Post by Pyro on Jul 25, 2006 18:42:04 GMT -5
Mystique shut down the computer and went to her closet. Once it was mostly empty but for a box, a set of files, or some weapon lifted off an enemy and kept as a souvenir. Now five hangers neatly separated on the rod held five articles of clothing. She wished she could burn every one.
Slipping into a pair of low-slung, tight black shorts and a camouflage tanktop about a size too small, she padded out into the hallway barefoot. The less she had to wear the better, but she supposed it wasn't worth spooking those who weren't used to a seeing a naked white girl going about her business.
She just had to get out. The building could sometimes make her feel suffocated, and the island itself was beautiful once you gave it a chance.
On her way out the front door, she walked past the office. Pyro was still there, eyes blurring in front of the computer. Mystique stopped, padding over to the doorway.
"I thought you promised to get more rest." She smirked.
The young man looked up from whatever it was that had held his attention and gave a tired smile. "I tried going for a sleep," he said, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms. "But it wasn't going anywhere."
He tapped his forehead with one finger. "Mind too active."
"How d'you think the meeting went?" he asked, keen and eager for her opinion. He seemed incapable of letting go of work just for briefest of moments. His was the kind of behaviour that led to the sort of overworked, stressed-out nervous breakdowns she'd witnessed in people of her past: politicians, businessmen.
He was looking at her with an almost puppy-like hopeful expression on his face.
She hooked her fingers into the pocket against her hip and leaned in the doorframe.
"It's not my style, and they're not used to it. Orders are generally given, not created as a team. It's something I think you should be careful of, but I admire you going your own way." She smiled a bit.
"I was going to go for a walk." Sure, it was likely near dawn. That never seemed to stop her. "You should come along."
"A walk?"
The concept surprised him. So did his response, which was to flick his monitor off (the PC was left running) and get out of his seat. "D’you know, that suddenly seems like the most attractive offer I’ve had in months?"
The base was eerily deserted, John’s booted footsteps echoing around the metal hallways as they walked. He said nothing, seemed merely content to walk in companionable silence, opening and closing his hand as he created and eliminated a small ball of fire.
The temperature outside was as muggy and humid as ever, but with the freshness of the pre-dawn that made it eminently more bearable. The sounds of the jungle were more than in evidence and John inhaled the moist, humid air deeply.
"I grew up on the streets of New York," he said, suddenly. "I never once imagined I’d be anywhere like this."
Mystique watched him as they wove between trees and outcroppings of rubble. Always watching him. She was beginning to wonder if it set him at ease somehow.
"New York hmmm. Without your family." She said it as fact, though they'd never spoken of it. Somehow it oozed off him. Boys like that were either beaten as kids, or left to their own defenses.
"Never knew my family, really. Not my real one." He shrugged one shoulder lightly. "One too many mouths to feed – I went through a succession of foster homes. Never really settled – and hit the streets when I was fourteen." She DID have the effect of making him feel more inclined to open up. "Taught me most of what I know about survival of the fittest."
Left, right, right, left, went the ball of fire.
"Powers manifested at fourteen-and-a-half, but I didn’t make it public knowledge. It was as rough as hell living on those streets, but it was my…sort of home."
She nodded. It was a familiar story. She too had spent her own time on the streets. Different streets, in a different era... but streets nonetheless.
"When did Xavier find you? Or... was it done some other way."
His mouth quirked upwards in a slightly self-deprecating smile. "I found HIM," he said, remembering. "My powers were starting to get the better of me. I’d heard talk of this guy who ran a school that was rumoured to be for mutants and I got in touch with him. Freaked me out – he told me he’d been waiting for me to call. We met up, he offered me somewhere to live and help to train my abilities. I was just about seventeen, then. I had three police cautions for arson at my heels. Almost got prosecuted for assault when I was eighteen, although it was self-defence…I was never what you might call a ‘model pupil’."
Mystique smiled. They were alike in a lot of ways.
