind can grasp his words fully. All of them. Her heart skips a beat, nearly stops and so does her breathing.
"No," she pipes, shaking her head. Of course he's the leader of the Brotherhood and of course Shelby won't die. With her inherited genes, how could she? She's too stubborn, too lively, too strong, way too strong to die, way too strong, way too strong, way too-
"The doc says her body can't take it much longer," John informs the panicking woman, cutting through her primitive train of thought, bringing her back, "The kid's own powers, they're draining her."
Well, if that's the case, "Then take them away!" Marie tells, raising her voice with desperation. She takes a step forward without realizing and fails to notice the way his eyes darken at that.
"What?" John questions, uncertain, as if he was hoping he didn't hear her right… she can't honestly think he'd ever agree to that kind of shit, right? Not when it's his kid in question - no fucking way, unless it's over his dead and buried body. And hell, not even then.
She swallows hesitantly, avoiding his eyes and confirms his suspicion, whispering, "The cure." She doesn't dare to look, doesn't want to see the way his face reflects his anger - she knows damn well, even without looking, what kind of reaction she'll receive.
Shaking his head and with narrowing eyes, he growls, "No. Fucking. Way." Yeah, that kind of reaction. At least he didn't slam her against the wall like she thought he would. Well, the night's young and she's got more to say.
Like, "Even if she does live through this, do you actually think she'll want to spend the rest of her life like…" she stumbles, not knowing how exactly to word it, "like that? With that?"
He is anything but content with her and the topic of their discussion as he hisses, teeth gritted, "It's not your decision to make."
She blinks, trying to process, trying to take it all in. Not her decision? How the hell can he say that? He's got it all wrong, so fucking wrong that now it's her anger flaring up, bright and hot.
"When it comes to saving her life," she practically shouts, "it damn well is!"
That's when her back finally connects with the wall next to the bathroom's door - painfully, and she realizes that his face is only inches from hers. She lets out a whimper to channel the pain out, but opposed to being helpful, the small sound coming from her throat only causes his arm to press harder against her throat and the pain does nothing but increases. His eyes are storming, so full of raw emotion that she actually stops breathing… besides, the arm on her throat really isn't helping in that department, anyway.
"Try anything like that," he snarls, eyes locked with hers to make sure she hears and understands every single damn word he's about to lay out, "anything at all, and I will not hesitate to take you down, Rogue."
A threat, not a promise - she knows he isn't lying. He'd have her killed, or probably go as far as killing her himself just to get his way. What a fucking asshole.
She gathers all her strength into a one neat push and manages to make him budge. The arm loosens, a little, and she can once again draw air into her lungs and ask, defying, "You'd rather she die as a mutant than live as a human?"
Something in his eyes flash, saying yes while the words coming out his mouth deny it, "I'm not saying that," he sighs, irritated and she notes how he glances to his side, once, before returning his gaze into her eyes, "I'm just saying it's not your fucking decision, Roguey."
She's about to argue, tell him to go fuck himself or something, but a sudden noise draws her attention. And his, too.
The hands retreat and she's free again.
Then she hears the same noise again, stronger, and oh my God-
John is the first one there, first one to kneel down next to the bathtub and grab Shelby's shoulders. He pulls her up from beneath the waving surface and with one hand presses the coughing girl against his chest while the other supports her head. She's still half way in the now hot water, hands squeezing his arms with all her might and, well, panicking.
When Marie finally comes to from the shock of hearing her cough, she makes a run for the bathroom - she nearly falls due the wet tiles, but it doesn't stop her rush and she kneels down behind John, grabbing his arm in attempt to balance herself while reaching to touch her cheek. But just as her fingers graze the hotly radiating skin, she remembers the other thing, and jerks her hand away.
And she wonders, bleeding inside, if she'll ever again be able to touch her own child without pain and suffering.
She's still coughing, trying to get the water out of her lungs and John? Well, John is the one hushing her like he'd always been there to hush his crying child, petting the shaking girl softly and that way, leaving Marie with the option to do nothing but stare. Even when the coughing subsides and the panic seems to fade, the shaking doesn't.
"Mom?" The girl whispers, still clutching onto John and with wet hair almost hiding her eyes. But Marie, she sees them, and she sees something she's never seen before. Only, she can't put her finger on it and right now, it doesn't weight much anyway.
"It's okay, kiddo, just calm down," she tells her, resisting the urge to cup her face and kiss her forehead, to lie, "it's gonna be okay."
Shelby draws in a breath, deep, calming, and then she glances to her side, taking in her surroundings fully - and realizes it actually isn't her mother she's holding onto for life.
"What-" That's as far as she gets before Marie interrupts her, saying, "that's John. You know, your-" stupid, arrogant, idiotic, cold-hearted killer of a "-father."