She led them towards a bank of boulders overlooking the beach a half mile or so from the main building. Stepping quick and light, she hopped from one rock to the next until she got to the large boulder at the edge, enough for four or five people to stand on easily.
She sat down and looked up at the stars.
"It's almost sweet." Perhaps that wasn't the best way to put it. She rubbed her bare legs with her hands and rephrased. "I like to think about the place you have come from. You've come a long way in a short time. It wasn't so easy for most of us." She looked at him. "Not that it was easy... just... fast."
"Maybe I’m just lucky," he said, sitting down next to her. "Once I left that Institute, I stopped being held back. Professor Xavier never let me really test the limits of my power. He made it very clear from the start that I was a Class Four." Pyro said it in an oddly modest way. "And that with great power comes great responsibility, blah, blah, blah."
The fireball in his hands grew.
"But you and Magneto…well, you helped me get over that block."
Mystique looked at him, smiling in the near darkness. The moon spilled over them both, silver light mingling with the golden light of fire.
"Xavier doesn't like to trust in people to control their own power. As if you should wait for HIS permission. He never could deny that Magneto might have killed a lot of people easily, but you know... he didn't. Not until he had to."
"Hah. That was as nothing compared to what his pet Jean Grey did to so many people, humans and mutants alike. She should never have been trusted." John snapped his hand shut, removing the fireball from existence. "Both Xavier and Magneto were fools for her."
He fell silent and closed his eyes. She could tell by the ripple of pain that flickered across his face that his headache was back.
He opened them again and looked at her steadily.
"You've referred to both Magneto AND Xavier in the present tense today. Is there something you need to be telling me?"
Mystique shook her head. He was right about Jean, but there was some things she just couldn't let him hear. The venom in her voice, for instance.
"Xavier... Eric..." She looked up at the stars again, pausing for a moment to think. How to say this. "Eric has been my friend for a very long time." The word friend seemed foreign on her lips. "Xavier... we have our past too."
"It is never truly safe to assume any one of us is gone forever. So many of us have come back." She looked at him again. "A lot of us are beyond death, Pyro. Did you know that."
"I never COULD see him as an Eric, isn’t that strange? A bit like I can’t see you as a Raven, or Juggernaut as a Cain. Python’s definitely not a Steve."
The young man giggled, suddenly, then almost as suddenly stopped, swearing softly under his breath.
"I find it easier to believe Magneto’s dead, really. I don’t quite know why."
Mystique chuckled "Because you don't want to believe that he could have been bested." She nodded. "I know."
"Everything has its balance, believe me. I've seen the greatest of us fall, I've seen the weakest of us rise up and blow everyone away. Never underestimate anyone." She repeated the line she'd said a few nights before, running her bare toe against the rock beneath them. "And never let anyone underestimate you."
He turned his head so that he was looking sideways at her, his hands clasped together, resting on his knees. His expression was quizzical.
"If he came back – Magneto, I mean. If he came back to this very spot, reclaimed his old position as our leader, would you stay?"
She met his gaze. "If Magneto came back, I'd stand by -you-. Because you are our leader now. Magneto's time has come and gone. If he is smart, he will realize that. If he returns restored to his former strength, he has everything he once had, save control. There's a side of him that wants to control it. But he knows the cause is bigger even than he."
Mystique turned her head to look down at the ocean.
"I would stand by you Pyro. You're not an alternative to Eric. You're his successor. And I think he'd have wanted it that way."
He felt a swelling of pride at both her faith in him and her implication that Magneto would have been pleased to see him where he was now. "I just need to iron out some glitches," he said, vaguely waving a hand towards his head. "We need someone medically minded to join us here: these headaches are getting worse."
Mystique stood, moving to sit behind him. She slipped a long leg to either side of him and pulled him back against her, gently running her fingertips along his temples, over his ears and down along his hairline.
"There are pressure points," she said. "That can release tension." She looked over his shoulder at the stars again, and sighed, touching him in a system of presses and lines drawn through his hair. All very slow and careful. As if she knew it wasn't usual for individuals like them to touch.
"We can look through the database if you like, see who we can find. And while he's more experienced with the dead, Dead Man may have something to add. But I can understand why you wouldn't want to consult him on it."
It was the first time they’d ever been truly this intimate and she learned a startling amount about the young man’s physiology in that time. She discovered that his ambient body temperature was slightly higher than most people, making his skin warm to the touch. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, and the pulsing throb at the base of his neck was almost palpable. No wonder he had headaches.
"He freaks me out," he said, closing his eyes and letting her soothe away the aches. It felt good. It felt…strangely natural, as though allowing her to do this for him was the right thing to do. "I used to have nightmares about zombies when I was like, five. There was this kid at the children’s home, Sam. He used to wind me up that there were corpses in the locked cupboards downstairs. I believed him totally."
A pause.
"He was a complete bas…argh, that hurt."
Mystique blew cool air against the back of his neck. "Then relax, and it won't."
"You are such an intense creature," she said smoothly, smiling that smile of hers beyond his line of sight. "It's going to follow you your whole life. Not something you don't already know, I'm sure."
It was quiet for a moment as she considered the man in her arms. Her feelings for him were muddled, twisted, layered. He was young. And bombastic. Foolish, unsure. He was brilliant, beautiful, delicate in places few mutants she knew allowed themselves to be. Those things would change, but here she was, seeing it up close. Unlike with others, his weaknesses did not spur her on to crush him. She knew somehow inherently he would not only rise above them, but that they defined him somehow.
Made him different than everyone else.
Different certainly than she, or Eric.
"When I was born, they thought I was a witch. Though 'witch' was not a word that had been used in their society for many years. I never had the privilege of time without my abilities." But then again, hadn't she this last year? Her voice softened. "I mean.."
"It’s human nature to fear what we don’t understand, or to institutionalise it," Pyro said. "The first time I saw Kurt…Nightcrawler – he was so different from anything I’d ever seen before. But I never judged on appearances. I’m luckier than many – I have no outward sign of my mutation. I can’t create fire – I could have blended into society, lived a totally different life."
Kurt Wagner. It was such an amazing thing that he kept the name after all these years. Mystique closed her eyes, and said nothing. It would only cause Pyro to pull away more if he knew that little story.
Absently, he closed his hand over hers as she stroked his neck. "I can’t begin to comprehend how appallingly treated you were," he said, softly. "You were possessed of the most magical gift I ever saw. The ability to become anybody you desired. To live life through their eyes, to see what they saw – it must have given you wisdom I could never hope to attain."
His grip on her hand loosened. "I am no fool, Mystique," he said, his tone even. "I’ve seen the signs. Your eyes, the occasional hint of blue about your person. The reports are right, aren’t they? The cure is beginning to wear off."
She stopped with his head and put her arms around him, resting her chin lightly on his shoulder. Her black hair teased his ear as she spoke. "I'm unsure it's something I should hope for, John..." Her tone was softer, more human than he'd heard it sound before. "I don't think I could bear the loss again."
He shifted his head slightly so that his lips brushed her cheek. When he spoke, it was with the low intensity she had come to expect from him.
Young, brash, impetuous, yes, he was all of these things. But he was also passionate in so many ways. Inside the self-conscious young man beat the solid heart of a poet. He should have been one of the Romantics. Consumptive yet creative.
"Then we’ll have to make sure it doesn’t happen again, right?"
She held him tighter and lowered her eyes. There wasn't much she could say to that that wouldn't be too much.
"You know, the other day when you kissed me." Mystique looked up again, tilting her head towards him as if to return his affectionate gesture. "You apologized afterward. Why?"
His reply was surprising.
"It was presumptuous of me. I got … caught up in the moment." A wry smile. "I’ve never been the great romantic, that was Bobby’s job. I went on a couple of dates, but they invariably ended in disaster. It’s odd. Usually I feel really awkward around girls – but you’re not a girl. You’re a woman." He stared out at the sky which was starting to lighten with the grey of dawn. "I apologized because I may be many things. But never without permission. Ever."
Mystique laughed softly, in a whisper. Tilting her head a bit, she swept his hair over his ear, and kissed his temple.
"That you thought you didn't have permission means you weren't paying attention." It was too much, she'd said too much. But then, it had been an awful long time since anyone had kissed her like that. Maybe 'too much' was the order of the day.
"Sometimes," he said, a shiver apparent in his voice. "I get…so lonely. Do you know what I mean?" He turned himself so he could touch her cheek softly and lovingly. It was a gesture many people would never have associated with the violent, dangerous mutant he could be.
Many people wouldn't have associated it with him- people that weren't also violent, dangerous mutants. Mystique met his eyes, her own expression open, thoughtful, taking him in.
"This is where I'm supposed to tell you to get used to it, right?" She didn't smile, though Mystique rarely needed to. After a while you got used to the direct looks that were ultimately evasive. "You don't."
Mystique looked away again, always turning away at the last minute.
Eventually the questions would come up; was she here in service to the Brotherhood alone, was she making a play for power by treating him this way? There was always some power play. Love never lasted and an attraction...was just that. Nothing more.
"I know I’m not much more than a kid and you…you’re used to people far more powerful and with much more to offer than me, but I wanted to ask you this just the once. I’ll never ask you again."
He was physically trembling, she could feel it.
"Will you come back to my room with me for a few hours? Even if it’s just…to be there. Someone to be there when the nightmares wake me up, someone to hold onto in this tempestuous sea."
He couldn’t meet her gaze. It was a shy, little-boy thing and that he had struggled to ask the question was more than evident.
Mystique sighed softly, no more than a breath through her lips. She kissed the curve of his neck where it met his shoulder. "Only if you promise to stop making disclaimers for yourself. As I've said before, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. If I didn't want you. Can you accept that?"
"Totally," he said, leaning into her, a young man desperate for a moment’s normality. "Without reservation."
He didn’t love her. Both of them knew that. This wasn’t even a crush. This was a union of equals, something both of them were aware on a subconscious level that the other needed at this time. John was filled with respect, admiration and a great fondness for the woman now in his arms. But John’s heart, she knew, would take some capturing, despite his easy passion and flowery language.
If it hadn't already been caught somewhere else.
Slipping into a pair of low-slung, tight black shorts and a camouflage tanktop about a size too small, she padded out into the hallway barefoot. The less she had to wear the better, but she supposed it wasn't worth spooking those who weren't used to a seeing a naked white girl going about her business.
She just had to get out. The building could sometimes make her feel suffocated, and the island itself was beautiful once you gave it a chance.
On her way out the front door, she walked past the office. Pyro was still there, eyes blurring in front of the computer. Mystique stopped, padding over to the doorway.
"I thought you promised to get more rest." She smirked.
The young man looked up from whatever it was that had held his attention and gave a tired smile. "I tried going for a sleep," he said, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms. "But it wasn't going anywhere."
He tapped his forehead with one finger. "Mind too active."
"How d'you think the meeting went?" he asked, keen and eager for her opinion. He seemed incapable of letting go of work just for briefest of moments. His was the kind of behaviour that led to the sort of overworked, stressed-out nervous breakdowns she'd witnessed in people of her past: politicians, businessmen.
He was looking at her with an almost puppy-like hopeful expression on his face.
She hooked her fingers into the pocket against her hip and leaned in the doorframe.
"It's not my style, and they're not used to it. Orders are generally given, not created as a team. It's something I think you should be careful of, but I admire you going your own way." She smiled a bit.
"I was going to go for a walk." Sure, it was likely near dawn. That never seemed to stop her. "You should come along."
"A walk?"
The concept surprised him. So did his response, which was to flick his monitor off (the PC was left running) and get out of his seat. "D’you know, that suddenly seems like the most attractive offer I’ve had in months?"
The base was eerily deserted, John’s booted footsteps echoing around the metal hallways as they walked. He said nothing, seemed merely content to walk in companionable silence, opening and closing his hand as he created and eliminated a small ball of fire.
The temperature outside was as muggy and humid as ever, but with the freshness of the pre-dawn that made it eminently more bearable. The sounds of the jungle were more than in evidence and John inhaled the moist, humid air deeply.
"I grew up on the streets of New York," he said, suddenly. "I never once imagined I’d be anywhere like this."
Mystique watched him as they wove between trees and outcroppings of rubble. Always watching him. She was beginning to wonder if it set him at ease somehow.
"New York hmmm. Without your family." She said it as fact, though they'd never spoken of it. Somehow it oozed off him. Boys like that were either beaten as kids, or left to their own defenses.
"Never knew my family, really. Not my real one." He shrugged one shoulder lightly. "One too many mouths to feed – I went through a succession of foster homes. Never really settled – and hit the streets when I was fourteen." She DID have the effect of making him feel more inclined to open up. "Taught me most of what I know about survival of the fittest."
Left, right, right, left, went the ball of fire.
"Powers manifested at fourteen-and-a-half, but I didn’t make it public knowledge. It was as rough as hell living on those streets, but it was my…sort of home."
She nodded. It was a familiar story. She too had spent her own time on the streets. Different streets, in a different era... but streets nonetheless.
"When did Xavier find you? Or... was it done some other way."
His mouth quirked upwards in a slightly self-deprecating smile. "I found HIM," he said, remembering. "My powers were starting to get the better of me. I’d heard talk of this guy who ran a school that was rumoured to be for mutants and I got in touch with him. Freaked me out – he told me he’d been waiting for me to call. We met up, he offered me somewhere to live and help to train my abilities. I was just about seventeen, then. I had three police cautions for arson at my heels. Almost got prosecuted for assault when I was eighteen, although it was self-defence…I was never what you might call a ‘model pupil’."
Mystique smiled. They were alike in a lot of ways.
She led them towards a bank of boulders overlooking the beach a half mile or so from the main building. Stepping quick and light, she hopped from one rock to the next until she got to the large boulder at the edge, enough for four or five people to stand on easily.
She sat down and looked up at the stars.
"It's almost sweet." Perhaps that wasn't the best way to put it. She rubbed her bare legs with her hands and rephrased. "I like to think about the place you have come from. You've come a long way in a short time. It wasn't so easy for most of us." She looked at him. "Not that it was easy... just... fast."
"Maybe I’m just lucky," he said, sitting down next to her. "Once I left that Institute, I stopped being held back. Professor Xavier never let me really test the limits of my power. He made it very clear from the start that I was a Class Four." Pyro said it in an oddly modest way. "And that with great power comes great responsibility, blah, blah, blah."
The fireball in his hands grew.
"But you and Magneto…well, you helped me get over that block."
Mystique looked at him, smiling in the near darkness. The moon spilled over them both, silver light mingling with the golden light of fire.
"Xavier doesn't like to trust in people to control their own power. As if you should wait for HIS permission. He never could deny that Magneto might have killed a lot of people easily, but you know... he didn't. Not until he had to."
"Hah. That was as nothing compared to what his pet Jean Grey did to so many people, humans and mutants alike. She should never have been trusted." John snapped his hand shut, removing the fireball from existence. "Both Xavier and Magneto were fools for her."
He fell silent and closed his eyes. She could tell by the ripple of pain that flickered across his face that his headache was back.
He opened them again and looked at her steadily.
"You've referred to both Magneto AND Xavier in the present tense today. Is there something you need to be telling me?"
Mystique shook her head. He was right about Jean, but there was some things she just couldn't let him hear. The venom in her voice, for instance.
"Xavier... Eric..." She looked up at the stars again, pausing for a moment to think. How to say this. "Eric has been my friend for a very long time." The word friend seemed foreign on her lips. "Xavier... we have our past too."
"It is never truly safe to assume any one of us is gone forever. So many of us have come back." She looked at him again. "A lot of us are beyond death, Pyro. Did you know that."
"I never COULD see him as an Eric, isn’t that strange? A bit like I can’t see you as a Raven, or Juggernaut as a Cain. Python’s definitely not a Steve."
The young man giggled, suddenly, then almost as suddenly stopped, swearing softly under his breath.
"I find it easier to believe Magneto’s dead, really. I don’t quite know why."
Mystique chuckled "Because you don't want to believe that he could have been bested." She nodded. "I know."
"Everything has its balance, believe me. I've seen the greatest of us fall, I've seen the weakest of us rise up and blow everyone away. Never underestimate anyone." She repeated the line she'd said a few nights before, running her bare toe against the rock beneath them. "And never let anyone underestimate you."
He turned his head so that he was looking sideways at her, his hands clasped together, resting on his knees. His expression was quizzical.
"If he came back – Magneto, I mean. If he came back to this very spot, reclaimed his old position as our leader, would you stay?"
She met his gaze. "If Magneto came back, I'd stand by -you-. Because you are our leader now. Magneto's time has come and gone. If he is smart, he will realize that. If he returns restored to his former strength, he has everything he once had, save control. There's a side of him that wants to control it. But he knows the cause is bigger even than he."
Mystique turned her head to look down at the ocean.
"I would stand by you Pyro. You're not an alternative to Eric. You're his successor. And I think he'd have wanted it that way."
He felt a swelling of pride at both her faith in him and her implication that Magneto would have been pleased to see him where he was now. "I just need to iron out some glitches," he said, vaguely waving a hand towards his head. "We need someone medically minded to join us here: these headaches are getting worse."
Mystique stood, moving to sit behind him. She slipped a long leg to either side of him and pulled him back against her, gently running her fingertips along his temples, over his ears and down along his hairline.
"There are pressure points," she said. "That can release tension." She looked over his shoulder at the stars again, and sighed, touching him in a system of presses and lines drawn through his hair. All very slow and careful. As if she knew it wasn't usual for individuals like them to touch.
"We can look through the database if you like, see who we can find. And while he's more experienced with the dead, Dead Man may have something to add. But I can understand why you wouldn't want to consult him on it."
It was the first time they’d ever been truly this intimate and she learned a startling amount about the young man’s physiology in that time. She discovered that his ambient body temperature was slightly higher than most people, making his skin warm to the touch. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, and the pulsing throb at the base of his neck was almost palpable. No wonder he had headaches.
"He freaks me out," he said, closing his eyes and letting her soothe away the aches. It felt good. It felt…strangely natural, as though allowing her to do this for him was the right thing to do. "I used to have nightmares about zombies when I was like, five. There was this kid at the children’s home, Sam. He used to wind me up that there were corpses in the locked cupboards downstairs. I believed him totally."
A pause.
"He was a complete bas…argh, that hurt."
Mystique blew cool air against the back of his neck. "Then relax, and it won't."
"You are such an intense creature," she said smoothly, smiling that smile of hers beyond his line of sight. "It's going to follow you your whole life. Not something you don't already know, I'm sure."
It was quiet for a moment as she considered the man in her arms. Her feelings for him were muddled, twisted, layered. He was young. And bombastic. Foolish, unsure. He was brilliant, beautiful, delicate in places few mutants she knew allowed themselves to be. Those things would change, but here she was, seeing it up close. Unlike with others, his weaknesses did not spur her on to crush him. She knew somehow inherently he would not only rise above them, but that they defined him somehow.
Made him different than everyone else.
Different certainly than she, or Eric.
"When I was born, they thought I was a witch. Though 'witch' was not a word that had been used in their society for many years. I never had the privilege of time without my abilities." But then again, hadn't she this last year? Her voice softened. "I mean.."
"It’s human nature to fear what we don’t understand, or to institutionalise it," Pyro said. "The first time I saw Kurt…Nightcrawler – he was so different from anything I’d ever seen before. But I never judged on appearances. I’m luckier than many – I have no outward sign of my mutation. I can’t create fire – I could have blended into society, lived a totally different life."
Kurt Wagner. It was such an amazing thing that he kept the name after all these years. Mystique closed her eyes, and said nothing. It would only cause Pyro to pull away more if he knew that little story.
Absently, he closed his hand over hers as she stroked his neck. "I can’t begin to comprehend how appallingly treated you were," he said, softly. "You were possessed of the most magical gift I ever saw. The ability to become anybody you desired. To live life through their eyes, to see what they saw – it must have given you wisdom I could never hope to attain."
His grip on her hand loosened. "I am no fool, Mystique," he said, his tone even. "I’ve seen the signs. Your eyes, the occasional hint of blue about your person. The reports are right, aren’t they? The cure is beginning to wear off."
She stopped with his head and put her arms around him, resting her chin lightly on his shoulder. Her black hair teased his ear as she spoke. "I'm unsure it's something I should hope for, John..." Her tone was softer, more human than he'd heard it sound before. "I don't think I could bear the loss again."
He shifted his head slightly so that his lips brushed her cheek. When he spoke, it was with the low intensity she had come to expect from him.
Young, brash, impetuous, yes, he was all of these things. But he was also passionate in so many ways. Inside the self-conscious young man beat the solid heart of a poet. He should have been one of the Romantics. Consumptive yet creative.
"Then we’ll have to make sure it doesn’t happen again, right?"
She held him tighter and lowered her eyes. There wasn't much she could say to that that wouldn't be too much.
"You know, the other day when you kissed me." Mystique looked up again, tilting her head towards him as if to return his affectionate gesture. "You apologized afterward. Why?"
His reply was surprising.
"It was presumptuous of me. I got … caught up in the moment." A wry smile. "I’ve never been the great romantic, that was Bobby’s job. I went on a couple of dates, but they invariably ended in disaster. It’s odd. Usually I feel really awkward around girls – but you’re not a girl. You’re a woman." He stared out at the sky which was starting to lighten with the grey of dawn. "I apologized because I may be many things. But never without permission. Ever."
Mystique laughed softly, in a whisper. Tilting her head a bit, she swept his hair over his ear, and kissed his temple.
"That you thought you didn't have permission means you weren't paying attention." It was too much, she'd said too much. But then, it had been an awful long time since anyone had kissed her like that. Maybe 'too much' was the order of the day.
"Sometimes," he said, a shiver apparent in his voice. "I get…so lonely. Do you know what I mean?" He turned himself so he could touch her cheek softly and lovingly. It was a gesture many people would never have associated with the violent, dangerous mutant he could be.
Many people wouldn't have associated it with him- people that weren't also violent, dangerous mutants. Mystique met his eyes, her own expression open, thoughtful, taking him in.
"This is where I'm supposed to tell you to get used to it, right?" She didn't smile, though Mystique rarely needed to. After a while you got used to the direct looks that were ultimately evasive. "You don't."
Mystique looked away again, always turning away at the last minute.
Eventually the questions would come up; was she here in service to the Brotherhood alone, was she making a play for power by treating him this way? There was always some power play. Love never lasted and an attraction...was just that. Nothing more.
"I know I’m not much more than a kid and you…you’re used to people far more powerful and with much more to offer than me, but I wanted to ask you this just the once. I’ll never ask you again."
He was physically trembling, she could feel it.
"Will you come back to my room with me for a few hours? Even if it’s just…to be there. Someone to be there when the nightmares wake me up, someone to hold onto in this tempestuous sea."
He couldn’t meet her gaze. It was a shy, little-boy thing and that he had struggled to ask the question was more than evident.
Mystique sighed softly, no more than a breath through her lips. She kissed the curve of his neck where it met his shoulder. "Only if you promise to stop making disclaimers for yourself. As I've said before, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. If I didn't want you. Can you accept that?"
"Totally," he said, leaning into her, a young man desperate for a moment’s normality. "Without reservation."
He didn’t love her. Both of them knew that. This wasn’t even a crush. This was a union of equals, something both of them were aware on a subconscious level that the other needed at this time. John was filled with respect, admiration and a great fondness for the woman now in his arms. But John’s heart, she knew, would take some capturing, despite his easy passion and flowery language.
If it hadn't already been caught somewhere else.
